School of Hard Knocks

by Hoopy McGee

First published 22nd of January, 2013

Big crimes go to big ponies to solve. Small crimes? Those are mine.

This isn't where I belong. I left all this behind years ago, moved on with my life. But a mare from my past brought me back, and now she won't let me go. So I'm stuck here, trying to make the best of it with ponies that don't understand me, don't even like me. But when something moves in the darkness, and when things go wrong in the cold, dead night, they'll turn to me to try to set things right.

Why? Because once a police pony, always a police pony.
~~
This is a spin-off story to 'Why am I Pinkie Pie?!', and will contain spoilers for that story, but it's not necessary to read that story to understand this one.
Cover art by the talented Conicer
Need more Cinnamon Swirl? Merlos the Mad wrote a fanfic of this story!

There is now a side-story: A Hard Day's Nightmare Night

The filly and the schoolmare

The click-clack of chalk on a blackboard made an arrhythmic counterpoint to the ticking of the clock on the wall. A monotone voice assaulted my drooping ears, nearly putting me under. I was about ten seconds away from simply giving it up and slipping into the unconsciousness I craved. I didn't have the interest to listen. I'd heard it all before.

The room was cold, both in temperature and in the emotions I felt coming from it, the pictures of smiling faces and the childish drawings on the walls making a mockery of cheer as I shivered in my hard seat. To distract myself, and to keep myself awake, I chewed idly on the eraser end of my pencil, the crunch of the wood between my teeth giving me the only slim satisfaction I could find in my current situation.

"Psst! Psst!"

It came from behind me, a sound full of urgency and desperation. Or maybe something had sprung a leak. I took the pencil out of my mouth and glanced back over my shoulder. A small purple filly was trying to get my attention.

"What?" I whispered back, trying to keep my voice low. The filly simply pointed ahead of me and I sighed. I knew what was up. My time had finally come, and now all that was left was for me to face the music.

I turned my eyes front and saw the scowling face of a mare. She wouldn't have been too bad looking, if it weren't for the face that looked like it chewed lemons. Her mane was midnight black, and tied back into a bun so tight that it was almost screaming. Her coat was orange, and her cutie mark was a protractor. Half-moon glasses perched on her muzzle, completing the librarian look that was so popular among young mares these days.

Me? I didn't see the appeal of it. I like my mares with a bit more sass and a lot less class.

"I called your name three times!" the mare said, sounding vexed. She'd already worked her way halfway to a full head of steam, and I knew I was about to give her the fuel she needed to get the rest of the way. "Are you even listening to me?"

"You didn't figure out after the second time that I wasn't?" I asked. That wasn't the smart thing to say, but I never claimed that I was a smart guy.

The colts and fillies in the classroom behind me all went "oooh!" in perfect synchronization. No doubt they were impressed at my smart mouth. Either that, or they were really looking forward to the verbal beat-down I was sure to get. I hadn't made many friends here. In fact, you could say I hadn't made any at all.

Miss Persimmon didn't like my reply, not one bit. She scowled, her green eyes narrowing as her mouth turned down. The chalk she'd been levitating fell to the floor as she marched up to my desk, the children around me pulling back as if they expected an explosion. I didn't move. She didn't scare me. I'd put up with worse than an angry schoolmare in my day.

"Young lady," she said, and I flinched at the title. I felt the heat rising, the rush of blood in my ears almost drowning out the rest of her words. "I think you have something of an attitude problem. Do you want detention?"

"I don't want to be here," I reminded her. I kept my cool, but it was only by the tip of my hooves. I was scrabbling, holding on to the crumbling edge of sanity's cliff. If I let go, I'd fall into the boiling madness below.

And that tempted me more than I was willing to admit.

"Little fillies—" she began, and I flinched again "—need to go to school. You need to learn. Why do you resist that so much?"

I took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. I was mad, sure. As angry as I'd ever been in my life, but it wasn't this mare's fault. She was a teacher, maybe even a good one, and she was trying to teach. It wasn't her fault that I'd already been through all of this. I'd graduated already, and I had no interest at all in going back to school. It wasn't her fault I was stuck in this situation.

But it was her fault that she didn't listen to me. Nopony did, not really.

"I told you before," I said, in as close to a menacing growl as my currently-lilting voice could manage. "I ain't a filly. I'm a grown stallion who got too close to a patch of poison joke."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. I could see she was already dismissing what I said as more attention-seeking and an over-active imagination, just like my mother had told her to on my first day here. It didn't help that none of the books in the school or town libraries had any mention of poison joke. As far as anypony in Hoofington knew, I'd made it up. Well, anypony but two.

"It's great that you have imagination, dear. But you're being disruptive. You need to pay attention in class."

"I'm not disrupting anything," I told her, getting my back up. "You're the one who came to talk to me. I was just peachy ignoring you and pretending I was somewhere else."

I could practically see the gears ticking in her head. Intimidation hadn't worked. Next up on the docket: try and fake some sympathy.

"Don't you want to grow up knowing all the things you need to know in school?" she asked me gently, trying to push the right buttons to turn me into what she thought would be a model student. "You need to learn! You're such a bright filly, you could be anything you like! A doctor, or a lawyer, or—"

"Or a police officer," I cut her off. "Yeah, I already know that. And I know that what you're saying is a load of crap."

Her face froze at the word, which would have made me laugh if I weren't trying so damned hard to hold on to my temper. The students in the class gasped again, shocked at that kind of language being leveled at a teacher. If they only knew. My vocabulary could strip the paint off of a house, once I got going. If it weren't for the fact that I was trying to watch my language for the sake of the kids, they would have gotten a real education that day.

"You're lying to these kids, and we both know it," I told her evenly, throttling my temper with both hooves. She reared back, the look on her face stunned, as if I'd slapped her across her muzzle. "Doctors? Lawyers? Most of these kids ain't gonna get that far. They're gonna work their tails off to study and learn things and still end up on their parent's farms, or hauling for a freight company, or doing some other low-skill job because the sick, sad truth is that most ponies ain't got what it takes in the head to be a doctor or a lawyer, no matter how hard they study. And you know it!"

"That is it, young lady," the teacher snapped, picking me up with her magic and trotting me over to the corner. Behind me I could hear my so-called classmates all giggling and whispering to each other as I was dragged off. She set me down on a stool, facing the wall, and said, "You're on time-out. And while you're sitting there, maybe you can think about appropriate ways to act in public."

She marched stiffly back to her the front of the class and took a moment to compose herself, picking up on her lessons once again. Math. Division, multiplication, the simple stuff. I had learned all of this ages ago. My anger drained away like soapy water after a hot shower, and I felt strangely refreshed and calm. Maybe I'd just needed to blow off some steam.

I sat on the stool and stared at the blank wall in front of me. A time out? As if that's a punishment. I could have laughed. All that meant to me was that I had an excuse for not paying attention. I let my mind wander, eventually blocking out the droning of the teacher and the occasional piping voice of a colt or filly who asked a question.

Time-outs weren't so bad, I decided. I'll need to figure out how to get stuck here more often. Somehow, I didn't think that would be a difficult. I seemed to be developing an attitude problem.

My name is Cinnamon Swirl. And this is my story.

The playground of shattered dreams

The lunch bell signaled my freedom from the time-out chair. I hopped down to retrieve my lunchbox from my desk, dropping it to the floor like I always did. I gave it a kick, sending the box skittering and skipping across the floor towards the door.

Miss Persimmon always made us eat outside when the weather permitted, which it usually did. The pegasi here in Hoofington weren't always as professional as I'd gotten used to in my too short of a stay in Ponyville, but they got the job done right. The sun was bright and shiny in the clear blue sky, just like it was supposed to be. I scowled at it as I kicked my lunch box out the door, down the gravel pathway and towards the twisted old oak in the southwest corner of the schoolyard.

"Why do you always do that?"

I looked up and saw the purple filly who sat behind me in class. "You mean this?" I said, and kicked the lunchbox again. She nodded and walked beside me as I walked towards my lunchbox. "Because I hate pink," I said, giving it another kick.

"Wow. And you're pink!" the filly said. I snorted in response and gave the lunchbox another kick, sending it tumbling towards the oak tree. "So, you hate your lunchbox?"

"My mom got it for me," I said. "She knew I hated pink. She got it for me anyway." I didn't bother telling her my theory that my mom probably thought that surrounding me with girly things would make me girly. My bedroom at home was a pink and pastel nightmare. So far, it hadn't worked. If I had my way, it never would.

I kicked the lunchbox harder this time, and it finally tumbled to a halt against the tree. The purple filly trotted up to it and picked it up in her forehooves. "It's kind of pretty, even though it's a little messed up," she said. I didn't say anything. Instead, I slumped down with my back against the tree and held my hooves out to the filly. She hesitated, probably thinking that passing my "pretty" little lunchbox over would result in even more damage. She was right.

"I could trade you," she said, sitting down next to me and putting my lunchbox down next to me. She then took her own out of her saddle bag. It was a huge dented metal thing, at one time painted green, most of which had been scuffed off over what looked like decades.

"This belonged to my dad," she said, smiling. "He's an explorer and a member of the Archeological Society of Equestria. It never occurred to him that I'd want something... well, more girly than his old lunchbox. But I don't mind pink. If you wanted to trade, I mean?"

She looked at me with hopeful eyes, and I looked at the metal box in her hooves. It was built out of what looked like solid steel and I could tell that it had seen some action. It was scarred and ugly, the green paint that had once adorned it no more than a passing memory. It was perfect.

"Sure," I said, and the deal was done right then and there.

I started taking my lunch out of my box in order to transfer it to my new box when the filly said, "Plum Pudding."

"I don't have any," I said. She laughed at me, ignoring my annoyed frown when she did so.

"That's my name, in case you didn't know," she said with a smile.

"Oh. Cinnamon Swirl."

"I know," she said with a giggle. "Everypony in class knows you. Were you really a stallion before you came to school?"

I snorted and bit into my carrot and lettuce sandwich. Only my mom could make a sandwich that bland. "Nopony believes me. Why would you be any different?"

She shrugged and bit into her own sandwich. It looked like peanut butter and jelly, a favorite of mine that my mother never made for me because it was "unhealthy" somehow.

"Hoh'd eh happah?" she asked with a mouthful of peanut butter. She held up her hoof and took a swig from her thermos, which had just as much mileage on it as the lunchbox she was giving me. She tried again. "How'd it happen?"

"You ever hear of poison joke?" I asked. She shook her head. "It's a plant with a really bad sense of humor. Turned me from a stallion to a filly, just to be funny."

"Can't you turn back?" Plum Pudding asked me while munching on an apple slice.

"Can. There's a cure." At least, that's what that crazy pink pony had told me. "I don't know what it is, though. I'd have to go all the way back to Ponyville to get it."

"That's too bad," she said. I had no idea if she believed me or not, but at least she wasn't just laughing at me. "Why're you going to school, though, if you graduated?"

"My mom is... She's got her issues," I said. "I have five brothers and no sisters. She didn't stop trying to have a filly until Dad died. So, when this happened to me, she thought it was her chance to finally have a daughter."

"Wooow," the filly said, wide-eyed. I had a feeling that she actually did believe me. I was surprised at how good that felt. "So, she's making you go to school again?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." Plum Pudding stared at her apple slices for a while then said, "That really sucks."

She jumped with surprise when I let out a bark of laughter. I'd lost so much because of this. My job, my identity as a stallion, my independence... but what was the worst, according to this filly, was having to go to school again.

"Yeah, it kind of does," I said. We finished off our lunch in silence and then traded our boxes and thermoses. My mom would hit the roof when she saw this. I'd have to figure out a way to stop her from getting rid of it.

Plum Pudding sat there, fiddling with her hooves. I had no idea what she wanted, but she wasn't making a fuss so I just ignored her. Instead, I pulled out a toothpick and used it to get the bits of lunch out of my teeth. Once I was done, I left it in my mouth.

Big secret time. When I'm agitated, I chew on things. Pencils, if they're around. Thing is, they get soggy, and nopony wants to loan you a pencil if you're going to chew on it. Toothpicks helped with that. I bit down on it between two teeth and let it stick out of my mouth.

Plum Pudding was still there, still looking anxious. I frowned at her, and she smiled back at me.

"Um. Do you want to go play?" she asked. I let out another surprised bark of laughter before I realized she was serious.

"Kid, I'm a full-grown stallion. I don't play," I told her.

"So, you're just going to sit here?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds boring," she said.

"That's another word for 'relaxing'," I informed her.

"All right," she said, sounding disappointed for some reason. She got up and stuck her new pink lunchbox in her saddlebag. For a minute it looked like she was going to say something, but then she just shrugged and left me alone in the shade of the tree.

While I could, I caught some z's. When you're one of only two police officers in a good-sized town, you learn to take your sleep when and where you can. I got a full half-hour of slumber in before the bell woke me up. My dream of running through a dark forest shattered like crystal and melted like snow in the summer sun.

I picked up my new lunchbox, more pleased than I'd ever admit at the heft of the thing, and carried it back to the doorway. As I got close to the school, though, something caught my eye. It was the little purple filly. Her hunched shoulders and folded ears displayed her discomfort as she was confronted by another earth pony filly, the same age but considerably larger. The glint in the other filly's eye told me everything I needed to know.

I sighed and went to move past them. It was none of my business. There are ponies like this at every school. Plum Pudding would have to learn how to deal with bullies by herself. I ignored the pleading look in her eye as I passed.

"So, so sad," the filly was saying with fake sympathy and a sneer. "First you had that ugly old thing your father gave you, and now you're stuck with a second-hoof, beat up wreck like that? Why don't you just ask your parents to buy you a new one? Oh, that's right. You can't. You're parents are too poor."

The bully snickered. In spite of my intentions, I'd stopped in the doorway, unnoticed by the bully. Plum Pudding's eyes were pulling at my heartstrings. I tried to ignore it. It was harder than I'd expected.

"I can't imagine what it's like, being so poor." The bully moved faster than I'd expected, snatching the lunchbox out of the purple filly's saddlebags and holding it up for inspection.

"Hey!" Plum protested. "You give that back, Vanilla Sweet!"

Another ironically named pony. Nothing sweet about this girl at all, that I could see. She had a light caramel coat and a mane the color and consistency of whipped cream. Her brown eyes contained nothing but the cruelty of the spoiled and unknowingly ignorant. Exactly the type of pony I couldn't stand. But I was a stallion. I don't get in fights with little fillies, no matter how much they might deserve a hoof across the face.

Or so I tried to convince myself. Plum Pudding had tried to snatch her lunchbox back, earning a swat across her muzzle from the other filly, knocking her back on her rump. Plum started crying. Vanilla Sweet looked startled at first, and I guessed this was the first time her bullying had spilled over into violence. The look in her eyes told me she liked it. She took a step towards the filly on the ground only to find me standing in her way. I didn't even remember moving.

"Oh, what now, crazy filly? You going to fight me for it?"

The gleam in those brown eyes told me she was up for a fight. Dammit, though, I wasn't. I could take her, if I had to, but I was a police officer and she was just a kid. Spoiled, dangerous, and needing a hoof across her rump, but still a kid.

"What? Aren't you going to do anything?" she asked, and gave me a shove.

I felt my eyes narrow. The anger boiled in me like coffee left on the burner too long. I wanted to tell this kid that she couldn't scare me. I'd seen things that she couldn't even imagine. Drunk and disorderly ponies, domestic situations, the occasional disagreement that ventured into outright violence, though those were thankfully rare. And that didn't even count all I'd seen just a couple weeks ago, back when I first ran through the patch of poison joke.

I'd been through the Everfree forest, in search of an escaped mental patient. I'd seen dark castles of ancient mysteries. I'd seen a possessed pony summon a swarm of needles and send them my way like angry hornets. I'd seen a demented sorceress. I'd seen some otherworldly thing burst through a mirror from another world.

And I'd seen Pinkie Pie. Nothing could top that.

There was nothing that this filly could possibly do could intimidate me. Nothing she could do to me would make me anything other than angry. I didn't tell her that. I didn't have to. It was plain on my face, my expression chiseled out of burning hot ice. I chewed my toothpick and stared straight into her eyes.

She blinked. Her will broke. She was just a filly, after all.

She tried to play it off as if she hadn't just been faced down. She tossed the pink lunchbox aside and said, "You two make great friends. The poor filly and the crazy filly who thinks she's a stallion."

Vanilla Sweet's 'nonchalant' walk back into the classroom was a little iffy, given the way she kept shooting glances back over her shoulder at me, as if she expected me to jump her from behind.

I heard Plum Pudding get up and, still sniffling a little, pick up her pink lunchbox.

"That was pretty cool," she said. I shrugged in response and started walking back into the classroom. Plum followed me, a little more closely than I was comfortable with. "Um. I was wondering. You don't seem to have any friends. Did... Could we be friends?"

The idea shook me more than I'd like to admit. I looked back at her hopeful, almost pleading face, and I once again cursed the poison joke that did this to me for what I had to do.

"Sorry, kid," I told her. I turned away as the hopeful look started to crumble. "I'm too old. I'm not interested in making friends with kids."

I sat down in my seat and faced forward. I tried to convince myself that Plum Pudding's sniffles were just the after-effects of being bullied. I almost managed to believe it.

The Schoolyard Code

School ended as it always did, with a sigh of relief. Finally, I was free to go. I stuffed my new lunchbox into my saddlebag and started out.

It wasn't going to be that easy, of course. I'd attracted the attention of the local bully, who'd had time to get her nerves back up after getting faced down earlier. New backbone or not, she came with an ally this time, a green unicorn filly with a brown mane.

"She don't look so tough," the green filly with the ivy cutie mark said, giving me the hairy eyeball. I brushed passed her and Vanilla Sweet, not bothering with a reply.

"She's not, Ivy," Vanilla Sweet scoffed. "She just thinks she is, what with that stupid story about having been a stallion."

"Oh, that's her?" I could hear the sneer in the unicorn's voice, but I elected to ignore it. The two of them fell in behind me, not letting up on the jabs that they were sure would wound my tender heart. "Sad. Maybe she lost her marbles because she's still a blank flank?"

Actually, that one did hurt a little. I have a cutie mark, or at least I had a cutie mark. When the poison joke hit me, it not only took away my sense of self, it took my mark away too. My old cutie mark was a pair of hoof-cuffs, which I'd received when I first realized that I wanted to be a police officer. I had no idea if I could get that mark back or not. I could only hope that I got it back when I got cured.

They'd crossed a line, though they hadn't realized it. They kept making little quips at my expense as I angled my way towards Miss Persimmon, who was standing by the gateway to the schoolyard, saying a happy farewell to all of her little students. The teasing behind me died down as we approached the teacher. Even bullies aren't dumb enough to bully with a teacher present.

It's called the Schoolyard Code. The average student would have just walked on by the teacher without saying anything, guaranteeing that they'd be harassed and teased for as long as the bullies maintained interest. For some reason, that was considered to be better than being a "snitch". I wasn't the average student. I pulled up sharply by the teacher, the two fillies behind me almost colliding with my back end. That'll teach them to pay attention.

"Miss Persimmon," I said, the politeness in my voice making her look at me as if I were a stranger. "These two fillies have been bullying me."

Her eyes went wide, whether from the accusation or from my lack of a confrontational attitude, I could only begin to guess. The fillies behind me began protesting their innocence, but I can talk louder than anypony when I set my mind to it.

"They've been calling me crazy and a blank flank since school let up. And, earlier, Vanilla Sweet took another filly's lunchbox."

"I gave it back!" Vanilla Sweet slapped a hoof over her muzzle when she realized that her protest doubled as a confession.

"That was after she hit the other filly in the muzzle and knocked her down," I continued relentlessly. Ivy, relatively innocent of any accusations so far, started backing away. She stopped when the teacher's glare pinned her to the ground.

I noticed now that we were gathering quite a crowd. Plum Pudding was there, her eyes wide in disbelief as I did the unthinkable: telling a teacher.

"Are you making this up, Cinnamon Swirl?" the teacher asked me.

"You don't really know me," I told her evenly. "I know you think my stories about being a stallion before are all made up. But, whatever, that's not even important. One thing that I would never do, ever, is lie to get another pony in trouble. Everything I just told you is the truth."

Miss Persimmon raised a hoof, silencing the protests from the two fillies behind me.

"Who did she hit?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous. In spite of myself, I was really starting to like this mare.

I was about to answer when I caught Plum's eye. She was shaking her head, panic in her eyes. I sighed. "I think the filly in question doesn't want to get the bullies madder at her by speaking up. She didn't know I was going to do this, and she probably wants me to keep her name out of it."

The teacher was no dummy. She caught where my eyes were going. She saw Plum Pudding shaking her head. She saw the bruise on her muzzle and the panic and shame in her eyes. She looked back at me and nodded. "I understand. I won't force her to speak up, if she's afraid of being hit again. I'll take your word for it."

"What?!" Vanilla Sweet seemed ready to blow, at first. Then a thought occurred in her dim little filly brain, and she got all smug. "You can't actually do that! I have a right to face my accuser! It's, like, the law and junk! You have to let me go, otherwise!"

"That's only if you're arrested and charged with a crime," I told her. Now I was the one having trouble keeping the smugness out of my voice. I think I managed, if just barely. "Though, I suppose hitting another pony does count as assault. If you really want to face your accuser, we could go that route."

My words landed in the playground like a block of lead. Vanilla Sweet was waving her hooves, protesting that she didn't want that, didn't want that at all. Ivy looked like she was near to tears. I can't blame her. She'd just tagged along for a little "harmless" team bullying, and suddenly ponies were talking about charging for assault and other big-league stuff.

"Quiet!" Miss Persimmon's voice cut across the schoolyard, leaving it quiet enough to hear a pin drop. She pointed a hoof at the two bullies. "All right. You two, back in the classroom, now.. We've got a few things to talk about, and I'll need to write up notes to send home to your parents."

"But..!" is all Vanilla Sweet got out before the teacher's glare cut her back down to size. The two of them slunk off back towards the school, ears and tails drooping low.

"Do you need me to stick around too, ma'am?" I asked.

Miss Persimmon was surprised. "I... No. That's all right, dear. I'll talk to you tomorrow to make sure that what they tell me matches up with your version of things. I want to make sure nothing gets left out." I nodded and started walking away. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention!" she called after me. I hesitated, then waved over my shoulder.

"You got it," I said.

I'd only been walking less than a minute before I realized that I'd picked up a shadow.

"What's up?" I said, turning to face her.

Plum Pudding squeaked in surprise.

"I... um... I can't believe you told on them. That was so brave!"

"Why was it brave?" I asked. "Keeping the students in line is part of a teacher's job. Only a bad teacher would ignore bullying when she had her nose rubbed in it."

Miss Persimmon was many things, but she wasn't a bad teacher. I'd known more or less how things would go down before I even talked to her.

"Yeah, but... aren't you afraid it's going to get worse, now?"

It was going to be worse. I knew for a fact that I wasn't done with those two, not yet. But that didn't matter. You do what you have to do, then you pay the price for it.

"There's not much they can do to me," I said. "If they hit me, I go back to the teacher. If they tease me and it's bad enough, I go back to the teacher. And, after having been caught bullying once, it's going to go even harder on them the next time."

"Yeah, but..."

"It shouldn't have been me, though."

That caught her flat-hooved. She looked at me, confused.

"I mean, you should have told the teacher right away. You're the one who got clobbered."

"I couldn't! I mean, what if—"

I stopped walking and faced her, cutting her off neatly mid-sentence. "'What if', what? What if she hit you? She already did that. You don't let anypony raise a hoof to you without consequences, Plum Pudding. That's a sure way to end up a doormat the rest of your life."

"So, what?" She seemed miffed, now. "I should have hit her back? She would have pulverized me!"

"No. You do what I did. It's Miss Persimmon's job to take care of things like this." I started walking away, shaking my head. "I just don't get why you wouldn't do that."

She simmered behind me for a little while. "That's easy for you to say!" she said, mad as a wet cat. She trotted up next to me, still steaming. "You're grown-up, really. I'm just a filly! It's not so easy!"

I grinned at her. "Thanks, kid."

Confusion skittered across her face from the sudden change in conversational direction. "For what?"

"You believe me when I say I'm a grown-up."

"You have to be," she said resolutely. "You're just too weird to be a normal filly."

I couldn't help it. I just laughed. The first time I'd really laughed in days. After a minute, she started laughing too. I felt a part of myself give in. In spite of myself, I'd gained a friend. I could only hope that she knew what she was in for.

All roads lead to home

The school was a short distance away from the center of town, a mile or so along some dusty country roads. In the winter there were covered wagons pulled by a small team of stallions to keep all the little kiddies warm and safe. In the late fall, though, it was nice to just walk.

For some reason, Plum decided to walk it with me. This gave the two of us plenty of time to get acquainted. Or, I should say, for Plum Pudding to let me know about every single thought that ran through her head.

In short order, I learned that the filly’s favorite type of juice was grape, favorite color was purple, favorite ice cream was vanilla fudge ripple, favorite song was Sapphire Shore’s “Love on the Road”, and her favorite hoofball team was the Hoofington Ironhooves, along with a bunch of other things I can’t remember. To be fair to me, it was hard to follow her as she gabbled excitedly. All of that took about ten minutes. I don’t think she took a single breath in that entire time.

When she got done talking about herself, she started in on me.

“So, why be a police pony?” she asked, looking over at me as we walked in the late afternoon sun.

"My dad was a cop," I told her, but he was much more than that, to me. He was my hero. "Him being a cop made me want to be a cop," I continued on saying. I didn't mention how that decision almost broke my mother's heart.

“Neat,” she said, then stopped cold. “Hey, look at that bird!”

I looked where she pointed. “It’s blue,” I noted.

“A bluejay,” she said. “Those are pretty.”

She watched the blue bird hop around on a branch for a few seconds. I'm not sure why I decided to stay there with her, but I did. When the bird finally flew off she started walking, immediately starting with the questions again.

“So, how’d you run into that... what was it?”

“Poison joke?”

“Yeah, that stuff.”

I wasn’t sure how much she was listening to me. Her ears swiveled around constantly as she looked around. I shrugged and answered anyway.

“My partner and I chased an escaped mental patient into the Everfree forest. It’s a dangerous place. I ran into a patch of it.”

“And, ‘poof!’, you turned into a filly?” she asked.

“Not right away. Happened overnight. I woke up the next morning a lot shorter and pinker.”

She looked at me with the frank curiosity of the young, who hadn't learned yet that it's rude to stare. "What did you look like as a stallion, anyway?"

"Pretty ugly, kid." True enough. They say that mares love a stallion in uniform, but even in mine I'd never gotten much more than a passing glance.

She giggled. “Why did it turn you into a filly, though?”

“I was told it's got a really bad sense of humor. Probably decided that turning the big, ugly, gruff-voiced stallion into a little filly was a real hoot.”

“You don’t have a gruff voice,” she said with blatantly false innocence. “You have a cute little filly voice.”

I stopped walking to scowl at her. She grinned impishly back at me. "You wanna hear the story or not?" She gave an eager nod, so I continued.

“Turns out there’s a cure back in Ponyville. A certain herbal bubble bath, I hear. Problem is, I forgot that my mom was visiting me.”

“Why was that a problem?” she asked. She was looking at more birds, I noticed, but she was following the conversation well enough. I gave a mental shrug and kept on telling my story.

“My mom had shown up a couple of days before I left for the Everfree forest. She wanted me to quit the job, and I’d finally agreed to retire.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked. “I thought you liked being a police pony!”

“More than anything, kid.” I said, feeling a twinge in my chest as I said it. I'd gotten my mark when I'd decided to be a cop, after all. “But she wore me down. Said she’s already lost a husband to the force, didn’t want to lose a son, too.”

I took another three steps before I noticed that Plum had stopped walking. I looked back and saw her staring at me with big, watery eyes.

“Your daddy died?” she asked quietly.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, then pressed her lips together in a quivering line. I felt a surge of alarm as I realized she was doing everything she could to stop from bawling.

“It was a long time ago, kid,” I said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “Before you were born, even.”

“Still, that must have made you sad,” she said, sniffling a little.

“Well, yeah.”

We walked together for a few minutes, not talking. Plum had her eyes on the ground in front of her hooves. I had my mind on a chocolate-colored stallion who’d been my entire world when I was a colt.

"Um. I bet you made a great police officer,” Plum offered eventually, breaking the silence.

There wasn't any sarcasm in her voice, at least not that I could hear. I felt a little glow of pride as I nodded. "I was. I'd been made a sergeant pretty fast after I'd gotten assigned. That wasn't good enough for my mom, though. She kept hounding me about it, and I finally agreed to give it up, find something else to do with my life."

A familiar surge of emotion almost overwhelmed me, then, but it was something I was used to. I stomped it back down like I always did and kept on talking.

"When I suddenly vanished, my mom assumed the worst. That I'd died, or that I was in the hospital. She spent two days trying to track me down before she ran into my partner Terrace and demanded to know what happened to me. The rookie spilled the beans. It was a dream come true for my mom. She'd always wanted a filly."

"Why?" Plum asked.

I hesitated. I almost told her the whole story. "She just did," I said instead.

I was actually shaken by how close I'd come to telling the filly everything. I hadn't told anypony that in... well, ever. It's nopony else's business.

"My mom found me while I was on my way to the spa. She dragged me back to my apartment, packed a few of my things, and hauled me off." I didn't tell Plum about the frilly dress she'd forced me into. I don't like to even think about the frilly dress. That's the first thing I went for when my mom and I came up with our Deal.

"And then what?" Plum asked. I shrugged.

“She took me home. Enrolled me in school. Treats me like her daughter instead of her son.” My sentences were coming clipped and short, now, my anger starting to rise. I wrestled it back down. None of my situation was this kid’s fault. I refused to blow my top at her. “If anypony ever bothered to check, they’d probably find the records from my first trip through the school, years ago.”

Plum skipped ahead of me, spun around, and started walking backwards while facing me. It was weird, to say the least. Made conversation a little easier, though.

“I’d ditch school, if I were you,” she said. “I mean, I wasn’t ever even an adult, and I’d ditch, if I thought I could get away with it.

I let loose a short bark of laughter, even though I wasn’t feeling very funny. “My mom and me, we have a Deal,” I told her. The Deal. The only thing that kept the peace in our house, though it was a peace made out of crystal and ice. A good blow could shatter it.

“‘My mom and I’,” she corrected, still walking backwards. “Maybe you should stay in school after all. You seem to need it more than I do.”

This kid... I scowled into her fake-innocent grin, but I think she could tell that my heart wasn’t really in it. “Maybe.”

“What’s the deal about?”

"The Deal is, in exchange for certain considerations—” like, never having to wear a frilly dress again, at least in public, though I couldn’t tell her that “—I allow my mom to braid my hair and send me to school. Doesn’t stop me from trying to fix my problem, though.”

“I’d run away,” she said. “Run back to Ponyville and get the cure.”

I barked a humorless laugh. “Tried that. My mom reports me missing, and the policeponies drag me back before I get more than an hour away.”

Plum frowned, deep in thought as she stared at the dirt road between us, all the while walking backwards. I was actually kind of impressed. She didn’t veer off to the side or anything. She looked up suddenly, a glint in her eye.

“Sleepover!” she crowed happily.

“What?”

“You should come over to my house for a sleepover!”

“Uh... I don’t think...”

“Only, it won’t really be a sleepover. We’ll walk to Ponyville together! Your mom won’t know you’re missing. It’ll be fun!”

Hope and worry warred in my chest. I had to get to Ponyville, yes. But I didn’t want to get Plum in trouble, or drag her along. “I don’t know, kid. I’ll think about it.”

She pouted, then stepped aside, turning as I passed her to face the same way as me. She started walking by my side once again.

“I think it’s a good idea,” she muttered.

“It is,” I told her. “But it’s something we should think about. Plus, I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“Pffft!” she said, waving a hoof. “I get in trouble all the time.”

I looked at her blankly. “I doubt that, kid.”

“It’s true! Just last night, my mom got mad at me because I refused to clean my room. She took my dessert away!”

“You’re a rebel, kid.”

I wasn't expecting the shoulder in my ribs. I stumbled halfway into the nearby ditch and looked back up at the filly who'd shoved me, my anger on a low boil. I opened my mouth to let her know exactly how I felt about that when she cut me off with an annoyed voice of her own.

“You could call me Plum, you know,” she said. “You know, if you ever get tired of saying the word ‘kid’, I mean.”

What can I say? She had a point. I nodded and got back up on the road.

“Or,” she continued, ”if you don’t like ‘Plum Pudding’, you can call me by my true name.”

“Which is?”

I stumbled to a halt, almost falling on my muzzle as she lept back in front of me. Sweeping a hoof out in front of her grandly, she intoned, “Her Royal Magnificence Princess Plumerina de Pudding-ah. The First,” she said, stomping her hoof down definitively. “Of Canterlot,” she added pompously, arching an eyebrow.

She glared down her muzzle at me with a haughty eye, her neck and shoulders stiff. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. She had the look down and everything. She put on a mask of mock offense for a couple seconds but she couldn’t keep it going. The mask cracked when she snickered. We started walking again.

“Alright, Princess,” I said. “I’ll try to stop calling you ‘kid’ all the time.”

“That’s all I can ask, my most faithful knight,” she said generously.

“I’m a knight, now?” I asked, amused.

“Why not? It’s kind of like a police pony, isn’t it?”

With the way my emotions jumbled up when she said that, the best I could manage to say was, “I suppose so.”

We walked along in companionable silence for a few minutes longer. Plum seemed happy, humming a little tune that I recognized eventually as her favorite Sapphire Shores song. I was happy to just walk quietly along. It had been nicer than I liked to admit, just talking to another pony. I hadn’t had much of a chance for just casual conversation lately. Call it a side-effect to everypony thinking you’re crazy.

Downtown Hoofington loomed up a few minutes later and we walked into town. I noticed that Plum had gone quiet and glanced over. The filly seemed to be deep in thought about something or other, a look of intense concentration on her face as she stared at the ground in front of her. I considered asking what was on her mind but decided not to. She’d tell me if she wanted. It wasn’t my place to pry.

Soon enough, we walked up outside a picket fence that had once been white, the paint flaking off, and the fence itself leaning drunkenly over the front of the lawn. The gate on the fence had seen better days as well, hanging slightly crooked and missing several boards.

I stopped walking, and Plum kept going for a few distracted seconds before realizing that I wasn’t still with her. She stopped and looked back, frowning with that same look of concentration she’d shown before.

“This is me,” I told her, and I cringed a little as she looked at the old family home. It had seen better days, that’s for sure.

“This is your house?” she asked, walking back up to me. The frown on her face faded a little.

“Yeah. Welcome to Maison de Swirl,” I said, waving a hoof grandly at the ill-kept lawn, making a joke out of it so she would know how little the run-down state of the house bothered me.

“Can I come in?” Plum asked. For some reason, she sounded really eager about it.

“What? No. What?” I shook my head. “Why would you want to come in?” I asked the frowning filly. Her eyes widened, and that's when I noticed that her back legs were dancing a little. A very particular and recognizable type of dance.

“Please let me come in?” she asked, and I realized that what I’d taken for a look of intense concentration on the filly’s face was actually a result of too many juice boxes over lunch.

I wanted to tell her no. I was desperate not to let her in the house. But looking into her desperate eyes, I couldn’t be that cruel. The gate squealed angrily as I pushed it open.

“All right,” I said, and the filly zoomed ahead of me and resumed her dancing by the front door. “Just... Don’t... The house is kind of a mess,” I finished lamely, taking my keys out of my saddlebag.

“Don’t care if it’s on fire,” Plum said, still dancing. I got the door open, and the filly squeaked and ran into my house, stopping only to ask where the bathroom was.

“Follow the path,” I said flatly. “You can’t miss it. It’s on your right.”

Plum Pudding took off, using odd little mincing steps. She went between the boxes and stacks of newspapers piled up as high as an adult pony in the foyer and more boxes and various items packing the hallway. A few seconds later I heard the bathroom door close with a bang. I hope she made it in time. I didn’t feel like breaking out a mop.

I looked around at the cluttered and dusty interior of my family home, feeling a familiar tightness in my chest.

“I’m home,” I whispered into the gloom.

Home is where the heart aches

“I’m home,” I said again, slightly louder this time.

“Cinnamon?” I flinched at the sound of the voice from my mom’s craft room. “Sweetie, is that you?”

So much for hoping she’d be out.

“Yeah,” I called back, shucking off my saddle bag. It thunked loudly when it hit the floor, thanks to the heavy metal lunchbox. “I brought...” I considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I brought a friend home, is that all right?”

There was a heavy silence from the other room, followed by a rustle and a grunt as my mom got up from her chair, and I figured she’d been knitting. She always knitted when she was in that chair. Her hoofsteps came closer, and then she came into view.

The years hadn’t been as kind to my mom as I might have hoped. The lines on her face were settling deeper every year, and her mane was no longer the pure brown I remembered from my youth. Grey had sneaked in when I wasn't looking. Her watery blue eyes looked out warily from her cream-colored face, searching for my friend and becoming confused at not seeing her there.

“A friend?” she asked carefully as she looked around. “A... a colt?”

“Filly,” I said.

As some of the fear faded from her face, I realized that she’d been worried that I might have brought home someone from my previous life, maybe even someone who could help me. My anger surged a little, but I managed to keep it capped.

“A filly...” she said. Then she blinked and looked around, and I could see the dismay in her eyes. “I wished you’d given me some warning! I could have cleaned up some of this mess!”

I glanced around. Boxes were piled all around, with papers sandwiched in between and small knick-knacks piled on top. Everything from cardboard tubes to small scraps of wrapping paper were scattered everywhere. Things most ponies would have tossed. I could have given her a week’s notice and it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. I didn’t say that, though.

“It wasn’t planned,” I said. “She needed to use the bathroom.”

“Oh,” my mom said, just before the toilet flushed. We stood together in tense anticipation as we heard the water in the sink run, Plum happily humming a tune to herself as she washed and dried her hooves. The door opened, and we heard the filly come out.

“Hello?” she called out uncertainly in the distance.

“Still over by the front door,” I called back.

“Okay!”

As her hoofsteps came closer, I spared a quick glance at my mom. Her face was a frozen rictus, the grin she’d plastered on looking near-maniacal.

“Relax!” I hissed at her. She jumped, looked down at me, and then looked back up just as Plum rounded the corner, managing a much more natural looking smile just as the filly came into view.

“Hi!” the filly chirped. “My name is Plum Pudding, it’s nice to meet you!”

“Hello, dear,” my mom replied. “So nice to meet a friend of Cinnamon’s. She’s had a hard time making friends in school!”

“Well, he—” I caught her eye and shook my head, then nodded towards my mom. The filly took the hint. “I mean, she and I talked a little bit today. She seems nice enough, once you get past her grumpiness.”

My mom surprised me with her laugh. She almost sounded like herself again.

“She can be a little grumpy, can't she?” I batted away my mom’s hooves as she tried to pat me on the head. Plum, the traitor, giggled at my humiliation.

“Yeah, but she’s brave," Plum said. "She stood up to a bully for me.”

I flinched as my mother’s eyes widened, and the catch of her breath told me that this was exactly the wrong thing to say. She spun and grabbed my muzzle, turning my face towards her.

“My baby got into a fight?!” Her voice was loud, near-panicked as she examined my face for bruises. Plum waved a hoof frantically, getting my mom’s attention.

“No, no, no!” Plum was practically jumping up and down in her eagerness to explain. “She didn’t fight anypony! She just told the bully to leave me alone, and then told the teacher.” Mom was looking at her doubtfully, still grasping my muzzle between her hooves, in spite of my best efforts to free myself. “I promise,” Plum added, sitting on the floor and drawing an X over her heart with a hoof. “No fighting.”

“You have a bruised muzzle,” Mom said to her. Plum nodded.

“The bully hit me, but it was by accident. Cinnamon stopped it before it got bad. She just talked her into leaving me alone.”

“And then she talked to a teacher? Well. That’s good, I suppose.” My muzzle was finally freed, but only so my mother could hug me tight to her chest. “But you listen here, young lady! I don’t want you getting into fights! Bad... Bad things happen... when... No fighting!”

Ah, jeeze. She was crying.

“I don't like fighting,” I told her quickly, trying to squirm out of her grasp. I managed to get free, finally. “Believe it or not, I don’t like pain," I added, as I took a couple steps back from my mother. "I already went to the teacher once. If that bully messes with me again, I won’t fight, I’ll just tell on her again. It’s no big deal.”

Mom sniffled but finally let me go. “Make sure that you do.”

I hate awkward moments, but my life had been full of them recently. With Plum there watching, I’d rate this one at least a seven out of ten for awkwardness. That moment ended and a new one started when my mom saw something metallic sticking out of my dropped saddle bag.

“What’s that?” she asked, then pulled it out with her hooves. “A lunchbox? Cinnamon?”

I sighed. There was no getting away from it, now.

“I traded my old one for Plum’s,” I said wearily. Her eyes narrowed. Plum, like many kids, instinctively recognized incoming Mom Trouble and took a couple of quick steps back.

Smart kid.

“Cinnamon Sugar Swirl, what is the meaning of this?” Mom said, her voice crisp and angry. I flinched at the use of my full name and hoped that Plum had either not heard it or would forget it.

“I propose a new addition to the Deal,” I said quickly. It was either that, or I get another pretty pink lunchbox for school the next day. That would be terrible. I’d have to start wrecking it from scratch.

My mom eyed me warily. “I’m listening.”

“I keep the lunchbox,” I said. “As-is. In exchange, I’ll agree to stop trashing my room every night, provided you keep it like it was when I left this morning. No more added frills.”

“Counter proposal,” my mom said. “You keep this lunchbox, you stop trashing the room, and I get to decorate this box so it looks a little nicer.”

I winced at the suggestion. My mom was a craft-mare. She made things, usually regular things that mares of a certain age really loved, but that younger ponies could be kind of ambivalent about. Things like knitting, cross-stitch, crochet, stuff like that.

But she also made hoof-made items, like picture frames and "jewelry", as she called it. And I knew for a fact that she had several huge bags of sequins and fake gemstones that she’d been dying to find a use for. That dented-up box would end up looking like something that should be hanging from the ceiling of a nightclub. I'd rather have the pink.

“No deal,” I said. “New proposal. I keep the box, as-is, and...” I sighed. This was going to hurt. “And you can decorate my room however you want. I won’t trash it.” Nopony saw my room but me, but everypony at school would see my lunch box. If one of them had to be all girly, I knew which I preferred.

Mom’s eyes widened and she squealed with glee. “Done!” she said. We shook hooves to seal the deal, and that’s when I noticed that Plum was staring at the two of us with wide, confused eyes.

This awkward moment rated a nine out of ten. Easily.

“Uh...” I said, trying to figure out what to do about the little purple filly. My mom wasn’t quite done, though.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to spruce this up, just a little, though?” she asked me. “I mean, okay, no pink, I’m assuming, but I can at least get the dings and scratches out. Maybe re-paint it?”

“No!” I barked, then throttled down on my emotions again. I’d been doing that a lot, recently. I started again in a more normal tone. “No. I like it as-is. It’s fine.”

“It was my dad’s!” Plum piped in cheerily. My mother jumped a little, then turned to blink at her in confusion. I think she’d forgotten the filly was there.

“O-oh, is it?” My mom stuttered. “I mean, it was?”

“Yup!” Plum said with a grin. “He’s an explorer! Only, he’s not doing a lot of exploring right now on account of being kind of sick.”

I blinked. All the things Plum had told me on the walk over, and she never mentioned her dad was sick?

“What happened?” I blurted out before I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to care.

“Bit by a poisonous spider in Zebrica,” Plum said, her smile slipping a couple of notches before she ratcheted it back up and added firmly, “But he’ll be fine! All he needs is a bit more rest, and he’ll be fine.”

Faced by this level of unbridled optimism, all my mother and I could do was nod and agree.

“Aaanyway,” Plum drawled, looking around the house, much to the discomfort of me and my mom, “I should get home. I told my mom I’d be back right after school.”

“Oh... you don’t want to stay a while?” Mom asked hopefully. “It would... I mean, I think it would be nice of Cinnamon had some filly friends stay over and play a while. It would be nice. I could make snacks!”

“Oh, gosh, thanks, but maybe later?” Plum said, still smiling warmly. I didn't know how she managed it. “I really should get home. I’ll check with my mom and see if it’s okay for me to stay later tomorrow, okay?”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Plum replied.

“Well... if you have to go, then you have to go,” my mom said, though she sounded a little sad when she said it. “Oh! I’ll make sure you have some nice snacks after school tomorrow!”

“That sounds great!” Plum said, as she made her way out the door. "I'll see you tomorrow!" I tagged along, walking her back to the gate.

“Thanks,” I said to her as I opened the gate.

Plum looked at me with curiosity in her eyes. “For what?”

“For playing along,” I muttered. “And... Well, for not saying anything about how messy the house was.”

“Well, the house is a bit cluttered,” Plum said, shrugging, “but I’ve seen worse. You should stop by my house some time!”

She giggled, and I dredged up a hollow smile from somewhere in response.

“Besides,” the purple filly said, “I’m your friend, and friends have each other’s backs, right?”

My mouth hung open for a couple of seconds before I managed to close it. “Right.”

“Well, I really do have to get going. See you tomorrow, Cinnamon!” Plum said, waving as she walked away. “And thanks for the new lunch box!”

I waved back, watching until the little filly was out of sight.

“Friends have each other’s backs...” I said, once the filly was out of sight.

I turned and went back into my old, run-down home. For some reason, my hoof-steps felt a little lighter than before. And, for the first time since I'd gotten back to town, I actually found myself not hating the idea of school in the morning.

Ain’t that the damnedest thing?

Schooltime Blues

My teeth crunched into the wood of my pencil as another piece of crumpled up paper bounced off of the back of my head. It fell near-silently to the ground to join the others, hitting the floor with a dry "tap" sound. Behind me I could hear Plum let out a strangled squeak of outrage and then mutter something darkly to herself.

Miss Persimmon heard her and turned around to see what was going on. She gaped in surprise, not at me but at the mess on the floor by my desk. Wads of crumpled paper lay there, scattered around the floor like dead leaves. The teacher’s forest-green eyes narrowed as she looked up from the mess and stared directly into my face.

“Cinnamon Swirl, did you drop all those papers?”

I took the chewed-up end of my pencil out from between my clenched teeth before I answered her.

“No, ma’am,” I said. The calm of my voice was thanks to me wrestling my anger to the ground and standing roughly on its neck until it shut up. “Somepony’s been throwing this stuff at me for the last ten minutes.”

“It’s true, Miss Persimmon!” Plum Pudding said. The schoolmare turned her stare on her and the filly blushed and sunk back into her seat. The burnt-orange mare was a real stickler for not talking until called upon. “Sorry, I forgot,” Plum mumbled, raising her hoof too late.

“If this mess isn’t yours, then who’s is it?”

"I can't—" I started saying, but I was cut off.

“Vanilla Sweet!” Plum piped up, once again forgetting to wait until called on. Miss Persimmon shot another glare at her and she cringed back in her seat.

“Was not!” Vanilla Sweet protested.

“Who else would do it?” Plum asked, turning around to yell at her. It was pretty surprising. This filly wouldn't have said boo to the bully a week ago.

“You didn’t see me do it, so you better not say I did!” the bigger filly shouted back.

“Who else would be that big of a jerk?” Plum said, getting halfway up out of her seat. If she’d been facing the other way, the look on the teacher’s face would have been more than enough to make her keep her muzzle shut.

“That’s enough!” the mare shouted, and both fillies shut their traps and sat back down quickly. “Vanilla Sweet, did you throw these papers at Cinnamon Swirl?”

“No, ma’am! I would never do such a thing,” she said, her voice full of more false sweetness than a diet cola.

“I’m not sure I believe you, Miss Sweet,” Miss Persimmon said. Her horn glowed, and the papers lifted themselves up and floated in front of her face, where they de-crumpled and smoothed out. All of the pages were blank, torn raggedly out of a notebook. “If I check your desk, am I going to find the notebook that these came out of?”

“You can check my desk if you want, ma’am,” Vanilla Sweet replied. I stopped the derisive snort before it burst out of me. Stupid mistake. You never give permission for a search. And the smug false confidence in her voice would have been a lot more believable if it weren’t for the quaver that gave her nervousness away.

“I think I’ll do that,” Miss Persimmon said. The whole class watched as the teacher went through the filly bully’s desk, pulling out books, notebooks and school supplies. Nothing matched the papers from the floor.

Vanilla Sweet looked like she was ready to start gloating... until the teacher’s eye noticed the corner of a notepad sticking out from underneath the filly’s rump.

“Stand up, please.”

“What?” Vanilla sure as hay wasn’t sounding smug anymore. “I... I don’t...”

“You’re sitting on a notebook. I want to look at it,” Miss Persimmon said. “Get. Up.” When the filly still didn’t move, the mare took another step forward and stared directly into her eyes while Vanilla Sweet shrunk back. ”Now.”

A tense silence passed before the filly came to her hooves, moving as if she were being dragged. The notebook she’d been sitting on was a perfect match for the papers that had hit me in the head. The ragged ends matched up where the pagers had been torn out.

Awkward hushed giggling from the colts and fillies in the room mixed with angry words from the teacher, skewering the filly as she stood there, her face crumpled into a mix of shame, resentment and sullen anger. When Miss Persimmon ordered her to the principal’s office, she packed up her school bag with stiff, quick jerks, stalked out of the room, and closed the door with force just shy of a slam.

The orange schoolmare sighed into the ensuing awkward silence before finally returning to the front of the class. On the way, she dumped the crinkled papers into the waste bin, and then she picked up her lesson where she'd left off.

It was a strange feeling not being the one in trouble for once.

~~*~~

Lunchtime came slower than it should have, and was passing by faster than it had any right to.

The cool air of the afternoon was invigorating in a way that the recently-past summer could never manage, and I let the smells of the fall fill my lungs as I walked towards my tree. Beside me, Plum chattered happily away as we walked.

It had been a weird day so far. The teacher had somepony else to focus on, the weather was perfect, and I felt in a strangely good mood. I think I even almost managed a smile at some odd fact that Plum told me about bird plumage when my mood suddenly shifted south.

Vanilla Sweet, scowling with bitter resentment, was standing at the base of the tree where I always ate my lunch. Next to her was her friend Ivy, the nervous-looking unicorn from a different class. I stopped. Our eyes met. She stared at me, hot anger crawling over her features.

Dammit. If I went over there now, there’d be no avoiding trouble. I knew the look of a pony spoiling for a fight. I'd seen it often enough. A pony will feel like they've been pushed too far, and the only thing that matters is making sure that whatever target they settle on gets hurt, and as much as possible.

On the other hoof, if I walked away, the filly would think she could just take whatever she wanted by laying claim to it. I was still debating my options when Plum saw the two standing there.

“What are they doing there?” the purple filly demanded to know. I reflected on how much Plum had changed since we’d known each other. Even in just the last week or so, she’d gained a lot more confidence and self-assurance.

I made my decision right then. Her new confidence was a good thing, in my opinion. But she didn't know her limits, and that could get her hurt. Here she was, ready to go up against somepony looking for a fight and who didn't care about the consequences. Without the muscle or skill to back up her resolve, the only thing her new confidence would end getting her was her flank kicked. Badly.

I turned away. Plum gaped at me as if she didn’t know me. “We don’t own the tree,” I said loud enough for my voice to carry to the two fillies watching us. It was a peace offering, in a way. I didn't expect to be taken up on it, but it didn't hurt to offer. “We can eat somewhere else.”

Plum protested loudly until I shushed her, whispering quickly into her ear. “We go over there, we’re getting in a fight,” I said quietly. “She’s wants one, and I think Ivy would back her up.”

“We can take ‘em,” Plum said stoutly. I almost laughed at the thought of sweet little hyperactive Plum Pudding getting into a knock-down drag-out fight. I swallowed the laugh back. I owed her better than that. And the thought of seeing her face all bruised up made my heart lurch.

“That’s not the point,” I said. “Look, Plum, there are times you can’t avoid fighting. But when you can avoid it, you do.”

“I don’t like being pushed around,” Plum said darkly.

“Nopony does,” I said. “But if we got into a fight with her now, do you think that would end it?”

Plum considered that. It didn’t take her long to reach the right answer. “No,” she said reluctantly. “Even if we beat her, she’d just come back and start another fight later.”

“Right. There’s a difference between standing up for yourself and fighting to protect your pride. Look, there’s a nice spot over by the swingset. How about there?”

Plum grumbled, but finally relented.

“And, hey,” I said to her, waiting for her to look up at me. “She can take our spot, but only you can decide if that’s going to make you miserable all through lunch.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, then laughed. “You’re right,” she said. “Fine, then. I’ll let her have our favorite spot, and she can just sit there in the shade, being all angry while I have fun with my friend.”

“You grow wise, young one.”

She shoved me hard with her shoulder, but she laughed while she did it.

We sat down, the colts and fillies nearby filling the air with the sounds of laughter and playing. After a few seconds, Plum started another monologue. I envied her ability to get over being upset so quickly.

I kept up just enough interested noises and noncommittal grunting to keep her talking, but I kept my eye open. Sure enough, after a few minutes Vanilla Sweet came looking for us, probably intending to even whatever score she thought we had.

She saw us and started walking quickly our way, Ivy trailing behind her like a puppy being dragged to the vet. Things could have gotten on the violent side, but I didn’t pick this spot randomly. I met her eyes as she stalked up to us like an angry dog. Once I had her attention, I pointed with a hoof, indicating a direction back over her right shoulder.

Vanilla was almost blind with anger, but she still had enough sense in her to recognize a friendly warning. She looked in the direction I’d pointed and froze. Miss Persimmon was watching the tableau unfold with a scowl of her own. She’d already taken a couple of steps towards us to head off the cream-colored filly but had stopped at the same time Vanilla had.

The bully turned her glower back on me. I stared impassively back. Ivy, having spotted the teacher, was whispering rapidly into her friend's ear, no doubt urging the course of sanity.

All of this was just a delaying tactic. I knew that all I was doing was buying time. The only question was, could I buy enough time for Vanilla to cool down before she found either me or Plum alone in a spot where the teacher couldn’t see us?

She quivered with a moment of indecision, then turned on a back hoof and walked away, towing Ivy along behind her. Miss Persimmon relaxed, then gave me a wry grin, which I gave right back to her. Another lunch day gone by with no bloodshed, and Plum was still chattering away, completely unaware of how close we’d come to sudden violence.

All in all, I’m willing to call that a win.

~~*~~

“So, we’re stopping by your place to pick up anything you need, and then over to my house, right?”

“What?” I asked her. She rolled her purple eyes at me.

“The sleepover?” she said. She groaned with exasperation when I didn’t say anything. “We talked about this over lunch! I said, we should have a sleepover at my place tonight, and you said sure!”

“I did?” I asked, surprised. Plum glared at me as she packed up her schoolbag.

“You never listen,” she groused. I guessed that she probably took a grunt of mine that I'd intended to be noncommittal and took it to mean that I'd love to come over for a sleepover. Maybe I should start paying more attention to what she says.

“I’m famous for it,” I replied. The look on Plum’s face informed me that my wit went unappreciated. “I really agreed to a sleepover?”

“Yes! You did! Finally!”

“Oh.” I thought about it, then shrugged. I’d been over to Plum’s house once or twice in the last week, though not for long. Even though she was actually a filly, her bedroom was a lot less frilly than mine. “Fine, if my mom says I can.”

Plum’s cheerful acceptance of that statement would explain why she didn’t notice my flinch and the sudden drop in my mood.

A shock of ice water had thrilled down my spine when I realized what I'd said. I actually said that I’d have to ask my mom. That I'd need permission to do something. It had come out automatically. And that shook me, right down to my core.

The last week had been... well, it was the least grim week of my life since I’d been changed. Things had been better. I wouldn’t say that I’d been happy, but I can’t deny that I hadn’t been as lonely. Plum had filled that void, gave me somepony to spend time with, to talk to. I realized with a cold clarity that I hadn’t thought about getting the cure for almost two days.

“Something wrong?” Plum asked, coming down off of cloud nine long enough to notice my mood. I shook my head, my braided mane tossing as I did so.

“Nothing easy to fix,” I said. “But yeah. Let’s stop by my house, and I’ll tell my mom we’re having a sleepover.”

And I would tell her, I decided. None of this “asking” horseapples. I was staying somewhere else for the night, and that was final.

My mental assertion of independence would have felt a lot better if it were for something other than a filly’s sleepover.

~~*~~

My mom gave in to the whole sleepover idea with a lot less resistance than I’d expected. Going in all ready for a fight like I’d been and not meeting any resistance was a little like having a rug yanked out from under your hooves.

“That’s fine, dear,” she’d told me with a smile. “Just make sure you behave yourself, and be a good girl.”

I don’t know what my face looked like after that, but Plum found it hilarious. I dropped my saddlebag in my bedroom, with the Plum tagging along. She took one look inside and whooped with laughter, and that's when I realized that this was the first time she'd actually seen my bedroom.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “Enjoy yourself.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she said, trying to straighten her face out. “It’s just... I mean...” She spread her front hooves in front of her, taking in the whole room. "Wow."

I can’t honestly blame her for her reaction. It looked like a cake factory had exploded inside of a fabric store moments after a collision with an out-of-control wagon full of plush animals. Mom had gone all out with decorating. New, pale pink carpeting hugged my hooves. The furniture was all white with gold accents, and none of it looked sturdy enough to handle any kind of use. My dresser had a hoof-made doily on it. A doily. And that wasn't all of it by a long shot.

I had a vanity table now. Completely unused, of course, with the ridiculous oval mirror designed to show my face in magnified detail. I never looked into it. I was pretty sure my scowl would crack the damned thing. The table had tubes and jars and containers of makeup carefully arranged on it. Never mind that even if I really were a filly, at my apparent age I'd be too young for it. It was there, unused and gathering dust.

There was a small table in the room as well, almost directly in the middle. On the table was a delicate porcelain tea set. Arranged on cushions around the table were stuffed animals: a plush cat, a pair of ducks made out of felt, and, lording over them all, a massive teddy bear. Mom had made all of the animals herself.

My bed was ridiculous, easily twice as big as I’d need even as a grown stallion. Even still, it was hard to find room to sleep in it until I shoved at least half of the plush animals off of it and onto the floor. The top of the bed was like trying to sleep in a bowl of whipped cream. You lay in it and sink so deeply into the fluff that you can barely see daylight.

The one time I had tried to sleep on the bed without clearing off all of the plush animals, I'd woken up in a panic as half a dozen of them tumbled down all at once into the divot I'd made in the bed, burying me under a landslide of adorably fuzzy critters. It was a lot more terrifying than it sounds.

Not that it was easy to see the top of my bed, crowded as it was with pillows and critters, what with the posts and the gauzy white curtains in the way. A proper princess-style bed, or at least what regular ponies imagined a princess would sleep on. Somehow, though, I have a hard time thinking that even Celestia would be comfortable in all of this.

There was also a bookshelf with almost no books. Instead, it was decorated with more stuffed animals, a selection of small porcelain figures, decorated boxes, and stuff I had no words to describe and, honestly, hadn't bothered taking a very close look at. I don't know how my mom afforded all of this. I don't even want to imagine how much it must have cost her.

Any one of these things, taken by itself, I could see being in a typical female bedroom. All of them together, though? It went straight past "feminine" and into the realms of parody. Or so it seemed to me, but what do I know? I'm just a stallion, and I never claimed to know a lot about what mares like.

I took out my lunch box and dropped it with a clang, and then shook out my school supplies all over the floor. I told my mom I wouldn’t trash the room, but I’d never promised to keep it tidy. I slipped the bag back on and then went into the bathroom to grab my toothbrush, toothpaste and brush.

After a moment of thought, I also nabbed the book I’d been reading, a work of contemporary fiction written by a buffalo named Plains Walker. By all accounts, it was an accurate portrayal of life amongst the buffalo herds on the great plains west of Appleloosa. If this night was going to be as dull as I thought it was probably going to be, having something more adult to pass the time would probably save my sanity.

What was left of it, that is.

“All set,” I told Plum.

“Your pillow,” she suggested.

“Oh.” I grabbed one of a dozen frilly pillows off of my bed but was then at a loss for what to do with it. It was too big for my bag.

“Geeze. Carry it on your back,” Plum said, rolling her eyes.

“Ugh. I don’t want everypony to see me walking around town with this thing.”

“Fine. I’ll carry it, you big baby,” Plum said. She nabbed the pillow and flung it onto her back while I frowned at her, letting her know how little I appreciated that description. “You don’t like being called a big baby?” she asked, sounding apologetic.

“Not especially.”

“Then don’t act like one,” she said. She gave me a cheeky little grin and then trotted out of my insanely frou-frou’ed bedroom. I shook my head and followed her. How I managed not to blow up at her on a daily basis was something that scientists somewhere should study. It was sure as hell a mystery to me.

On my way out I said goodbye to my mom, who once again reminded me to be good. I managed to stop myself from saying anything by throttling my first reaction, which was anger. Then I garroted the second reaction, which was also anger. My third reaction, resentful whining, got bucked directly in the face and buried in a shallow grave.

I followed Plum out the door and back to the street.

~~*~~

“Here we go!” Plum said.

Her bedroom was almost plain, compared to mine. Sure, her bed had a few stuffed animals on it, and there were typical girly posters on the wall, including no less than three of Sapphire Shores, but I didn’t see much in the way of frills. A sensible bedroom for a young filly, as opposed to the plush and lacy nightmare that I slept in every night.

“I’m taking this damned braid out,” I declared, and immediately suited actions to words. The Deal said I had to wear the braid while I was going to school. It didn’t say anything about wearing it while at a sleepover. I couldn’t be rid of the thing fast enough.

Plum giggled and helped me. I was happy enough just having my mane loose, but she insisted on taking my brush in her hooves and tugging it through the hair a few times. I tried not to curse at her every time she hit a snag, but it was a close thing.

“Plum!” the filly’s mom called up from downstairs. “More of your little friends are here!”

“Oh, goody!” Plum said, her purple eyes sparkling. “They’re here!”

“Wait, what?” I said, now decidedly on edge. "More ponies?"

"Yeah, I invited some other friends. Is that a problem?"

“I thought it was just us tonight.”

She looked at me as if I’d just said the sun was a purple gumdrop. “What fun is a slumber party with only two ponies?” she asked me. It was a riddle I didn’t have the answer to. “I invited all of my friends from school, and some from the neighborhood, too!”

“How many?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Including you?” she tilted her head back, counting silently. “Well, with me and you, it’s six total. So, four others.”

Just then, Plum’s mom shouted up again, sounding slightly irritated. The filly scooted out of the room to meet her other guests, leaving me gaping like a goldfish in her bedroom.

Five little fillies. And me. All having a slumber party, which I only knew about from vague and unsettling descriptions from the odd female I’d known over the years.

Dear Celestia, please don't let there be makeovers.

Cold Slumber

I was left alone in the room, just me and the fragments of Plum’s life. I looked around me to the bed, the closet, the nearby window. The cover this room provided was pathetic. I’d be forced to face this out in the open.

I heard the chattering from downstairs as Plum and her “guests” came nearer, and already I was marshaling my defenses. The reasons why my hair must remain unbraided, my hooves unpolished, why I didn’t need anyone to brush my tail for me, and why, under no circumstances, would I discuss which colts were or were not cute.

That might not be enough. Fillies, I knew, weren't always reasonable. I had to make contingency plans. I fixed a map of every piece of furniture in the room into my head and considered my options. The closet would buy me some time, but offered no chance of escape. The window was a possibility, though the drop to the street outside could end up breaking my legs. My best hope was to use Plum’s desk as a springboard onto her dresser. A leap from there would get me past anypony blocking the door, with a clear shot to the stairs down to the front door.

If that weren’t an option, I could always make an excuse about needing the bathroom. I’d seen the layout on a previous visit. A good, thick door with a lock would keep them away from me while I got the window open. From there, it was only twenty feet down into a soft flower bed, which would hopefully break my fall without breaking me. Getting over the fence in the back yard would be tricky, but Plum’s mom had flowers growing on a trellis which I could use to climb onto the roof of the gardening shed in order to make my escape into the back alley.

My planning came to a halt just then as Plum approached the bedroom with four little fillies in tow. It occurred to me, too late, that I could have made my way downstairs and out the back door while she was meeting her friends. I hoped I wouldn’t regret that lost chance.

Plum came into the room and took a few minutes to introduce us all. I made careful note of each of the colorful little fillies as they were introduced.

“This is Windy,” Plum said, indicating a turquoise pegasus with a teal mane in a simple, straight cut.

“And this is Lilac and her little sister Lemon Squeeze,” she said next. Lilac was a light purple unicorn with a darker purple mane in a simple style, while Lemon Squeeze was yellow with a darker yellow mane. I could see the family resemblance.

“And this is Peachy Keen,” Plum said, indicating a light orange earth pony with a ragged reddish-orange mane. “Everypony, this is Cinnamon Swirl.”

“Hey,” I said, looking at the fillies critically. As far as I could tell, they were all at least a year or two younger than Plum, except for the yellow filly who may have been in kindergarten. That meant that I was slightly bigger than everypony in the room except Plum herself. That would be to my advantage.

The unicorns weren’t a big concern. The older one was thin and looked bookish, probably not used to physical confrontation. The younger was smaller than me by far and posed a negligible threat. Their magic probably hadn’t even started coming in, yet. Even if it had, it wasn’t likely to be strong enough to get past my defenses.

The earth pony looked strong enough, but she also looked clumsy and distracted. I was faster than her, I was sure. I'd be able to fake her out and get past her pretty easily. The pegasus was probably the biggest threat. She looked fast, and she was staring at me pretty intently, as if measuring me up. I knew she would be the hardest one to get past if I had to make a break for it.

“Hey, so this is the one who used to be a stallion?” the pegasus wasted no time in asking. I stared at Plum, who had the decency to look mildly embarrassed.

“So, yeah, I told them about you,” the purple filly confessed. I snorted. She could have checked with me before she spread my story around, though it wasn’t like I’d tried to keep it much of a secret myself.

“Well, at least they know what they’re in for,” I said. “Just so you know, I’m not interested in boy talk, painting my hooves, brushing manes, or anything girly like that.”

“Ick,” the younger unicorn said, scrunching up her face and sticking out her tongue. I noticed that she was missing a front tooth. “I dun' wanna do that, either. I thought we were playin’ the game?”

“Yeah, sheesh Cinnamon,” Plum said, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just going to tell stories and talk and play games and stuff. Oh, and eat. Lots and lots of eating really bad food.”

The other fillies cheered at that while I stood there, confused. Maybe the few mares I’d dated in my adult life had left me with a skewed vision of what a filly’s slumber party would be. Still, I was keeping my guard up. No way was I taking any chances.

"Wait a minute," I said warily. "What game?

~~*~~

I’d gotten separated from the others. Not that I’d cared, at first. I’d gone off on my own deliberately, after all. But now I was in serious trouble and doing my best to stay alive. I galloped down the hallway, the smoke from the torches in the wall sconces burning my eyes and lungs at the same time. I rounded a corner and went through a wooden door, which I slammed behind me, latching it shut. The thing pursuing me was close. I could hear the howling shriek as it came closer, ever closer.

My blood ran cold as I looked around the room. I didn’t see any escape. I was trapped.

I was going to die.

Something massive hit the door, bowing it inward. The latch held, barely, but the planks of the door itself cracked, and the lower half of one plank fell away, revealing something clawed and massive on the other side, something hungry for blood. My blood.

I took out my knife, getting ready to fight. It was a lost cause, and I knew it. There was no way I was going to win, but I would at least go down fighting. I took one last, desperate glance around the room and, as I did, I noticed that some debris on one wall were covering what looked like a wooden frame.

My heart leapt into my throat as hope renewed itself. I ran to the far wall and cleared the debris away, revealing a half-sized door. Behind me, my pursuer slammed into the door again and the latch exploded away from the door frame, zipping past my head and taking out a chunk of stone as it ricocheted off of the wall.

The creature behind me bellowed in confused fury as it tumbled into the room, reeking of rotten meat and animal musk. As it recovered its balance, I yanked the half-door open to reveal a small corridor, just barely big enough for me to fit into. I scrambled inside quickly, knowing full well that the massive creature wouldn’t be able to follow me through the smaller entrance.

In my desperation to escape, I didn’t notice the poisonous snake until it was too late. It flashed towards my leg, fangs glistening...

“Roll a save versus poison, Cinnamon!” Lilac said from behind her cardboard screen.

I sighed, picked up the die in my mouth and dropped it to the table top. It came up as a five. The fillies around the table flinched and groaned, with the exception of Windy, who laughed at my misfortune.

“That’ll teach you to run off without us!” she said, elbowing me in the ribs.

“Hey, I’m supposed to be a rogue. Rogues do roguish things.”

“Like get all the treasure before the rest of the party?” Peachy asked with a grin.

“Right.” I shrugged. “Didn’t work out too well for me this time, though. So, what, am I dead now?”

“Um...” Lilac frowned in concentration at something on the cardboard screen in front of her. “No, not yet. But you’re dying. The good news is that you’re far enough into that small hallway that the vile bear can’t reach you. If the others get there in time, they could save you. Maybe.”

“We run to Cinnamon’s rescue!” Plum shouted, pumping a hoof in the air.

“My name’s not Cinnamon,” I reminded her.

“We run to Swift Leaf’s rescue!” Plum shouted again, with another hoof-pump.

“You can’t,” Lilac said patiently. “You don’t know where he ran off. All you can do is follow the roaring of the vile bear.”

“We follow the roaring of the vile bear!” Plum shouted one last time.

“Everything all right in here?” an older voice asked. The mare who’d walked into the dining room gave me a good idea what Plum would look like in another fifteen years or so. Basically the same, but bigger.

“Yeah, mom,” Plum said with a grin. “Cinnamon is just dying from a poison snakebite.”

Plum’s mom shuddered and frowned. “I don’t like how violent this game sounds.”

“Aw, mom, it’s only pretend violence!”

Mulberry only shook her head at her daughter and smiled wearily. She was a nice enough mare, though how she managed to put up with Plum’s constant antics with such a fond smile was a mystery to me.

I’d met the mare once or twice coming over with Plum after school. Around her daughter, she was standard mom material, not putting up with much in the way of nonsense. The one time I ran into her in public, though, I’d seen something else entirely. A mare unsure of herself, nervous around strangers, mumbling and stuttering when talking to other adults while she kept her eyes on her hooves.

Made me wonder where Plum’s talkative streak came from. Maybe her dad, though I’d only ever seen him once or twice. Plum wasn’t kidding about him being sick. It turned out that he was the reason Mulberry had come into the room.

“Just make sure you keep it down, okay? Don’t wake Daddy.”

Plum promised, and the fillies started playing again, though more quietly this time. I munched idly on popcorn as I lay there, dying of the poison in my veins. The battle against the vile bear was epic and resulted in injuries but no fatalities.

Swift Leaf lived, but wasn’t in any shape to exert himself any time soon.

~~*~~

After the game, we retired back to Plum’s room. She hadn’t been kidding about bad food. A big salty bowl of buttery popcorn greased up their hooves, which were also smeared with chocolate and marshmallow from the s’mores that Mulberry had made up for us while we were risking our lives in the dungeon of the Mad Wizard of Doom Hollow. That didn’t even count the wide variety of candies, cookies, cupcakes, and so on.

None of the fillies much appreciated my warning about healthy eating habits and the dangers of foalhood obesity.

“It’s a slumber party, Cinnamon!” Plum said, scolding me. “Sheesh, lighten up!”

“All right,” I said with a shrug. “Don’t cry to me if you all get stomach aches tonight.”

In addition to juice to drink, there was soda, strawberry and chocolate milk, and a jug of iced tea to drink which was untouched by anypony but me. The girls were giggly as they tumbled around the bedroom, excitedly replaying the adventure we’d just been through.

I tolerated it as best I could. I didn’t see much point in talking about things that had just happened. I was just about to break out my book when Plum surprised the hell out of me.

“So, now for the real reason we’re all here: How to get the cure for Cinnamon, so he can go back to being a big, ugly stallion!”

"Hurray!" the rest of the fillies said.

“What?” I asked, surprised.

Plum grinned and nodded. “I thought if we all got together, maybe we could think of something.”

Besides “surprised”, I didn’t know how I felt about that. “Thanks,” I mumbled at her, my lips feeling numb.

She shrugged and smiled.

The next half hour was a frustrating exercise in understanding why a bunch of blank-flank fillies aren’t the best at planning complex stratagems. After explaining how I needed to get the bubble bath recipe from the Ponyville Spa, the ideas that came up went from impractical to insane faster than I could blink.

“No, we’re not sticking him in a box and mailing him to Ponyville, Lemon, sheesh!” Plum said, flailing her hooves in frustration.

“I said we'd give him air holes! He’d be fine,” the tiny filly said with a scowl. It was the third time she’d tried to advance her brilliant plan. I was desperate enough that I actually considered it the first time she'd brought it up.

“I still think a disguise is the best way to go,” Peachy said, earning a glare from Lemon for the interruption.

“Maybe we could convince a teacher that a trip to Ponyville would be a good idea for a school outing?” Windy asked. As ideas went, that was the winner so far for the evening. There was a problem, though.

"No way my mom would sign a permission slip for something like that," I said. The pegasus groaned and slumped in frustration.

“Wait, wait, I think we’re missing the obvious,” Lilac said. “Why can’t we just send some bits to Ponyville’s spa and ask them to ship the cure to us?”

“Ohmygosh!” Plum blurted. “That’s the best idea ever!”

I let out a humorless bark of laughter. “Tried that,” I said.

“What happened?” Lilac asked.

“I was away at school when the package arrived. My mom’s the one who found it. She trashed it, of course. She’s worked it out with the mail service that all future deliveries have to come directly to her. So, no way can I just get the cure delivered.”

The fillies all looked at each other.

“Well, gee,” Plum said, drawing out her words with exaggerated slowness. “If only you had, oh, I don’t know, a friend or something, you could have the cure delivered to her house instead.”

I stopped gaping at Plum when she started giggling at the look on my face. It could work. No, it would work. I knew it would work! For the first time in weeks, I had the cure at my hoof-tips! I could have kissed Plum, but then I would have had to arrest myself for Inappropriate Conduct With A Minor.

“Wait!” Lilac said. “I have a better idea! Didn’t you say that the spa got the recipe from a zebra?”

“Yeah?” I said.

“So, this zebra knows all kinds of Zebrican cures and potions and stuff, right?”

“I guess,” I said.

“And Plum’s dad got sick from a Zebrican spider, right?” Lilac said, eyes sparkling. Plum’s sharp intake of breath happened a split second after what the unicorn filly had said clicked in my head. She went on to spell out what Plum and I had just figured out. “So, maybe we can write to her, get the recipe and the cure for Plum’s dad, and have them both shipped here?”

Damn, that kid’s smart. Less than a quarter my age, and she just made me feel like a grade-A moron. Plum couldn’t restrain herself, leaping at her friend and hugging the living daylights out of her. I offered up a wry smile at the site. It was good to see the filly’s spirits so high, but there was a problem.

“Plum, don’t get your hopes up,” I said, hating myself for saying it even though I knew it was necessary. “There’s no guarantee that this zebra can cure your dad.”

Few things in this world are more devastating than false hope. Judging by the stricken look on Plum's face, I didn’t think she appreciated the sentiment, but I really was just trying to protect her. I opened my muzzle to explain that, which is when the pillow took me on the side of the head.

My ears flattened down against my skull as I slowly turned my head, my narrowing eyes obscured by the part of my mane that had been smacked over my face, to look at the filly who’d just clobbered me. Windy took a step back and hastily spit out the pillow she’d been holding in her teeth.

“Well, you don’t have to be mean about it,” she said defensively.

“I wasn’t,” I growled. I took a deep breath and let it out. “I wasn’t being mean,” I repeated in a more normal voice. “I just don’t want her to be hurt if this zebra can’t help her.”

An awkward silence rose up and strangled any conversation for a few seconds. It was broken when Lemon announced “I need t’ use the bafroom!” and trotted off. Her sister rolled her eyes, but Peachy giggled, and Plum eventually joined in.

The tension faded. I gave Plum an apologetic grimace. “Sorry,” I said. She smiled and patted me on the shoulder. The fillies talked over the plan a little more and we realized that we didn’t have any addresses for anyone. Not only that, but I had no idea what that zebra’s name was. I only knew her by reputation as “that spooky zebra who lives in the Everfree”.

“Maybe the post office can help?” Lilac suggested.

“Actually, don’t worry about it,” I replied. “I’ll send a letter to Sugarcube Corner in Ponyville. There’s a pony there that owes me big time, and I think she’s friends with the zebra. If nothing else, she can send a letter back with the right name and address.”

That decided, the conversation started drifting in random directions. I snorted when the subject of music came up.

“Music hasn’t been the same since Days and Nights broke up,” I told them with authority.

“Ew, Days and Nights?” Windy crinkled her nose. “That’s, like, old pony music.”

“Hey, I listened to that in high school!” I said, miffed.

“Like I said,” the pegasus said, and I was surrounded by giggling.

“I like Rainy Nights a lot better since she started her solo career,” Plum said, nodding seriously. “She’s got some good stuff.”

“It’s all mass-produced pop, though,” I protested. “Sounds exactly like every other mare out there. Dry Days was the real musician of the group. He wrote all the good stuff.”

“Whatever. Sapphire Shores is better than anypony else, anyway,” Plum said staunchly.

I was about to give exactly my impression about Ms. Shores’ so-called “music” when I realized that I was about to get into a music debate with a bunch of blank-flank fillies. I shrugged instead.

“Whatever,” I said.

The girls kept talking. I got bored. And then annoyed. Eventually, I felt like pounding my head through a wall just to block out the chatter, but I took my book out instead.

“You’re going to read during a slumber party?” Plum asked, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Well, it’s not like I know anything about what you’re talking about,” I told her. The current topic of conversation was about the Canterlot Fashion Industry. Apparently, some new unicorn was making big waves. Plum snorted and then waved a hoof dismissively at me, which I decided was her way of telling me to do my own thing the rest of the night.

I lay on my back on Plum’s bed and stuck my nose in the book. Eventually I was able to tune out the bubbling and shrill conversation coming from the middle of the room, reducing it to a merely annoying background noise. As the evening wore on, my eyes started getting heavier. I blinked, realizing I’d read the same paragraph three times without realizing it. I stretched, yawned, and went back to reading.

I don’t know when I fell asleep. All I know is that it was a critical error to lower my defenses when surrounded by a room full of fillies. I felt a tug on my back left hoof and woke with a start. Giggling shapes sped away from me, hiding themselves almost before I was aware of them.

I blinked and looked around woozily. The sun must have gone down. Plum's window was a flat black mirror glinting in the light of the one lamp that was still on, the rest of the room a gloom of dim shadows. My book was lying open next to my face, stained by a thread of drool. I sat up and felt something tug at my mane. I reached up with my hoof to brush away whatever it was and stopped, not comprehending what I was seeing at first.

My hoof was painted a bright, reflective red. A shade of red most mares would sniff at disdainfully if they saw it on another mare's hooves. My forelimb trembled as I stared. Slowly, I reached out my other forelimb. That hoof had been painted a dark purple.

I looked down, dreading what I would see. I was sitting up, my back legs stretched out on the bed before me. My back right hoof was painted a sky blue, and the left was halfway done being painted a pink that was even more obnoxious than my own coat.

My tail, jutting out from between my splayed hind legs, had been inexpertly braided and tied with lopsided ribbons in a chaotic rainbow of colors. With trembling hooves I reached back behind my head and discovered that the half of my mane I hadn’t been sleeping on had been treated similarly.

I looked around wildly. I didn’t see any fillies, but I knew they were there. I could hear the giggling.

“Plum Pudding,” I grated into the emptiness, “When I get my hooves on you, you’re gonna pay!"

There was silence before the giggling started again.

"We outnumber you," Plum said from the shadows. "And we have makeup."

The shadows moved, and five fillies advance towards me. Each one held an object of torture. For Lemon, it was the tube of lipstick she held in her teeth. Windy had a hair curler. I don't know what it was that Lilac was levitating before her, but I got the impression that it smelled like powdered flowers. Peachy had an eyelash curler between her lips. As for Plum...

I couldn't see her. I looked around wildly, panicked. Then I knew. She was behind me. Heart hammering in my chest, I turned my head slowly. Plum popped up like she was on a spring, a manic grin on her face.

"It's time for blush!" she shrieked, wielding a powder puff.

I tried to shout, but my breath wouldn't come out. The puff descended towards me...

I woke with a startled snort. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight through the window. I stared around wildly while my limbs jittered with adrenaline. Plum was asleep on her bed next to me, crunched up against the wall to make room for me while I hogged the middle of her bed. She was lying on her back and snoring slightly.

On the floor were the sleeping forms of four fillies, each in a sleeping bag. I noticed that Lemon's had Princess Celestia's cutie mark emblazoned on the front. Windy's had the Wonderbolt's logo.

"A dream..." I said to myself, my limbs trembling from the fading adrenaline surge. "Just a dream," I said again, wishing that I didn't sound like I was trying to convince myself.

I checked my hooves. As far as I could tell in the moonlight, they were the same color they were earlier today. My tail was not braided. I had no ribbons in my mane. And...

And my bladder was full. The iced tea I'd been drinking earlier was making its presence known. With a sigh, I slid gently off of the bed and moved as quietly as I could between the sleeping fillies, slipped out of the bedroom, and made my way to the bathroom down the hall.

Author's Notes:

For those curious, here is my reference guide that I made up for "The Slumber Club", as I call them.

Shadows in the night

I did what I had to do. And then I flushed the toilet, washed my hooves and dried them on a nearby towel.

I left the bathroom while stifling a yawn. I was making my way back to Plum’s room when something on the edge of hearing caused my ears to perk up. I stopped in the dark hallway, swiveling my ears around, trying to pick up on whatever it was that I’d heard. Finally, I caught it: voices, coming from downstairs.

I recognized Mulberry’s voice and almost went back to bed, but something in her tone bothered me. I hesitated before making my way carefully down the gloom-shrouded steps to the first floor. As I descended into the darkness below, the voices became clearer.

As I got closer, I recognized what it was that bothered me about Plum’s mom’s voice. She sounded tense, uncomfortable. Maybe even scared. Something had her on edge and nervous, which meant that going back to bed wasn’t going to be an option.

Light spilled from the kitchen doorway into the dining room along with her voice, and it didn’t take me long to realize that she wasn’t alone. A stallion’s voice, muttering and hard to make out, responded to something she’d said.

The stallion’s voice was a nasal whine that drilled into my ear. I froze when I heard it, a scowl etching its way across my face. When Plum’s dad Tapioca was actually awake and talking, his voice was a smooth tenor. Whoever it was Mulberry was talking to, it wasn’t Plum’s dad.

For once, my small size was a blessing. As I crept my way into the dining room, I was small enough that my hoofsteps barely made any noise. My ears strained forward, catching every sound I could. I kept my breathing under control, trying to take shallow breaths so that the sound of my own breathing didn’t drown out the conversation I was trying to overhear.

“...don’t know about this,” Mulberry was saying to the mysterious stallion. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Figgy, but what you’re asking me to do...”

She trailed off, and the stallion, Figgy, started talking.

“I know, sis. But it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Now that I’d gotten a better listen to this stallion, I liked him even less. A combination of pathetic wheedling with an underlying forcefulness. Begging and pushing at the same time. No stallion using that tone of voice was up to any good.

I crouched low to the floor and made my way under the table where we’d played our game a few hours earlier. The only light was the warm glow from the kitchen, casting the dining room in deep shadows as I moved, unseen.

“It kind of is,” Mulberry replied softly.

“C’mon, Mully. It’s really not,” Figgy said nasally. “It’s gonna get through customs anyway. I’m just asking for you to... well, to hurry things up.”

“I don’t...”

Figgy wasn’t about to let Mulberry get her hooves under her. He talked on top of her, and she trailed off, uncertain. “It ain’t a big deal. It’s just some coffee and tea and herbs and stuff from Zebrica, that’s all. They pass this stuff through all the time, but my boss is losing out on business while it’s sitting in customs. All you gotta do is just stamp it approved, it gets moved to the loading docks, and we come and pick it up. Easy-peasy.”

I knew from Plum that her mother worked at Hoofington International Shipping. And I knew that what this Figgy character was pressuring her to do was a felony. A growl started to rise in my throat before I managed to clamp down on it.

I slid on my belly like a snake until I could see between the legs of the chair closest to the kitchen. Now I could see them without being seen myself. And I didn’t like what I saw, not one bit. My eyes narrowed as I took in the scene.

The stallion in question was a crusty brown, his unkempt and greasy black mane jutting out from under a dirty, rumpled fedora. With the pencil mustache on his muzzle and the crowbar cutie mark on his flank, it was as if he’d gone out and grabbed every petty criminal stereotype he could lay his hooves on.

He was a skinny stallion with toast-rack ribs, but he was still bigger than Mulberry. His chest was puffed out to try and make himself seem even bigger. That, combined with his general twitchiness, was a sure sign of a small-time player pretending he was in the big leagues.

As for Mulberry, the purple mare was backed into a corner of her own kitchen, looking away from this “Figgy”, her mouth set in a tremulous line and her eyes on her hooves. She wasn’t “Mulberry the mom” now. She wasn’t the confident mare that she was when she was running her household or greeting Plum’s friends. She was the mare I’d seen before in the market. The mare that was unsure of herself. The mare with her ears drooping down and who couldn’t look another pony in the eye.

The mare who was a pushover.

“I can’t,” Mulberry said, a hint of pleading whine in her voice. “I don’t even have any way of knowing which one it is.”

“Easy enough, it’s the big orange crate from Zebrica,” Figgy said with a snort of laughter. He picked up a piece of paper from the counter and tried to give it to her. “The tracking number and everything is right here.” Mulberry shrank away from the paper as if it were on fire. The stallion sighed and put it back on the counter.

“We’re gonna pay you for your trouble, right?” he said, frustration starting to leak through the veneer of friendly persuasion. “I know you can use the money. For my brother. His doctor bills are getting crazy-high, right? And he’s on suspension, so they ain’t even paying him right now like they should.”

My teeth were hurting. I forced myself to relax my jaw. I had to find out what was going on in order to stop it. That didn’t mean I had to like it.

“No... I... Please, don’t ask me to do this,” Mulberry moaned, shuffling her front hooves nervously. “I could get fired...”

“They’ll never know,” Figgy said in a voice that oozed confidence and comfort. He could sense what I did: Mulberry was about to crack. “And, if you ain’t gonna do it for me, or for Tapioca, how about for little Plum?”

Mulberry’s breath caught in a little sob, and I knew he had her. One more little push was all it would take. But I’d been on a low boil already, and this damned weasel had just turned the heat up.

The legs of the chair groaned and stuttered across the floor as I shoved it aside and stood up. The ponies in the kitchen jumped at the sound, shockingly loud in the otherwise quiet house. I stalked forward, my limbs shaking in a rage I could barely contain as I moved to the kitchen. The two of them stared at me, but I had my eyes set on only one of them.

I stood in the doorway where the light faded into the dark, my unbound mane spread out in a golden halo around my head. Red tinted my vision as I looked into Figgy’s surprised brown eyes. I wanted to kick the living daylights out of him. I wanted to bust my hoof off in his dock. I wanted to break his crooked teeth and shove them down his throat.

“Ah, can we help you little filly?” Figgy asked pointedly, condescendingly. “We’re kinda having a grown-up conversation, here.”

My rage solidified into a lump of ice in my chest. Grown-up. Dammit.

It hit me then that I couldn’t do any of those things I wanted to do to him. The stallion towered over me and, skinny as he was, there was no way I could take him down. And even if I did, it wouldn’t stop the threat to Mulberry. I’d get kicked out, and he’d just come back.

I wasn’t a threat to him, not like this. I was a bad joke in pink. I needed time. I needed a plan. I needed evidence, and I needed leverage. I grit my teeth and throttled my rage as best I could.

The first thing I needed to do was get him out of here, away from Mulberry. Then I could plan on how to keep him away.

How to do it came to me in a flash. Everypony has their buttons. Push on the right ones, and you can make all sorts of things happen. And twitchy Figgy’s buttons were as obvious as daylight to me right now.

I closed my lips over my bared teeth but I kept the scowl. And then I did something that would haunt me for the rest of my days.

“I need a drink of water!” I announced loudly in my best Lemon Squeeze impersonation. Don’t mind me, I’m just a thirsty little filly up past her bedtime. Never mind the rage boiling behind my eyes, catching my thoughts on fire.

Figgy snorted, annoyed. “Get the kid a glass of water, sis, and we’ll continue our talk once she goes back to bed.”

There was a breakfast nook in the kitchen. I shoved myself onto the bench by the little table while Mulberry pulled down a glass of water. She gave it over to me and some slopped over the side as her hoof trembled.

I picked up the water. I brought it slowly to my muzzle, tipped it back, and took the smallest sip I possibly could. Then I sighed with satisfaction, “Aaah!” I repeated the process. Sip. Swallow. “Aaah!” Then again. And again. And yet again.

As I dragged out the water drinking, I saw with grim satisfaction that Figgy was about to explode with impatience. At a guess, he’d been working on Mulberry for a while. I’d sapped his momentum. And the longer I took, the more work he’d have to do to get her back to the breaking point. I watched the stallion’s frustration build to the breaking point.

“Come on, kid, hurry it up!” he said to me. My eyes bored into his. I took another sip, never breaking eye contact, then swallowed. I skipped the satisfied sigh this time, instead placing the glass deliberately on the table. Mulberry was flicking her eyes rapidly back and forth between me and Figgy.

I stretched my mouth in a hard grin. “Can I have a sandwich, too, Missus Pudding?” I asked, as sweetly as I could.

“Oh, come on!” Figgy swelled up with anger, and suddenly he was looming over me. “Get your ass back to bed, you little shit!”

“Figgy!” It was the push she needed. Mom-Mulberry was back. “You do not swear at a child in my house!”

The stallion flinched, half-raising a hoof. He was either getting ready to hit or to defend, I couldn’t be sure which. “This brat is—”

“This filly is a guest in our house,” Mulberry said. “And you’re not. And it’s late. Maybe you should leave.” Figgy’s scrawny chest started expanding. “Now!” she said, her eyes crackling with lightning.

I was impressed. Figgy was beaten. He backed down like the coward I could tell he was. Grumbling, he made his way out the front door. Mulberry watched him go. I heard the door close and looked over at Plum’s mom. She was staring into the darkness, worry written large across her face.

“Don’t do it,” I said to her. She jumped a little when I talked, shaken out of her thoughts. Then she looked at me, eyes wide. “He’s asking you to help him smuggle something through customs, right?”

Her breath caught as her back legs wobbled. She steadied herself with a hoof on the counter.

“You heard that, huh?” she asked, smiling nervously.

“Yeah. I did. And, sorry.”

“For what?” she asked.

I didn’t answer at first. Instead, I just looked at her.

“It’s breaking the law,” I told her. “You could lose your job, end up in jail. What would happen to Plum then?”

Mulberry’s eyes welled up with tears, and I felt lower than the bottom of a rusted-out horseshoe. It was the same tactic Figgy had used, using her daughter against her. But I had to make sure she knew the stakes. Plum had a hard enough life as it was with her dad out of work. If her mom ended up in prison, Plum would likely end up in the system, bouncing from foster home to foster home.

“Sorry,” I said again. She shook her head. “I take it he’s family?”

“Brother in law,” she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. “He... He wasn’t always like this. He was Tapioca’s best man at our wedding. But he started running with a bad crowd...”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. I drank more water, then set the glass down. “Look, he’s a grown stallion. What he does is his own business and responsibility. What happens to your family is yours. Don't let his bad decisions make your life any harder.”

She smiled at me. “You’re a wise filly, you know?” I hadn’t bothered telling her about really being a stallion. Plum hadn’t, either. Probably worried that her mom wouldn’t let her play with the “crazy filly” if she did.

“Yeah, full of wisdom, that’s me.” I tipped her a wink. “Or at least I'm full of something.”

She gasped in shock, and then a fit of giggles hit her. I recognized post-stress laughter when I saw it and just smiled as she worked through them. As she wound down, I could see the after-effects of her confrontation with Figgy melting away.

“You shouldn’t say stuff like that, young lady,” she said in her mom-voice, with just a hint of laughter to let me know that she wasn’t too serious. “I... I’m glad Plum has a friend like you.”

I blinked at her, surprised. “Uh. Yeah, thanks,” I said. Suddenly I wasn’t sure at all what to do with my front hooves. I ran them over the smooth table top. “Hey,” I said, as something Figgy had said floated back to the surface. “What was that about Tapioca being suspended?”

Mulberry frowned.

“I’m not surprised Plum didn’t tell you,” she murmured. “It’s... Well, he was under investigation before he got sick. Several missing items of Zebrican cultural significance disappeared from his latest expedition. I believe him when he says he didn’t take them. He’s not the type. But... well, the Society isn’t so sure.”

“So, he’s stuck at home without pay,” I said. She nodded.

“Or medical coverage,” she added. “That’s one reason I’m glad Plum has a friend like you. I don’t think you care that... well, that we’re having trouble.”

“‘Course not,” I said. I thought of home. “Every family has troubles. That’s part of what make’s ‘em families.”

She smiled at me and ruffled my mane. I put up with it.

“Like I said, you’re a wise filly.” She looked at the clock on the wall, and I did too. It was almost two in the morning. “And it’s way past your bedtime, little girl,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, though I wasn’t tired at all.

I scooted off of the little bench by the table and started making my way out of the light of the kitchen.

“One last thing,” I said before I left the light.

“Yes?”

“Figgy said that if you did this that they’d never know.” I looked her square in the eye. “Prisons are full of ponies who thought the same thing. They were as wrong as he is.”

She gave me an odd look. A measuring look, then she nodded.

“‘Night, Mrs. Pudding,” I said.

“Good night, Cinnamon.” She hesitated, then added, “And thank you.”

I flashed a smile at her over my shoulder. “No problem.”

By the time I got back upstairs, my night vision had mostly returned. I was able to navigate my way through the bundles of sleeping fillies on the floor until I reached Plum’s bed.

When I got there, I had to snort with laughter. Plum had been scrunched up against the wall before, but now the little purple filly was sprawled over most of the bed. Which was fair enough, I supposed. She’d slept half the night with me hogging the bed, now it was my turn.

I crawled in under the covers, and Plum mumbled something and then said, “Where were you?” in a sleepy voice.

“Bathroom,” I replied quietly.

“Oh.” She yawned and rolled over, giving me more room. “G’nigh, Ci’mon,” she murmured.

“‘Night, Plum.” I said back.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling of Plum’s bedroom. Sleep eluded me like a ghost as my thoughts chased each other in circles 'round my head. I played back the conversation between Plum’s mom and uncle in my head, and added in what I now knew of her dad and his suspension.

Somepony was trying to smuggle something through customs. I felt like I had a good idea what it might be: the object that Tapioca had been blamed for taking. The coincidence was too large to ignore. The only question I had was whether or not Tapioca was involved. It seemed possible, maybe even probable.

The right thing to do was to tip off the local police anonymously. They’d deal with it. And, if Plum’s dad was innocent, then he’d be cleared of all charges...

The thought trailed off in my head. I’ve always had a tremendous faith in the Equestrian justice system. But sometimes innocent ponies got caught up in the machinery and could end up serving jail time for things they didn’t do. It’s something we never talked about, but it’s something every police pony knew could happen.

Coincidence could be a terrible thing when it worked against you. I knew that from personal experience.

My thoughts kept on spinning. I thought of the investigation, and what it was likely to turn up if I called in that tip. I thought of Plum’s eager grin. I thought of Mulberry’s shy smile, and her quiet confidence that her husband was innocent. I thought of what it would do to the two of them to watch as Tapioca was carted off to prison, still sick from whatever it was that he’d picked up in Zebrica.

I had to start with the presumption of innocence, even when my gut told me that Tapioca was almost definitely involved. But I couldn’t ignore Figgy and his outright pressuring of Mulberry to commit a crime. My duty as a police pony...

I sucked in a breath, my mind flinching away from that thought. A police pony. I realized that I still thought of myself as one, even now, even after all I’d been through. But I wasn’t a police pony. Not really, not anymore. I forced myself to face the idea. I was surprised by how much it hurt.

I was a civilian. A filly civilian, if you wanted to get right down to it. I stared at Plum’s ceiling for a few minutes longer, the white paint seeming grey in the darkness. Then I got out of bed once again.

My hooves didn’t make a sound as I made my way back down the staircase. I left the lights off, the moonlight through the windows guiding my path as I made my way back into the kitchen.

Figgy’s shipping manifest was still on the counter, right where he’d left it. I had to stand on my hind legs with my front hooves on the cabinetry in order to reach it. I picked it up with my mouth, the dry taste of paper and the sharp taste of ink on my tongue as I made my way carefully back up to Plum’s bedroom.

The right thing to do. I wasn’t even sure I knew what that was anymore. All I knew was that I couldn’t send Plum’s dad to prison without at least checking things out for myself.

I stowed the paper in my saddlebag and went back to bed, stepping carefully around the sleeping fillies, trying not to wake them or step on them. As I got back in next to Plum, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink, that my whirling thoughts would keep me up the rest of the night.

I was wrong. Two minutes later, I was out like a light.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to Merlos the Mad for pre-reading this chapter!

Things take a slightly dramatic turn, here. This is where the story I originally envisioned really gets started. It's not all about dealing with schoolyard bullies! Though, naturally, we haven't seen the last of Vanilla Sweet and Ivy.

The harsh light of day

Saturday morning sunlight flooded through the bedroom windows and stabbed directly into my eyes. I woke up in Plum’s bed, the filly’s hooves jammed into the middle of my back and my face stuck to my pillow. I muttered as I wiped the sand away from my eyes with a fetlock, my whole head feeling heavy with sleep. I grimaced as I ran my tongue over the back of my teeth. It felt like somepony had used my mouth as a garbage dump last night.

The fillies were all still asleep, locked in their private dreamlands. A couple of them were snoring lightly. I decided that it was time for me to get up. After all, It was going to be a busy day.

I moved silently through the room, removed my toothbrush from my bag and made my way into the bathroom. As I brushed my teeth, I couldn’t help but snort at the sight of my mane, jutting away from my head at a thirty-seven degree angle. The most epic case of bed mane I’d ever seen.

I decided to leave it unbrushed, since my mom wasn’t around to raise a stink about it.

I was just leaving the bathroom when Plum’s mom called up to let everypony know that breakfast was ready. Grumbling from Plum’s bedroom told me that the message had been received. I made my way downstairs and saw Mulberry, who smiled wanly at me. The dark circles under her eyes told me how well she’d slept after we’d talked.

“Morning, Mrs. Pudding,” I said.

“Good morning, Cinnamon. We have pancakes this morning. Go ahead and have a seat... and, did you know your mane is sticking out, dear?”

“Yeah,” I said, picking a chair and sitting down. “I like it this way. I think I’ll make it my new style, it suits me.”

The mare smiled and rolled her eyes at me. She trotted into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a plate of stacked pancakes. I took three of them, coated them with an insane amount of butter and flooded them with syrup. As I chewed the buttery, syrup-soaked pancake, I decided that there was one good thing about being a filly: I didn’t have to worry so much about my cholesterol.

I heard noise like an avalanche behind me. I turned to see the fillies clustered together in an uncoordinated pack as they stumbled down the stairs. Looking at them, it was obvious that I wasn’t the only one whose mane had lost a fight with a pillow.

The five of them mumbled variations of “Good morning” and got into their seats. Plum’s mom was kept busy bringing out batch after batch of fresh pancakes as the girls wolfed down a truly amazing amount of food. I’d thought I was being excessive with my three pancakes, but even little Lemon had me beat, scarfing down four of the golden brown cakes by the time I’d finished my three.

As for Plum... My stomach did a slow roll as I watched in horrified fascination as she slathered each cake with butter, and then strawberry jam, peanut butter, blueberry sauce and maple syrup before digging into the resulting mess.

The table was mostly quiet, broken only by the sound of fillies chewing. Everypony was too tired to do much in the way of conversation. I had just finished eating my cakes when Lemon let out a massive belch. Lilac tried to scold her for her rudeness, but the yellow filly just ignored her and went in for seconds. I shrugged and helped myself to a couple more cakes as well. I’d be stuffed, but what the hay? They were good.

A knock at the door got everypony’s attention while I was still halfway through my second helping.

“Who in Equestria is that so early in the morning?” Mulberry muttered as she went to answer the door. I was hardly paying attention, instead concentrating on eating. And then an icicle shot down my spine when I heard the voice at the door.

“Hi, is Cinnamon up and ready to go?” My mother asked. Her voice was tense and urgent. My brow furrowed as I scowled down at my food, wondering why she was here so damned early. Couldn’t I even eat breakfast in peace?

I caught Plum looking at me with concern and I shrugged. I had no more idea than she did.

“Oh, um, yes,” Mulberry replied. “She’s eating breakfast right now with the other girls.”

“Oh,” my mom said. “Well, I’m here to pick her up. I thought I’d just get her out of your mane. I know she can be a hoof-full.”

“She’s been no problem,” Mulberry said. I could hear in her voice that she was confused. “She’s been on her very best behavior. I’m actually really impressed with her. She’s very mature for her age.”

“Oh, good,” my mom said, sounding relieved. I ate my way mechanically through the ensuing awkward pause.

“Do... do you want to come in?”

“Oh! Um. Yes, if you don’t mind.”

Hoofsteps in the hallway came closer as I glowered at my plate. A touch on my shoulder made me look up. Plum had worry and sympathy etched on her face, now. I grimaced and turned away.

“Good morning, Cinnamon,” my mom said as she came into view. “Good morning, girls.”

“Good morning,” Plum said quietly.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said Lilac.

“Heya,” Windy said.

“‘Mornin’,” said Peachy.

“Mrph,” was Lemon Squeeze’s contribution. The little filly didn’t notice the glare from her sister. She was too focused on forcing as much pancake down her gullet as she could fit. I had no idea where the tiny filly kept it all.

“What did you do to your mane, young lady?” Mom asked. She sounded like she was right on the border between amused and annoyed.

“I slept on it.” I bit the sentence off, then ate another forkful of pancakes.

Another awkward silence. As the seconds crawled by, the fillies and Mulberry glanced between my mother and me, picking up on the tension.

“Why are you here so early?” I finally asked her. I kept my voice level. Celestia burn me to ashes before I was willing to sound like I was whining.

“I wanted to make sure you got home alright,” she said carefully.

I snorted. In my head that translated to “I wanted to make sure you didn’t try running away to Ponyville again.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said shortly. “I can come home after I eat.” Then I remembered all of the various things I wanted to do today. “Actually, I was thinking of hanging out with Plum today.”

“You were?” Plum asked. She caught my look and amended herself. “I mean, yeah. We were going to go to the park and stuff today. Is that okay, mom?”

“Uh, sure,” Mulberry said, glancing back and forth between me and my mom with a thoughtful frown on her muzzle. “It’s fine with me, if it’s alright with Mrs. Swirl.”

“I don’t know...” Mom said. I felt my plans for the day teetering on the edge of a precipice. I wouldn’t put it past her to keep me locked up in the house all day. If she did, I’d have to wait until Monday to drop my letter off at the post office.

Not to mention that that I had a mystery crate to check out. Every day that passed made it more likely that Figgy’s box would be inspected by customs. I wanted to get my hooves on it before anypony else did.

“It’s just hanging out with friends,” I told her. I gave her a steady look. “It’s not like I’m planning on running away from home or anything.”

I watched as she absorbed that, tapping a hoof on the side of her chin. “You promise that you’ll stay in town? No wandering off?”

“Of course,” I said with a hoof-wave. I was trying to appear nonchalant. “I promise, I’ll stay in town today.”

One thing my mother knew was that I was good for my word. It was the only way our Deal worked. If I said I’d do something, I’d stick to it. Even if it meant my humiliation. Even if it meant I wouldn’t get the cure. I watched as my mom stared at me with calculating eyes, hoping the sudden cold sweat on my brow wasn’t obvious.

I tried a different approach. “Mom, really. I just don’t want to be cooped up in the house today. I promise, I’ll come home by lunch time.”

I watched as the tension left her in a flood. “Alright, then. You can play with your little friends today.” She gave them what even I had to admit was a slightly creepy smile. The fillies grinned back, slightly uncomfortable. “I’m so glad she’s making friends. Thank you, girls.”

“Uh, no problem.” Windy said. “She’s pretty cool.”

The others nodded solemnly. My mother beamed at them. Then she turned back to me and tsk’ed in irritation.

“At least let me fix up your mane,” she said, pulling a brush out of her saddlebags. I batted her hoof away.

“I can do it,” I said. Her eyes welled up with tears. I sighed and turned away from her. “Fine.”

I stared at my empty plate while my mom tugged a brush through my mane. She was humming happily, the only sound in the room as the fillies ate, pretending to ignore us. I don’t think any of them had any idea in Equestria what to make of this situation. Mulberry just shook her head and went back into the kitchen to start cleaning up.

I grit my teeth and tried to ignore the humiliated anger welling up as my mother groomed me in front of a bunch of little fillies. Even with all the practice I’d had recently, it wasn’t easy to do.

~~*~~

“Wow, that was weird,” Plum said about an hour later.

I grunted in reply.

“So, anyway, where did you want to hang out? The park on Mane street? Or maybe the park on Cedar avenue? Or maybe go down to the lake?”

“Post office,” I said.

Plum blinked at me. “Sounds like... fun?”

“I have a letter to write. Remember?”

Her eyes got really big and a smile cracked wide over her features. “Oh yeah!”

The house was much quieter now that we were the only two left. The others had all gone to their various homes, leaving behind a silence that was almost deafening compared to the loud noises of four excited fillies packing up their things after a sugary breakfast. I didn’t envy their parents when their hyped-up kids got home.

Plum fished around in her desk and gave me a pen and a piece of paper to write on. I wrote my letter slowly, deliberately. My penmanship wasn’t the best to begin with, and I had to make certain I’d be understood. Plum offered various bits of advice she probably considered helpful as I wrote the letter. Once I was done, her mother gave us an envelope and I got ready to leave.

“You don’t have to go with me,” I reminded her. “I can do this by myself.”

She snorted. “Are you kidding? I want to be a part of this!”

The corner of my mouth lifted in what could have been a smile. “Fine. But don’t blame me if you get bored.”

She seemed almost offended by that suggestion. “I won’t get bored!”

~~*~~

The clock on the wall ticked off the dry seconds as we stood in line, surrounded on all sides by ponies that towered over us.

“Ugh, I’m soooo boooored!” Plum whined. A few of the adult ponies in line turned to glare at her. I scowled back, and they went back to minding their own damned business.

“You could wait outside,” I reminded her. She shook her head at the suggestion.

One of the mailponies at the windows finished with a customer and called for the next one. The line moved forward a few steps. Plum sighed deeply.

I ignored her for the moment. I was too busy running over the letter I’d written in my head. I was on edge about it. Nothing good had come out of involving myself with that crazy pink pony the first time. But she did owe me for what happened. Even though, technically, she wasn’t around when I actually ran through the poison joke.

Would she remember me? She didn’t seem to be all that focused, the last time we talked. Would she actually help? She was supposed to be one of these world-saving heroes, the Element of Laughter or something like that. But would Pinkie Pie actually go out of her way to help out a pony she probably barely remembered?

My whole plan hinged on the fact that she would.

Another ten minutes passed. Another customer got done with their transaction. The line shuffled forward a few more inches.

“Oh, come on!” Plum shouted, pulling at her mane.

I sighed, rubbing at the point between my eyes with a hoof. This was going to be a long day.

~~*~~

In the end, express delivery to Ponyville with receipt confirmation cost me six bits. I parted with the bits regretfully. I didn’t have much money left, and it wasn’t like my mom was giving me an allowance.

The letter was on its way, with the delivery confirmation and return address set to go to Plum’s house. The mailmare assured me that it would get there by Tuesday at the latest. Possibly even Monday, but I shouldn’t count on it.

I was jittery and anxious. The clock had started, and now my life was a countdown. The only comfort was that, for now, it was out of my hooves, and all I could do was wait. But I wasn’t good at waiting.

“Whoo, I’m so glad that’s out of the way!” Plum said, shaking her head and doing a little dance. “Want to go play?”

“Actually, I had something I needed to do.”

“Aww, come on!” she pouted at me. “I went with you to your post office thing, and that took forever!”

My mane flowed as I shook my head. I’d managed to convince my mom to leave it unbraided.

“I can join you in a little while,” I said. “There’s just something important I have to do, first.”

“Okay, fine,” she grumbled. “Let’s go do your important thing.”

I hesitated. There was no way I could explain to Plum what I was going to do. “No, I think you should go home and wait for me. We can meet up again after lunch.”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Why?”

I shook my head again. I hadn’t told her anything about the conversation between her mom and uncle. There was no way I was getting this filly involved in that mess.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said.

“But what is it?”

“It’s a secret. Sorry. I may tell you later, but right now I have to do this myself.”

I didn’t need Plum’s frown to let me know she’d be unhappy with this situation. She grumbled and argued, but eventually she gave in. I watched as she left, pouting the whole way. I turned on my back hoof and walked the opposite direction.

Hoofington International Shipping was on the far edge of town, in the warehouse district. The houses faded away as I got closer to the town square, only to be replaced by shops and restaurants. I dodged between the legs of the shopping mares and stallions around me.

It's not like I need a lot of reasons to hate being a filly, but one thing that really bothers the hell out of me is how the so-called "grown-ups" never seem to watch where they're going. I had to step lively to avoid being trampled on more than one occasion. One shame-faced stallion got an ear-full when he stepped on my tail. Judging from the look on his face, I'm pretty sure he didn't know what half of the things I called him even were.

As irritated as I was by the ponies, the buildings themselves were extremely comforting. I’ll say one thing about Hoofington: It does architecture right. After all the craziness of living in Ponyville it was good on my eyes to be back home, surrounded by buildings that actually looked like buildings, instead of some demented gingerbread house or a jester’s hat. Where Ponyville had wood shops with thatched roofs, Hoofington was built out of brick and slate. There was a solidity to this town that I’d missed while I was away.

I kept walking, my hooves hitting the flagstone of the street. The center of town was paved, though some of the older roads leading away were rough cobblestone. Another change from Ponyville and its dirt roads. I slid my hooves a little as I walked, enjoying the roughness of the stone. My mom would have a fit when she saw my hooves, chipped and roughed up around the edges from the abuse, and slid my feet a little harder.

I hesitated briefly as I passed through the market square, eying a certain shop and thinking of my rapidly-dwindling cash supply. Finally, I shrugged and went into the candy store. I hadn't been in one of these in a non-official capacity in years. The last time I'd set hoof into a candy store had involved a jar of jawbreakers, five pounds of taffy, a bag of malted milk chocolate balls, and three very ashamed looking colts who'd tried to stuff it all into a saddlebag without the shopkeeper noticing.

"Hello, little miss!" the unicorn stallion behind the counter said happily as I walked in. I gave him a tight smile and then ignored him. He didn't seem upset by that. I figure he was probably used to kids treating candy like it was Serious Business.

After a few minutes, I settled on a large bar of chocolate with toffee chips, a small bag of gumballs, another of lemon drops and some jelly beans. I figured it would take at least some of that for Plum get over me leaving her behind. I felt bad about bribing her with sweets, but girls like presents, don't they?

I nabbed a strawberry lollipop on the way to the counter for myself and set my selections in front of the gently smiling clerk.

"All of this is for you?" he asked as he began ringing it up. "You'll get a tummy ache."

"Sharing it with a friend," I said shortly as I rummaged in my saddlebag for what was left of my bits.

"Shared candy tastes better," the unicorn said approvingly. "That'll be three bits and five pennies, my dear."

I slapped four bits on the counter, collected my change and stuffed most of the candy into my saddlebag. I unwrapped the strawberry sucker and stuck in my mouth before I even left the store.

"Thanks," I said as I left.

"Have a good day, miss!" the clerk said jauntily.

It didn't even bug me being called "miss". Well, not much. I was too busy thinking of the look on Plum's face when I dropped all of this candy in her lap. If that much sugar didn't make a decent apology for a young filly, I didn't know what would.

My shopping completed, I continued on my way. The strawberry candy on the end of my sucker lasted maybe a block before I crunched it between my teeth. I never really had the patience for that kind of candy. I kept the stick, though, chewing steadily on it as I made my way down the road.

It wasn't long before I reached the outskirts of Hoofington's warehouse district. I could already see the signs in the changing architecture. The shops were becoming scarcer and the buildings were getting larger and uglier. More functional and less decorative. Nopony came out this way to shop, and very few lived in this section of town. These buildings weren’t pretty, but they were big and solid. They had a purpose, and didn’t bother with looking nice.

Fewer ponies were walking around now, but there were a lot more carts and wagons. I kept to the side of the road, as close as I could get to the buildings. Cart drivers didn’t always look carefully where they went. The last thing I needed was for somepony to not see me and flatten me under a wagon wheel.

Mulberry’s place of employment was a grim-looking old warehouse, massive and grey. Four smaller buildings were set near it in the large courtyard, probably administrative offices and the like. The whole compound was surrounded by a chain link fence easily three times the height of a grown stallion.

I looked around for an unobtrusive place to stand so I could scope out the place. I finally settled into a niche under the eave of a building across the street from the only obvious gateway into the compound. I chewed on the stick in my mouth and took note of everything I could see.

It was a pretty standard security setup. The gate was bracketed on either end by a small wooden hut. Yellow wooden bars on posts blocked the wagons from going past until the guards checked them in. There were two guards, one in each booth and both of them earth ponies. One was reading a paper and the other was resting a hoof on his muzzle and staring at out into space, a glazed look on his face.

I frowned as I looked at the setup. The road was wide open, with no cover. I couldn’t see any blind spots on the approach. The guards weren’t paying much attention, but they’d only have to glance up to notice a bright pink filly walking up the road.

I watched as a wagon came rumbling up, pulled by two earth ponies. Another pony was sitting on the driver’s bench. I wondered vaguely if he was the boss, or if the three of them took turns pulling and driving.

The one guard snapped out of whatever daze he’d been in and checked them in. I watched the whole process. The guards may have been negligent before, but their procedures were good. Getting in by hiding in a wagon would be possible but risky.

“Excuse me, little filly,” a nearby voice said, making me jump halfway out of my skin. “Are you lost, sweetheart?”

The owner of the voice was a burly grey stallion with a handlebar mustache. The earth pony was wearing a vest with the name “Earl” stitched on the front. I judged by the tool belt around his middle that he worked somewhere in the area.

“I’m fine,” I said, coughing a little. I'd nearly swallowed the stick I'd been chewing on. Bastard had scared me half to death. My heart felt like it was going to break its way out of my chest.

“You sure?” Earl asked me, obviously concerned. “Does your mommy know where you are?”

With any luck, me grinding my teeth together looked enough like a smile to avoid raising any more suspicion.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’d better go find her.”

I trotted away from my observation point and walked to the fence, casting an eye behind me to see if Earl was going to follow me. After I got across the street he shrugged and walked the other way.

Being on reconnaissance as a filly had its good and bad points. The good: I was small and it would be easy for me to hide. The bad: Anypony who saw me in this area would probably pay close attention to the "lost little filly". That, and I was bright pink. I kind of stand out.

I couldn’t do anything about being little. But maybe I could do something about the pink. It was worth thinking about.

As I walked the perimeter of the fence, I kept an eye on the compound and the activity within. The yard was busy, ponies and wagons rushing everywhere in a kind of organized chaos. They even had one of those fancy new loading machines that the factories in Detrot had started churning out, piloted by a heavyset earth pony in a bright yellow hardhat.

It wasn’t until I got around the back that things got interesting. There was an offshoot from the railway station, the tracks going through another, larger gate. I guessed that the bulk of incoming freight came from here. The back gate had large, sliding chain-link sections that could close, but at the moment it was left wide open.

There was another pair of guards here, looking even more bored than the two up front. I mentally labeled this entrance as Plan B. This approach was even more wide open than the last one, and it would be harder to sneak onto a train than it would be into a wagon.

I guess I’d been staring for a while, because the guards noticed me. I hurried on my way, keeping well clear of the gate. One of the guards, an elderly gray stallion with a white mane, looked at me and smiled as I walked past.

“Careful on the tracks, sweetie,” he cautioned me.

I scowled at him. He chuckled back. I hate looking so harmless.

I found what I was looking for on the east side of the compound. Something, probably a wagon, had run into and damaged the fence here. The chain was bulged up, pulled away from the frame on the ground. The gap this created was barely big enough for a large dog to get through. A large dog, or a small filly.

I plotted out a course as I looked through the fence. There were empty crates back here, as well as the back of one of the smaller buildings in the yard. There was also a side door leading into the warehouse itself. This would be perfect.

I looked around, memorizing the landmarks. I had to be sure I could find this place again once the sun went down. As I finished up, I heard the town’s clock tower tolling off in the distance.

Eleven o’clock. Time to head home. I had promises to keep.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to Merlos the Mad for pre-reading, and for the suggestion to liven things up a bit during Cinnamon's tour of the warehouse district.

The false hero

“I was thinking,” I said as Mom carried a tray in from the kitchen, “that maybe we could make another change to the Deal.”

Mom blinked at me from over the top of the tray. Then she set it down carefully on the table and waited for me to talk again.

“I was thinking that we could make today a permanent part of the Deal. You let up on trying to keep me in the house all the time, and I agree I’ll never try to run away again.”

Almost a minute went by while she stared at me. “Mom? The sandwiches?”

“O-oh, yes. Here,” she said, passing a plate over with my meager lunch. “I’m trying to figure out the catch.”

I sighed and flipped open the top of my sandwich. “Carrot and celery sandwich? Seriously?”

“It’s good for you,” she said, sounding defensive. “And you’re changing the subject.”

“It’s not good for me, Ma. Nopony else eats like this.” I picked up the sandwich and crunched my teeth into it, gagging a little at the blandness of it. There wasn’t even any salt!

I chewed and swallowed while she watched as if I were going to pull some sort of a trick right there. “There’s no catch,” I said eventually. “I just want to get out more. Staying cooped up in here is driving me crazy. It’s worth not trying to get to Ponyville anymore if I get to go outside sometimes.”

“Hmm...”

“What happened to your cooking, anyway?” I asked her. She reared back as if I had slapped her.

“What do you mean?”

“I remember you used to be a great cook. I loved your food, and so did my brothers. When did all that stop?”

She looked away, her mouth turning down in a frown. When she did reply, it was quietly. “I was cooking for a bunch of colts,” she said. “Y-... They were growing boys, they needed the calories.”

“And I don’t?” I said with a snort.

“A filly has to stay trim,” she said primly.

The sandwich had been halfway up to my mouth for another bite when she said that. I slowly lowered it back to the plate, my eyes narrowing.

“I’m full,” I said, pushing the plate away.

“You need to eat,” she said, looking worried now.

“I thought I needed to stay trim,” I said, deadpan. “Anyway, do we have a deal?”

“What?” She was looking at the half-eaten sandwich.

“The Deal!” I barked, and she jumped. I took a steadying breath and let it out. “The addition to the Deal. I don’t try to run away anymore. You let me go out, to hang out with my friends, or go to the park or whatever.”

I waited impatiently while she considered it, tapping my back hoof on the leg of the chair. Time crawled by until she finally nodded.

“Eat your sandwich and we have a deal,” she said.

I scowled. But I ate the sandwich.

“I have a favor to ask you,” I said when I was done. She looked up from her own lunch, a large salad with a hypocritical amount of dressing and cheese swamping the lettuce. “I was wondering if you could make me something.”

She looked suspicious. “What is it?”

Her mouth dropped open as I described what I wanted. It took some time to explain, and all the while she stared at me as if I were a crazy pony. “Why would you want something like that?”

“It’s for a game,” I said, trying to sound defensive and embarrassed. It didn’t take a lot of acting skill. “My character wears something like it in a game I play with Plum and the other girls.”

“Why?”

“Swift Leaf is a rogue. Hiding in shadows and all that.” I avoided the gender pronoun. I didn’t need to set her off by telling her that I was playing as a stallion.

She was frowning now, and I knew this part of my plan was hanging in the balance. “It doesn’t sound like a very nice game,” she said, giving me a dubious look.

“It’s just for fun. Make believe, you know?” I sighed. “Look, you want me to hang out with them, right? All those normal, regular fillies, yeah? Maybe it seems a little weird, but when you get right down to it, it’s just some dress-up with the girls. Besides, I can use it for next Nightmare Night. Okay?”

For a minute, I didn’t think she’d buy it. I had stacked the deck in my favor, talking about hanging out with fillies. I considered bringing up Nightmare Night to be a stroke of genius since it implied that I would still be a filly in about six weeks. But I think it was the “dress-up” that did it. That, and she’d get to make me something. If I got really lucky, maybe I would get away with this without her—

She clapped her hooves together and grinned at me. “I have to measure you first!” she said happily.

I groaned. I knew it. “You’ve got my measurements already.”

“You’re a growing filly,” she said primly. She ignored my death glare. “Come on, let’s go into the sewing room!”

I wasn’t happy about it, but I was glad that at least I would get what I needed for tonight. I put up with it as best as I could as Mom brought out the measuring tape and wrapped it around every part of my body she could possibly manage. She even measured my ears, for some reason.

I managed not to complain. Honestly, I still couldn’t believe that she was doing this.

The situation in my house was beyond messed up, but there was one thing that hadn’t changed: My mom is an absolute wizard when it comes to making things with fabric. Nothing fancy, she’d never be a fashion designer, but she could whip together a simple outfit before you could blink.

I watched her working, feeling almost happy as what I had described to her started to come together right in front of me. It reminded me of simpler, happier times. Back to when I had been a colt, and I would spend hours watching her work her magic with scissors, needle and thread.

“I remember you doing this when I was little,” I said quietly, buffeted by nostalgia.

“Sorry, what?” Mom said, distracted as she measured and cut out a large piece of black cloth.

“You were always really good at this,” I said. “Making things, I mean.”

She grunted at that. “I didn’t start out all that good. Raising six colts on a limited budget meant that I got a lot of practice. Not that you all wore clothes that often, but we could never afford to buy new.”

She chuckled as she marked a line with chalk before cutting. “I remember when you were little, you used to hold my pincushion for me. Do you remember that? You were always so eager to help, such a good little boy...”

She looked over her shoulder with a smile as I sat quietly frozen on the stool in her workroom. She blinked at me in confusion as her smile faded, and I didn’t dare say a word. Eventually she shook herself and looked away from me, going back to her sewing.

And just like that, the warm feeling we’d so briefly shared withered away as my mom returned to being the mare who used her obsessions to avoid life, who sunk herself into her hobbies as a way to sink down into herself as she drifted away from the rest of the world. The moment had passed, leaving me feeling empty and hollow, the only sounds in the room being the rush of my heartbeat in my ears keeping time with the rhythmic clacking of her hoof-powered sewing machine.

And I forgave myself for not being completely straight with her about what this outfit was for.

The silence stretched out between us until she finally cleared her throat. When she spoke, she did it without turning to face me. “Cinnamon? I’m sorry, but I don’t have enough black cloth to make the whole costume. I... don’t use black all that much anymore.”

I grunted and said, “Anything dark will do. What have you got?” The last time she’d used black that I remembered was for the suits we'd worn to Dad’s funeral.

She held up a bolt of dark purple cloth. “How about this?”

Purple wouldn’t be my first choice, but it’s better than pink. Then again, so is anything. And that color would be almost invisible in shadow. “That’ll do just fine, Mom.”

The silence returned, and the next half hour dragged on forever. I was jittering on the stool, chewing on my own tongue in frustration when she finally stopped the machine and gathered up the costume. She turned around with a big smile on her face, by all appearances having forgotten the last hour of awkward silence.

“Well?” she asked, pride glowing through her voice as she held it up. “Will this do for your little game?”

“That will do nicely,” I said, staring at it. It had turned out even better than I had thought it could.

“Try it on!” Mom said, nearly squealing with excitement.

I was going to protest, then I shrugged. “Yeah, may as well,” I said. Best to find out if it fit right, after all.

She tried to help me into it and I batted her hooves away. It was a simple one-piece body suit that covered me from my neck to my fetlocks, leaving my blond tail hanging free. She had even put a zipper on the chest that I could grab with my teeth to tighten it up.

“It’s almost like a pair of pajamas,” she said happily. “Weird pajamas, but pajamas nonetheless.”

I forced a tight smile her way. “Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Sure, sweetie,” she said, looking happily at her hoofwork. “What do you need?”

“My character’s face needs to be hidden. Can you put a hood on this?”

“Sure, why not?” she said with a laugh. “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

“If I’m doing it, I’m doing it right,” I said. She took the cloth off of me and brought out the midnight purple fabric again, attaching a loose hood to the outfit. I put it back on and flipped the hood up, then turned to examine myself in the tall mirror she kept in the sewing room.

What I was hoping for was something that looked like those ninjas you’d see in the movies we get from Neighpon. What I saw instead looked like something out of a comic book. The body of the outfit was a midnight black, covering my barrel and haunches snugly but not tightly. The legs were dark purple, the same as the hood, which hung over my face and obscured everything but the tip of my muzzle.

It would do. Barely a hint of pink showed, though I would have to do something with my mane and tail, the blond hair spilling out of the hood and the back of my outfit. I vaguely remembered that I had some tail ribbons in one of the dresser drawers that I never used. Maybe I could employ some of them as a tail-wrap.

“It’s perfect, Mom.” I hesitated, uncertainty creeping in on top of my usual frustrated anger. On the one hoof, my mom was still in denial about our situation, still treating me like a kid. On the other, she had just done me a huge favor. And, what the hell, she’s still my mom. I gave her a hug around one of her forelegs.

“Thanks,” I said, knowing that it wouldn’t make up for my deception.

I felt her stiffen in shock for a few seconds before she relaxed and placed a hoof on my back. I shut my eyes and for a little while I could convince myself that everything was back to normal.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said, and the spell broke as she sniffled a little. “Now, you go and play with your little friends.”

She shoved me lightly on the rump and I started walking. That’s when I realized what I had done to myself. I couldn’t take the outfit off because Mom thought I was going to wear it to play with my friends.

I would have to walk through town wearing the damned thing.

I slipped on my saddlebags and sighed, stepping out of the front door and preparing myself for the stares my fellow ponies were sure to unleash on me.

~~*~~

Plum had taken one look at me in my outfit before she burst out laughing and ran off to her room. I could still hear her thumping around up there as I stood awkwardly in the foyer with her mom.

“Okay. Why?” Mulberry asked eventually, ignoring the noises from her daughter’s room.

“Aha!” I heard Plum shout from upstairs. “Found it!”

“Swift Leaf,” I told her. She stared at me blankly. “He’s my character from the game we were playing last night.”

“‘He’?” Mulberry repeated. “You play as a colt? Why?”

Plum had been coming down the staircase when her mother had said that. Apparently, that question was enough to set her laughter off again.

“You about done?” I asked her. Breathless giggles told me that she wasn’t. I sighed and sat on the floor. “Just because,” I told Mulberry.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a filly, you know,” Mulberry said. “Mares can be just as strong as stallions.”

Not completely true, based on average muscle mass across the genders, but overall a good sentiment. To be fair, I had met some mares in Ponyville that could run pretty much any stallion into the dirt, and a couple that could certainly go hoof to hoof with any stallion challenger in Equestria. That was neither here nor there, I didn’t exactly feel like arguing the point.

“It’s just for fun,” I muttered. Telling most ponies about actually being a stallion hadn’t gotten me anything but weird looks. I didn’t want that from Mulberry, too. She’s a good mom, and I liked her too much to have her think I was crazy.

“Well, if you’re going to play, do it outside, okay?” Mulberry said to her daughter. “Don’t wake your daddy.”

“Sure, Mom,” Plum said, finally recovered from her giggle fit. As Mulberry walked away, Plum produced a bundle of black and purple cloth of her own. “You can be my sidekick!”

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

“It’s my costume from last Nightmare Night! I was...” she unfurled the clothing with a dramatic sweep, “...the Mysterious Mare Dowell!”

A bark of laughter escaped before I could stop myself. Plum gave me a hurt look.

“It’s ‘Mare Do Well’,” I said.

Her eyebrow arched up as she regarded me skeptically. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.” I had written that damned name often enough in the volumes of paperwork her antics had generated. Don’t get me wrong, I was glad that the masked “hero” had shown up and saved some lives, not to mention stopping the entirety of Ponyville from flooding when the dam collapsed. But having a masked do-gooder running around plays havoc with police reports.

“I’ve only ever read the name in comics,” Plum said, looking at the outfit in her outstretched hooves. It even had a hat and cape with it.

“There are Mare Do Well comics?” I asked. “I thought she was just some crazy mare running around in Ponyville.”

Plum snorted, laughing. “Don’t be silly, Cinnamon. Mare Do Well is just a comic book hero. She isn’t real.”

I almost started arguing before I thought better of it. I shook my head instead. “Fine,” I said. “But what makes you think I’m going to be your sidekick?”

“Because I’ve had my superhero outfit for longer and that’s how these things work!”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, irritated. “I mean, what makes you think I want to be a superhero at all?”

“Well, what else are we going to play?” Plum asked, throwing up her hooves with exasperation.

“How about nothing? How about we just go hang out on the jungle gym for a while, or something?”

Plum turned to me, her bottom lip jutting out and her eyes big and watery as she gave me the old puppy dog look.

“Ain’t gonna work, kiddo.” She kept at it, her lips quivering. “Seriously, I’ve got a heart like a rock.” A barely audible whine reached my ears. “Try as much as you like, Plum. I’m not playing superheroes with you.”

~~*~~

Young foals slid on the slide, swung on the swing, and clambered over the jungle gym. All of that stopped when a dark figure appeared at the top of a nearby hillside and a clear voice rang out, echoing through the park.

“Fear not, citizens of Hoofington! For it is I, the Mysterious Mare Do Well, and I shall protect you, and everypony in Silver Park, from any evildoings that may occur!”

Plum stood there, her chest thrown out and her cloak rippling in the breeze. The costume was slightly too small for her, the cuffs on the legs missing her fetlocks by a good inch and the fabric straining across her barrel. The foals in the playground stared at her for a few seconds before shrugging and going back to whatever it was they were doing.

“That’s your cue!” she whispered to me. I sighed and walked out from behind the bush I had taken refuge behind.

“And I’m the Night Colt,” I mumbled. “I’ve come to... Do I really have to say this?”

“You said you would!”

That’s right, I did. Why would I do that? Because I was planning on spending a good part of my night possibly finding the evidence that would lock Plum’s dad away for the rest of her childhood, that’s why.

I sighed again. “I’ve come to conquer injustice with the force of my iron hooves of steel.”

Plum nodded in satisfaction as I spewed out the corny and nonsensical line. “Come, Night Colt! Let us investigate this park for evildoers!”

And then she galloped down to the park. I sighed and trudged after her. There were only three reasons I was even here right now. The first I’ve already mentioned. If I found what I was pretty sure I was going to find, then Plum wouldn’t have her dad around for much longer. And, right or wrong, that would be partially my own doing.

The second was that I had told Plum that I would hang out with her this afternoon. I felt like I owed it to her. After all, if it weren’t for her slumber party, I wouldn’t have the cure on its way. Hopefully on its way.

The third was that I was planning a major excursion tonight. When I was still a stallion, I had a pretty extensive physical fitness routine. I wouldn’t have won any awards, but I was fit, I could run, and I knew the extent of my own abilities. I became a filly and all of that stopped. I had no idea what I was and was not capable of.

I grit my teeth in determination, tensed up, and galloped down the hill after Plum. Time to find out what I could do.

~~*~~

The colt had a runny nose. The front of his muzzle was caked with dirt and snot. His mane and tail were a bushy mess. He stank so bad that I could smell him from where I stood. He came up to maybe my shoulder, and he was annoying the hell out of me.

“So, your hooves,” the colt said, digging at his nostril with his own hoof. “They iron or steel?”

“Neither,” I said. That didn’t seem to satisfy him. “Both.” He nodded his approval and dropped his hoof to the ground.

“So, what superpowers ya got?” he asked.

“None,” I said as I took a basic stance, planting my hooves solidly on the grass.

In the distance, Plum raided a clump of bushes, shouting “Ah-hah! Found you!” A pack of younger foals burst out of the foliage and ran, squealing and giggling, and Plum gave chase, her ridiculous cape flapping as she galloped after them.

Meanwhile, the colt looked disappointed. “So, ya can’t even fly?”

“Flying’s not a superpower,” I told him. “Pegasi fly all the time.”

“But you’re an earth pony,” he said. “If you flew, it would be a superpower.”

“I guess.” I moved a back hoof and the opposite front hoof in a slow circle, keeping a light touch on the ground.

“You super strong? Super fast?”

“Nope and no,” I said. I stopped the motion of those first two hooves and planted them again, then moved the opposite ones in a similar circle. This ended up rotating me about ninety degrees to my left. The colt trotted around so he could keep in front of my face.

“So, what’s the point of ya?” he asked.

“Go away, kid,” I said. I shifted my weight back onto my hind legs, tensing them and feeling out my strength.

“And why ‘Night Colt’?” he asked, ignoring me. “You’re a filly.”

Plum may have whined me into playing superheroes with her, but I would be damned if I was going to be “Filly-something-or-other”. My eyes narrowed as I stared at the colt.

“The Night Colt,” I growled at him, “is a boy.”

“Okay," he said, and I shuddered as he wiped his sticky muzzle with a foreleg. "You’re a girl, though.”

“Go away, kid,” I said, a little more forcefully this time.

“I read lotsa comics an’ I never heard of the Night Colt.”

“I’m happy for you. I made him up.” I leaned my weight onto my back legs, taking my front off of the ground and folding them up to my chest. “Back up a bit, huh?”

The colt took a few steps back, regarding me curiously. “What ya doin’?”

“Mid-range self-defense training exercise,” I told him.

I pushed as hard as I could with my back legs while extending my front legs out. While in the air I brought my hind legs in tight and ducked my head down, causing me to tilt forward. My forehooves planted into the ground, bending to absorb the shock. I straightened my forelegs with a sudden snap and kicked upwards with my rear hooves at the same time, putting every ounce of power I had into the buck.

If a pony had been standing behind me, I would have just broken his jaw. If I were still a stallion, that is. As a filly, I would have just bruised his chest a little. That kick had felt weaker than I had been hoping.

I let the momentum of my back legs keep going while hunching my shoulders and ducking my head, which propelled me into a forward roll. I popped back to my hooves right in front of the startled, but apparently impressed, colt.

“Coooool!” he said. Apparently some of the other kids agreed, because I heard some stomping of approval. “So, Night Colt is, like, a martial artist like the Batpony?”

“They still make Batpony comics?” I asked.

“Duh,” he said with an eye roll. “He’s only the coolest hero ever.”

“Nuh-uh,” another grimy-faced colt said from my rapidly forming audience. “Spider-Colt is cooler.”

“I like Wonder Mare,” a nearby filly said quietly. The two colts ignored her.

“Bats eat spiders, duh,” the first colt said. The two of them got into an argument while I looked around.

“Hey, do some more cool moves!” a third colt said.

I looked around me and reconsidered the wisdom of performing imitable martial arts moves in front of a bunch of impressionable kids.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Awww!” they whined in perfect harmony. What is it with these kids? Do they practice synchronized whining, or something?

“You want to learn that stuff, get a real instructor,” I said.

“That is correct!” Plum said, popping up beside me, still talking like she thought a superhero would. “Martial arts can be dangerous without proper instruction, and my sidekick would be... um... irrepressive—”

“Irresponsible.”

“—irresponsible, if he taught you improperly.”

It was then that another one of the seemingly endless supply of snot-faced colts came running up, trailing a towel that was wrapped around his neck and fastened with a safety pin. He was making “whoosh!” noises as he ran, and he skidded to a halt right in front of us.

“No need to fear, citizens!” the new colt shouted. “For I, Captain Amazing, am here to protect you!”

“Hey!” Plum said, stomping a hoof. “We were superheroes first!”

“You don’t own superheroes!” the newcomer shot back.

“Yeah, but you’re just wearing a towel! We have actual costumes!”

“So what? I can be a superhero if I wanna!”

“You’re copying us!” Plum shouted.

“But I want to play superhero too!” the colt whined. “There can be more than just two superheroes!”

The other colts and fillies in the playground all looked at each other as their ears perked up. A second later and they were scattering in different directions at top speed.

“Let it go, Plum,” I said, stopping her as she inflated her lungs for what would have no doubt been a pretty decent comeback.

She frowned after the retreating kids. “It’s not fair! We’re the heroes!”

“True heroes don’t need recognition,” I told her. She looked at me as if I were crazy.

“What’s the point, then?” she asked me.

“I’ve got candy.”

Time froze solid as she stared at me. I barely recognized the voice that came out from behind that mask as hers.

“You mean to say,” she growled, “that you’ve had candy this whole time and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Yeah. Want some?”

A minute later, Plum was happily sitting under a tree and gnawing on the chocolate bar I had gotten for her. She’d even been nice enough to let me have a couple of bites.

“I officially forgive you for ditching me earlier today,” she said happily.

“I’m glad,” I said, as I planted my hooves in the soil and concentrated. Plum watched me curiously for a while, but I tuned her out. Instead, I imagined streams of energy rising from the ground, into my hooves, up my legs and finally into my chest.

Soon enough, I didn’t have to imagine it anymore. A warm glow started, and I knew it wouldn’t take much more before—

“What are you doing?” Plum asked, breaking my concentration. The energy fled.

“Dammit!”

Plum jumped in shock at my sudden shout.

“What? What did I do?” I rounded on her and my anger froze when I saw the startled tears in her eyes. Class A jerk, that’s me. I sighed.

“I was grounding myself,” I said.

Plum just looked confused. “I don’t get it.”

“Its earth pony magic. Just about the only combative magic we get, actually.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she protested.

“No surprise. It’s mostly a lost art. Hasn’t been used much outside of the military and police since the tribal wars.”

“The what?”

“You know the story of Hearth’s Warming Eve?” She nodded. “Well, before the three pony tribes became friends, this was the only way us earth ponies could fight against a unicorn’s magic and a pegasus’ weather control.”

“Oh! Neat!” she said, perking up. She dropped her chocolate bar on top of my saddlebag and stood up. “What does it do?”

I took my stance again, trying to find my center. “It pulls the magic of the earth up into you, increasing your core strength. It makes a pony faster, stronger, harder to hurt. And most weather and unicorn magic will slide right off of you.”

Of course, strength was relative. A strong enough unicorn could overwhelm even a well-grounded earth pony, and a tornado doesn’t really “slide off” of anypony. And, as a filly, I doubted I’d be able to resist anything much stronger than a minor cantrip.

“Cooool!” Plum was trotting in place, looking even more excited than she had when I’d started producing the candy from my saddlebags. “Can you teach me?”

“Maybe,” I said, snorting. She looked hurt, so I tried to explain. “It’s tricky. You can study for years and still not pick it up. I’ve been working on this most of my adult life, and I still suck at it.”

“Oh... Well, why do you want to do it all of a sudden?”

I looked away from her face, unable to meet her eyes. “I just do.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was damned close.

We spent the next couple of hours going over the basics. I was able to gather energy multiple times, holding it in me like a precious flame before releasing it. The good part about grounding is, once you gather the energy, it’s pretty easy to hold on to it for a while.

Like I expected, Plum never got any energy going. She didn’t seem fazed, though.

“I know I’ll get it,” she said. “Besides, I think I felt the energy in my chest just like you said!”

“Maybe,” I said, though I doubted it. It took me months before I could even gather a trickle of energy. Getting it on the first day was almost impossible. “Look, it’s getting late. I should really get home.”

“I’ll go with you,” Plum said.

“What? Why?”

“Well...” she grinned at me. “I was hoping I could help you talk your mom into letting you sleep over again. I asked my mom earlier and she said it was okay.”

“I don’t...” I stopped and considered it. There were actually some advantages to that. First, I’d be able to keep an ear out for Figgy and maybe arrange another distraction if he dared show his muzzle over there again. Second, Plum’s house was a few blocks closer to downtown than mine was. It would save me some time.

Third, if my mom caught me sneaking out of the house tonight, she’d never for a minute believe that I was just going for a walk or something. She’d assume I was going to violate the Deal and run off to Ponyville. I shuddered to think of what the fallout of that would be.

“Yeah, alright,” I said, and together we took off. “Let’s try and convince my mom.”

~~*~~

“No,” my mom said.

We were standing in our dusty living room. I’d have offered Plum a seat, but every flat surface was covered with junk mail, magazines, or unfinished craft projects. Sometimes all three.

“Why not?” I asked her. I wasn’t able to keep the heat out of my voice.

“Because... well, because I think you should spend some nights at home!” she replied.

“Look, mom, I finally have a friend.” I pointed to Plum, who smiled sheepishly and waved at her. “She wants me to stay over. We’re bonding!”

“Well... Maybe she could stay over here, instead?” Mom said.

“I don’t mi—” Plum started saying

“No!” I said, cutting her off. The filly looked at me like I was crazy for a second, but then she nodded and stepped up beside me, giving my mom a pleading look. “All the stuff for our game is over there. It would be a pain to bring it back over here.”

“But... I miss you.” Tears welled up in her eyes. I sighed. Emotional blackmail, once again. Well, two could play at that game.

“Mom... I finally made some friends. Filly friends, just like you wanted. And you won’t even let me hang out with her? I sleep here every other night! And, maybe next weekend Plum can sleep over here instead. Heck, maybe we can have the whole crew over!”

Maybe they’d wreck my pretty, pretty princess room, while they were at it. I could feed them lots of sugar and hope for the best.

Mom was wavering. Plum, bless her heart, tipped the scales, turning that same puppy dog look on my mother.

“Pweease, Mrs. Swirl?” Her eyes shimmered like twin pools of water. “Cinnamon is my bestest friend in the whole, wide world! It would mean ever so much if she could sleep over tonight.”

I glared at her, afraid her theatrics would be too obvious. My mom bought it, though. She let out a happy sounding sigh and smiled at the little purple filly.

“Oh, my dear Plum, of course she can sleep over tonight!” she cooed as she gave into Plum's blatant emotional manipulation.

“Yay!” Plum said, and bounded over to hug my mom around a foreleg. Mom stiffened in shock, then awkwardly patted her on the back.

“But if I do this for you, I want something in return,” Mom said in her stern voice. I rolled my eyes at that.

“Fine. What?”

“I want a mother/daughter day at the spa. Just you and me.”

“What?!” I didn’t like how high my voice got when I said that. I think it actually squeaked a little. I gaped at her, and she just stared back at me smugly. I had a feeling that my luck for the day had finally run out, and this was as far as she’d bend.

“Fine,” I growled. “How about the weekend after next?” Hopefully, I’d have the cure by then. The thought of smuggling it into the spa with me and turning back to a stallion in the middle of the spa treatment gave me an almost fierce pleasure, and I felt my mouth turning up in a grim smile.

“Why not this weekend?” Mom asked. My smile vanished.

“Plum was staying over, remember?”

“Oh. Maybe she and her mom could come with us?”

Plum, who’d spent the last few rounds of conversation looking back and forth between us as if she were watching a tennis match, cut me off before I could answer with an exuberant “Yes!”

I knew when I was beaten. “Fine. I’ll go pack up.” I moved quickly up the stairs and into my bedroom. Once there, I quickly dropped to the floor and rummaged around under the bed, finding the stash of things I’d gathered earlier that day while Mom was preparing that poor excuse for a lunch.

First into the bag was a short coil of rope, followed by a small nail puller that could also double as a hoof-length crowbar. I’d found those in the garden shed, after coating myself with three years’ worth of dust and cobwebs. Nopony had been in there since my youngest brother had moved out.

Next came a pair of wire cutters, a small hacksaw and a flashlight with fresh batteries from Dad’s old workbench. I’d also grabbed some lengths of wire and a screwdriver that I could use as crude lockpicks. Those went in the bag as well.

I opened the dresser drawer where I vaguely remembered having seen some ribbons. I was satisfied to see that there were a few long black ribbons mixed in with the rainbow of other colors, nice and wide and perfect to wind around my tail, hiding the blond hair from sight. My mane I could just tie back and hide under my hood.

Last but not least, I grabbed the shipping manifest. I had the tracking number memorized by now, but it didn’t pay to take chances. There might be more information on it that would help me find the crate I was looking for.

After a moment of indecision, I also put in my heavy steel lunch box. Any evidence I found would hopefully fit in there. I didn’t want any Zebrican artifacts I found getting damaged, after all.

Then I packed the “normal” stuff: toothbrush, hair brush, toothpaste. I nabbed a pillow and, shrugging, flipped it onto my back. After running around all day in a superhero costume, I couldn’t really complain about the indignity of carrying a pillow on my back.

I went back downstairs and almost laughed at the sight of the glazed look on my mother’s face as Plum jabbered away at her. I doubted that she’d stopped talking since I’d gone upstairs.

“I’m ready,” I announced.

“Okay,” Mom said, shaking herself out of her stupor. “Have fun, sweetie.”

“Yeah,” I said, opening the door. Plum trotted up beside me and bumped me with her shoulder affectionately as we left, probably glad to have me sleeping over again. I gave her a tight smile back and didn’t think about the real reason I wanted to stay over.

“Love you,” Mom said softly as I stepped over the threshold. I looked back and saw her staring after me, looking forlorn and a little lost. I almost didn’t say anything for a minute, then relented.

“Love you too, Mom,” I said, and then I closed the door.

~~*~~

I lay on my back in the sleeping bag that Mulberry had provided for me, staring up at the dark ceiling. Thoughts were whirling in my head, replaying the day’s events, and going over my plans for the night. Even if sleep had been on the agenda, I wouldn’t have been getting any, in spite of how exhausted my filly body was.

After coming back to Plum’s house, we’d “played” a little more. I used it as an excuse to figure out more of my new body’s capabilities. I was pretty disappointed nearly all around. Plum, in spite of being my same physical age, was stronger than me, faster than me, and nearly as agile as me. I had a slight edge in coordination, but that was it. I was under par, even for a filly.

I had to counter my lack of physical advantages with planning. Again and again, I ran through possible scenarios in my mind. What to do if a guard came, what to do if I hit a lock, and so on. I hoped I wasn’t too rusty at lockpicking. It had been a while since I’d taken the class.

After the delicious and filling dinner that Mulberry had supplied for us, Plum had been more than happy to help me wrap my blond tail in the black ribbons I’d brought over. She also put my mane in a tight bun for me. She was happy to do it. She thought we were bonding.

Sometimes I really hate myself.

We’d finally gone to sleep some time after the sun had gone down, Plum in her bed and me on the floor in the sleeping bag. I had worn my costume to bed, explaining that they were basically pajamas anyway. Plum had slept in her own tight-fitting costume, though she took off the hood and cape. It wasn’t long until she fell sound asleep.

I listened to the even breathing coming from her bed for at least twenty minutes, then decided that it was time to get going. I pushed myself out of the bag and onto my hooves as quietly as I could and left the bedroom. Then I crept down the stairs, feeling like a burglar, until I got to the front door where my saddlebags were.

The Puddings left their front door unlocked. It was unwise, but it worked out for me that night. I put on my heavily loaded saddlebags and walked out into the night, closing the door softly behind me.

In spite of everything, I actually managed to have some fun today. Plum was a breath of fresh air in my otherwise frustrating life. And by this time tomorrow she would probably never want to talk to me again.

I tried not to think about it. Instead, I put up my hood and slipped into the shadows, heading towards the Warehouse District.

I had a job to do. And one way or another, I was going to see it done.

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to Merlos the Mad and BrilliantPoint for pre-reading and editing!

Editor’s note:

And another McGee story that I’m now editor for. Soon I’ll be everywhere!

Shadow Games

Night had settled over the streets of Hoofington like a blanket, the darkness obscuring everything not touched by the silver light from the full moon above or the feeble pools of yellow from the streetlights. The normally familiar streets and homes were transformed into a bleak and alien landscape, devoid of color and detail. Through the filter of the moonlight, everything I saw was rendered in stark blacks and whites.

I moved away from Plum’s house as fast as I could, keeping an eye out for anypony who might see me. Since I was still in the residential side of town, there weren’t many ponies around. Most sane ponies were asleep in their beds at this time of night. I guess that provides an insight into my own mental state.

Sounds are amplified at night, taking on a greater meaning, not to mention a sense of intent. Is that clacking sound that I heard an indication of somepony who is up to something, or is that just the wind rattling a pair of window shutters? Is that rustling just leaves in the wind, or something following me?

It was impossible to tell; the dark hid everything. I was counting on it to hide me as well.

I made my way from shadow to shadow until I reached the business district. The normal hustle and bustle of the day was long over, and the only ponies I saw out and about were either on their way home from work, or on their way out to the bar. I avoided them, and for the most part they didn’t see me. My costume blended into the shadows almost perfectly.

The only one who saw me was an elderly mare tottering down the sidewalk with what looked like a cart full of groceries. I was half a block away when she called out to the little filly she must have barely seen in the darkness, asking if I was lost. I ignored her and continued on my way.

What had seemed like good, solid buildings in the daylight became silent giants at night, looming out of the dark like cliffsides. They towered over me, dreadnoughts in the sea of the night, making me feel even smaller than I usually did. I glowered up at them while I chewed on my toothpick and kept on moving, picking up my pace as I walked.

When I reached the Warehouse District, I was on edge. More so than I should have been. Every instinct was telling me that I was exposed and vulnerable, in spite of the outfit that concealed me in the dark. The toothpick in my mouth was a mushy, sodden mess. I spit it out and popped in a new one, crunching it between my teeth.

The guards didn’t see me. I had made plans to distract them, but they were too busy yapping at each other to bother keeping an eye out. Whoever their chief of security was, he needed a smack to the back of his head.

When I reached the damaged section of the fence, I was practically jumping out of my skin. Things had gone well. Extremely well. My life didn’t work that way these days. I found myself waiting for the disaster I was sure was going to happen.

After a few minutes, I realized that I was standing there staring at the fence for Celestia only knows how long. I shook myself and started forward, and that’s when I heard a noise behind me. Something small fell and clattered to the ground.

I froze, looking into the darkness for signs of movement. The noise had come from a nearby alleyway between two of the large buildings that made up this part of town. It would be stupid to go in there. Either nothing was there, in which case I’d be wasting my time, or something was, in which case I’d just be putting myself in danger.

I walked to the alleyway anyway.

I had only taken a couple of steps when a screeching cat shot out of the darkness and pelted away up the street. I’m not sure how I managed not to yell, but I did. And then I relaxed. Just a cat. It was just a stupid cat.

I was about to turn and walk back to the fence when it occurred to me that I’d seen this exact thing in movies before. One pony was following another and was almost caught when they knocked over some debris. Only the fortunate appearance of a cat, or some other unlikely animal, had prevented the pony from being caught.

It was stupid. That kind of thing only happens in movies. Still, I found myself walking cautiously to the mouth of the alley and looking in.

“Hi,” Plum said, looking embarrassed. I wasn’t able to stop the shout that time as I scrambled backwards and ended up falling flat on my tail. The toothpick tumbled out of my mouth as a steady stream of words came out of my mouth, most of them either incomprehensible or unfit for filly ears. Plum just stood there in her too tight Mare Do Well outfit, sans mask and looking sheepish.

“You sure do have a potty mouth,” she said after I wound down. I felt a surge of panic. How loud had I been? I had no idea. I got to my hooves and held one of them up to Plum’s mouth. Then I listened.

Nothing. No alarms, no guards. Just the regular sounds of the night. I turned to Plum, more furious than I can remember being in a long damned time.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked her in a tight whisper.

She shoved my hoof away from her muzzle. “I was going to play superheroes with you.” She wasn’t looking at me when she said it, frowning at the building behind me instead.

“I’m not playing superheroes!” I hissed through clenched teeth. Meanwhile, my mind was racing. Maybe if we hurried, I could get her home and get back here fast enough to get inside. If I left it too late, I ran the risk of being inside when morning broke. No way I’d be able to get back to Plum’s without being seen...

“I’m not stupid,” she said, an odd tone in her voice. “I know that. I don’t think you’re a hero at all.”

I’d never heard Plum’s voice like that before. Tight and flat, like a sheet of paper being pulled on both ends and about to tear into jagged halves.

“You were going to go through that fence, weren’t you?” she asked.

“Come on, Plum. We have to go,” I said, taking a couple of steps backwards, hoping she’d follow. She stayed put.

“Did you know my mom works there?” she asked. My heart lurched, one single heavy beat, before going back to normal.

“Plum, we have to go.” It was the only thing I could think to say. She still refused to move.

“Answer me. Why were you going to go into the building my mom works in?”

I couldn’t tell her the truth. I wouldn’t lie to her. I ended up just standing there, feeling ridiculous in my superhero outfit.

“You think my daddy really stole something, don’t you?” Her face pinched as she said that. She looked like a different pony, now. “You think mommy is helping him. Just like the other policepony.”

That news surprised me. “There’ve been other policeponies?”

“Just one,” Plum said, more than a little heat in her voice. Her jaw clenched. “But he’s been out to the house lots of times. A couple times a week. Mom always cries after he leaves the house. She thinks I don’t know.” I’d never seen Plum really angry before. I didn’t like it. “You think Daddy is a thief. You think Mom is a thief. Just like him.”

She was breathing heavy now, her lungs drawing and hitching irregularly. Her face was drawn into a pained grimace, and she looked like she was about to start screaming or bawling any second. Probably both.

“I never should have trusted you,” she said. The venom in her voice drove me a couple of steps back. “As soon as you said you were a policepony, I should have told you to get lost.”

“Plum...” I trailed off. It was pointless. The deceptions had caught me up. It was time for some truth. “I have to show you something. Maybe it will help explain.”

I dug around in my saddlebag until I found the shipping manifest. I pulled it out and passed it over to Plum, who stared at the document in confusion. The moonlight wasn’t anywhere near bright enough for her to be able to read the thing.

“What’s this?” she asked suspiciously.

“During our first slumber party, I woke up in the middle of the night and heard something downstairs. It turns out that it was your uncle Figgy. He was trying to get your mom to do something illegal. Something to do with that manifest.” She looked from the paper and back up to me. If nothing else, she was calmer now. She looked confused, which was a huge improvement over looking like she was about to break down into hysterical tears.

“She refused to do it,” I said. “She told him to get out.”

Plum stared at me for a few seconds, then passed the paper back to me. I shoved it back into my bag and turned back to her. She was still just looking at me, so I kept talking.

“Your mom is a good mare. I don’t think she’s caught up in anything bad. Not that your uncle isn’t trying to change that. As for your dad... I don’t know. I can’t say for sure.” I had my suspicions, but that’s all I had. “What I do know is that your uncle is involved in something shady. And, with your mom and dad under investigation like that, if he goes down it could take them down too. Even if they’re not doing anything bad.”

I looked her square in the eye and said with all the sincerity in the world, “Plum, I want to protect your mom. I like her a whole lot. She’s what a mom should be. I will not let her go to prison because her brother-in-law is a scumbag.

“That’s why I’m here. I want to find out what was so important to Figgy that he was willing to put his own family at risk for it. I want to make sure that, when the cops do find out about it, at least Mulberry is clear. Your dad too, if he isn’t involved.

“I’m not here to get your mom or dad in trouble. I’m here to find out the truth. To make sure that only the bad guys go to jail. And if your dad is involved, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he’s got the best shot he possibly can in court. I promise you that.”

During my speech, Plum had gradually looked down, refusing to meet my eyes. By the time I was finished, she was staring at a point just in front of her hooves. Her whole body was trembling. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. I could only hope that, however she reacted, it wasn’t loud enough to get us caught.

She walked up to me, and I tensed up. There was no question on whether I would raise a hoof to her, so I was sure I was in for one hell of a beating.

The hug surprised the hell out of me.

“I want to believe you,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure I do, but... I want to.”

I didn’t know how to react. I stood there like an idiot.

“Okay.” Plum sniffled a little and released me. She wiped her eyes with her costumed leg and looked at me with eyes that glittered in the moonlight. “So, what, now we go in?”

“What? No. Now we get you home. Then I come back and I go in alone.”

“Hmm. Nah. That’s not gonna happen,” Plum said with a little half-smile.

“Plum,” I said, putting a warning in my voice. “This is dangerous enough for just me. The two of us going in together—”

“What? We might get caught?” She rolled her eyes at me. “Oh no, how horrible! We’ll get scolded and sent home!” She gasped melodramatically and pressed her hooves to the sides of her muzzle. “They might even call our parents! We could get grounded!”

She stared into my scowling face for a few seconds until she was sure her point was made. “We’re fillies dressed as superheroes, duh!” she said. “The worst that can happen to us is that they think we’re kids playing some stupid game.” Her eyes narrowed and she added, “And as much as I want to trust you, Cinnamon, I’m not letting you go in there without me. Try it and I start screaming right here and now.”

I was about to argue, but the look on her face set like concrete. I knew there was going to be no shifting her. And she was right, the physical danger was really low. But getting caught would cause all kinds of problems.

“Fine,” I growled at her. “But you do what I say, when I say. You do anything else, and we go home and let the chips fall where they may.”

“Okay,” she said, pulling her mask back over her head but leaving the goggles off. I turned and started walking towards the gap in the fence. “What chips?”

I checked a sigh, concentrating instead on squeezing under the chain link of the fence. It was a tighter squeeze than I’d thought it would be. When it came time for Plum’s turn, I was able to pull the damaged portion out of the way enough for her to wriggle underneath it. Her cape caught briefly. I had her take it off and leave it on the other side of the fence.

From there, we kept to the shadows. There were the crates piled up on the side of the building, just like they had been during the day. The small window glinted in the moonlight. But before I tried the window, it made sense to at least attempt to open the access door.

I didn’t expect the handle to turn, and I sure didn’t expect the door to swing open. But it did. Did I say the security chief for this place needed a hoof across the back of his head? I take it back. He needed a firing squad.

From the outside, the warehouse had merely seemed gigantic. From the inside, it was a vast cavern filled with crates, boxes and packages. It stretched out in front of us further than we could see, disappearing into gloom off in the distance, with the ceiling being a good two stories high. The lights were electrical, dangling from their power cords from the ceiling high overhead. Only about a quarter of the lights were on, keeping the vast space dim and oppressive.

We had entered the building in the middle of the east wall. To our right was what would have been a large empty space if it weren't filled with wrapped pallets, huge crates and large metal shipping containers. Some of these were stacked nearly to the ceiling. A quick glance at the words stenciled into the sides of those containers told me that they were loaded with everything from exotic produce to machined parts from Detrot. Along the north wall of the building, access was provided by a large industrial door that was designed to slide open, allowing plenty of space for loaded carts to come in.

To our left were rows of shelves running north to south, each shelf maybe twice my height. The rows had letters printed on the endcaps, A-B for the first, C-D for the second, and so on down the line. I could see that there were a lot more than twenty six rows, and I had to wonder what they used when they ran out of alphabet.

There was a good ten feet of space between row A and the east wall where we were standing. All of that space was littered with packing material; bunches of plastic and crumpled paper, boxes that were either flattened or just empty and plastic bags of those stupid packing peanuts that tended to stick to my coat. The workers must use all of that for shipping, but it looked pretty damned untidy just piled against the wall.

After I was reasonably sure we were the only ponies around, I stepped under a pool of light from one of the dangling lamps above us and took out the shipping manifest.

"If they ever emptied this place out, they could have a hoofball game in here, fans and all." I told Plum quietly.

She giggled, still sounding nervous.

“Aisle J, section seventeen,” I whispered to the filly. She nodded back, her eyes were wide and scared, underscoring the lie of her earlier bravado. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said tersely. “Let’s just go.”

We walked ahead, glancing over from time to time to check the labels on the aisles. These shelves were where the smaller shipments were stored for processing. Everything from boxes as small as my lunch box to crates that Plum and I could both fit in easily were stacked on the shelves, each with a shipping manifest glued, taped or stapled to the front of it.

We found our big orange crate right where the manifest said that it would be, on an otherwise empty shelf. It was big, standing taller than either Plum or me. “What now?” Plum hissed. She sounded like she was coming loose at the seams.

“Just you watch,” I said, giving her my most confident grin. I had to convince her that I had everything under control. I couldn’t have her falling apart on me now.

Luckily, the crate was on the ground level. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that it could have been up higher, and made a mental note to kick myself for the oversight. Later. Right now, I had a job to do.

Together, we were able to pull the crate out onto the floor. The top was nailed down, but that’s why I had the nail puller. I put Plum on lookout and got to work.

Celestia help me, it was loud. The shrieking of the nails as I pried up the lid seemed to echo through the entire warehouse, a cacophony sure to wake the dead. I kept having to stop and listen for approaching hoofsteps, but nothing ever happened. Maybe the guards were deaf.

I finally got the lid off of the thing and poked my head into the crate itself, my flashlight clenched between my teeth. The smells of dozens of spices, both recognizable and unknown, hit my nostrils with an almost physical force. The wallop sent me rocking back on my hooves for a few seconds.

I stuck my head back in, eyes watering as I looked. As far as I could tell, it was herbs and spices from Zebrica, just like Figgy had said. The interior was loaded with ceramic and glass jars wrapped in cotton, cloth bags and wrapped paper parcels. It looked like everything was on the up-and-up, but this couldn’t be everything. If this were a legit shipment, there was no way Figgy would be trying to sneak it through customs.

I called Plum off of watch duty and had her come up next to me. We started taking the containers of spices out of the crate, stacking them on the shelf behind us. Eventually, I was able to crawl inside the crate itself, passing out package after aromatic package.

Nothing. I hit bottom, and didn’t find a damned thing. But something I couldn’t put my hoof on was bugging me about that crate. I turned to say something to Plum and that’s when it hit me.

I was standing taller than her. Not by a little, but by a lot. At most, the bottom of the crate should have given me an inch of a boost, but I was standing a full head taller than she was. I glanced down at my hooves, a grim smile dragging its way across my muzzle.

“It’s got a false bottom,” I told Plum, and she gasped, eyes wide. “Hold on, I’ll try to pry it up.”

It didn’t take long. The false compartment was well-hidden, but it came up with some gentle persuasion and more than a little cursing. I got out of the crate and pulled the wooden board that made the false bottom out with my teeth, then looked back inside, jockeying for position with a breathless Plum Pudding.

Here was what they were smuggling. But if those simple, identical ceramic jars were ancient Zebrican artifacts, then I’m a small pink donkey.

“What the hay is this?” I took one of them out, noting the thick wax sealing it shut. I hesitated, then broke the seal. The pungent smell that hit my nose was instantly recognizable and the cloying sweetness of it had me gagging.

“What is it?” Plum was wrinkling her muzzle in distaste even as she leaned forward for a better look.

I managed to recover from the overwhelming smell enough to gasp out, “Agllk nrrrgh...” I coughed, then cleared my throat. I put the lid back on the jar of foulness and tried again. “Aldavii nectar.”

Plum looked confused, and I couldn’t blame her.

“It’s a delicacy from Zebrica, from a very rare plant, harvested by an even rarer type of beetle. It’s supposed to be delicious, but the export is highly regulated.” I looked down at the sealed jars in the bottom of the case. “Each of these jars is probably worth about five thousand bits.”

Plum gaped at me, then looked down at the bottom of the case again. I could see her counting them, but I had beaten her to it. There were fifty small jars, all told. She looked back up at me, and I could tell she couldn’t believe me. Not that she thought I was lying, but that she literally couldn’t believe that there was a quarter of a million bits in illegally imported luxury sweetener sitting in the bottom of the crate.

“Really,” I told her.

“Ponies pay that much for this?!” Her eyes were wide and shocked as she asked it. I nodded.

“I guess it’s an acquired taste. The one chance I had to try it, I couldn’t get past the smell.” I didn’t tell her that it was also a mild intoxicant. Eat enough of it, and you’d simultaneously be chock full of restless energy, believe that you were invincible and be unable to walk in a straight line. A dangerous combination that had ended up with more than one aristocrat running full tilt into a wall at fancy Canterlot parties.

“One thing’s for sure, these ain’t no stolen Zebrican artifacts,” I said, and Plum smiled at me.

I picked up the jar I’d cracked open and pulled out my lunchbox, but the jar was too wide to fit. So much for using it to keep the evidence safe. I slipped it into my saddlebags instead. Plum gasped and shot me an incredulous look.

“I’m bringing it to the police,” I told her. She nodded, looking relieved.

I replaced the false floor, and together we piled the legitimate spices back in. I put the lid back on, and Plum and I had a fun time jumping up and down on the crate to make the nails settle back into place. The nail heads that were still sticking up were taken care of by laying the nail puller flat across the top and stomping on them until they were flush. Then we shoved the damned thing back where it belonged.

We were just getting ready to get out of there when the distant metallic rattling of the big loading door opening froze us in our tracks. Male voices, at least two different ones, were talking in the distance, the sounds of their hooffalls coming steadily closer to us.

“Hide!” I hissed at Plum. She nodded and scooted behind several boxes on the opposite shelf. There wasn’t room for me back there, no matter how she squeezed herself in. I had to look elsewhere.

The voices were getting closer as I scanned for a spot big enough to hide me. “...p-pretty sure it’s this way...” a stallion said, the tremor in his voice giving away his fear. A deep and rumbling bass said something in reply.

My eyes finally caught on a place I could hide. On the second shelf, behind a stack of flat metal cases that looked like steel pizza boxes with latches on the front. There was just enough room to climb behind them. I jumped up, grabbed the shelf and pulled myself up, barely noticing the rip I made in the leg of my outfit as I did so. I wriggled in behind the metal pizza boxes and held my breath, my blood pulsing in my ears as I listened. I pulled my hood back down to hide my face and moved just enough so that I could see down the aisle.

I had guessed that there were four of them, judging by the echoing hoof-steps. It turned out I was right. Four stallions in a group, who turned down aisle J and headed right towards where Plum and I were hiding.

Dammit.

I didn’t really register three of them at first. My attention was fixated on the big grey bastard coming up the rear. I’d never seen a bigger pony in my life, standing a good head above what I’d been as a stallion, and nearly as wide as he was tall. All of it muscle, from the looks of it. He had the look of somepony whose mom had gotten friendly with a minotaur, and the expressionless face of a bored statue. Each of his hooves were wider than my head was long.

His coat was steely grey and dull, his mane was black like cast iron, cropped short to his bulging neck. He was wearing half of a black suit on his forequarters. The garment was well tailored out of enough fabric to make suits for at least two normal sized stallions. The fedora on his head was pulled low over his eyes. Where that same hat had looked out of place and comical on Figgy Pudding, on this guy it simply underscored how little I wanted to mess with him.

I tore my eyes away from the colossus of a pony and his sledgehammer cutie mark and looked at his companions. I gave each of them a once-over, noting everything I could about them.

The unicorn was of average height and build, and he was wearing a half suit over his forequarters, grey and pinstriped. Green eyes. Red coat. Light orange mane and tail. Ball and chain cutie mark that led me to believe he’d probably been in the system since he was a colt.

The next stallion was a nondescript pegasus, not wearing anything except for a pair of heavy green canvas saddlebags. The pegasus was on the tall side, but lean and athletic, making him look like a stork. Brown and darker brown for coat and mane, green eyes. Scar on left front fetlock, white patch on left shoulder, possibly from an old injury. His cutie mark was a padlock and key.

I recognized the last pony in the group by his uniform. He was one of the guards who’d been on duty when I’d come in.

“I could get in real trouble for this,” the guard said, his voice cracking. “I just... you gotta be quick, all right?”

“Shut it and go,” the big pony said in the bass rumble I’d heard before. There was no anger in his voice, no emotion at all. The security guard backed away.

“Right,” he said in a terrified squeak. “I’ll wait out front.”

The guard got his tail out of there. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t want to be here either.

The target of these three goons was, naturally, that damned orange crate. It looked like Plum and I had gotten here just before the smugglers had decided to take things into their own hooves.

The unicorn’s horn glowed and the thing slid back out into the middle of the aisle. The big guy grabbed the edge of the wooden lid with his teeth and just pulled, the whole lid coming off in a deafening screech. It didn’t look like he’d even put any effort into it; it was like he’d just taken the lid off of a box of chocolates.

The pegasus and unicorn started pulling the containers of spices out, piling them carelessly on the floor.

“Watch the merchandise,” the big guy said. The two ponies flinched and nodded at him. They started stacking things more carefully.

Once the crate was empty, the unicorn pulled out a crowbar from the pegasus’ saddle bag and pried up the false bottom. He stuck his head in the crate and whistled.

“Lookin’ good,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” the pegasus said, frowning as he looked into the crate. “One of ‘em is missing.”

“Shit, again?” The unicorn spat a phlegmy wad on the floor. “I thought we took care of that little problem.”

“We did,” the big guy said. “Pack ‘em up.”

“You got it, Breaker,” the unicorn said.

The two of them got to it, loading the ceramic jars into the pegasus’ saddle bags. The earth pony, Breaker, spent his time standing there, slowly scanning in every direction. His eyes landed on the spot where my face was partially exposed, hidden in the shadows. I resisted the urge to yank my head back, concentrating on keeping as still as possible. He’d see the movement before he’d see my face.

His eyes moved on and I relaxed marginally. Then my heart clenched when he picked up the false bottom from the chest. My hoofprints were faintly visible on the wood.

“All done,” the pegasus said, his saddlebags bulging with ill-gotten goods.

“Go. Straight to the boss,” Breaker said.

The brown pegasus nodded and trotted away. The unicorn started to follow him, only to find himself barred by Breaker’s massive foreleg.

“We stay,” came the rumbling voice. “Somepony took our goods. Somepony small. Might still be here.”

I moved myself slowly back into the shadows. No sudden movements. And, as I hid in the shadows with my heart punching my ribs, I did something I almost never do these days: I prayed.

I prayed to the Maker of All. I prayed to the Princesses. I even prayed to the Elements of Harmony, and I hadn’t even heard of those things until a year or two ago. I prayed with everything I had that those stallions wouldn’t find Plum Pudding. They could find me, I didn’t care. But if anything happened to that filly...

I heard the still nameless unicorn’s hooves echoing as he walked north up aisle J. Breaker’s hoofsteps sounded like somepony beating a drum as he walked the other way. I moved again, slowly, just enough to see as the unicorn reached the end of the aisle. He turned back the way he’d come.

“Nothin’ here!” he shouted.

“Take a right. Check each aisle.” Breaker replied.

The unicorn nodded, turned, and started walking. I heard Breaker do the same, only in the other direction. They were going to check aisle by aisle.

My brain was running full steam. I saw two options. Option one was to stay put. They’d search the warehouse, not find us, and leave. Option two was to try and sneak out past them.

My decision was made for me when I looked down at the floor. The crate was still open, the contents stacked neatly beside it. The two stallions would be coming back to clean up their mess. If they found us then, running wouldn’t even be an option.

The unicorn’s hoofsteps were two aisles away now, if I were to guess. The same with Breaker’s. We could sneak past them if we were quick and quiet. Get to the door, get outside, get through the fence. We’d be safe.

Or we’d get caught.

I had the jar they were looking for. If it came down to it, I’d use it to get them to focus on me while Plum ran away. It was as good a plan as I was likely to get.

I slithered out of my hiding spot and lowered myself to the ground, wincing at the slight tapping sound of my hooves hitting concrete. I made my way to Plum’s spot as quietly as I could.

“Plum!” I hissed as quietly as I could. I poked my head around the box she was hiding behind. She was staring at me with wide, wild eyes. I could see her trembling, curled up into a tiny ball.

“We have to go,” I whispered to her. She stared at me like I was crazy. “We have to go now. They’ll be back.”

My ears were swiveling around on my head, catching the sounds of the stallions’ hooves as they walked, now even further away. Plum grunted as she pushed herself backwards out of the gap behind the crate. Soon enough, she was free and standing next to me. I held a hoof up to my lips and she nodded.

“Follow me,” I whispered to her. “Stay close, and don’t run unless I do or I tell you to. Got it?”

She nodded her head frantically.

“And keep your mask on,” I told her. “If they see you and we get away, they won’t be able to recognize your face.”

She nodded again. I crept my way to the end of the aisle, Plum right on my tail. I’d already grounded myself, drawing in as much power as I could as I did so. It wasn’t much, not against two stallions, but it was better than nothing. I stopped and listened when we got to the end of the aisle, listening for both stallions. I could still hear them walking, so I motioned for Plum to follow.

We turned right at the end of the aisle and moved towards the small side door, keeping an ear out for the stallions’ hoofsteps. The unicorn was the one between us and the doorway.

We crept along as fast as we could without making noise. I wanted to get past him while he was still walking away from us. We tiphoofed forward, finally reaching the aisle where the stallion’s hoof sounds were coming from. I risked a quick glance...

The aisle was empty. I stared, sure I was making a mistake. The sounds of a stallion walking were coming from the aisle, but there was nopony there.

“Well, hello there little cupcakes,” a cheerful voice said. Plum and I both jumped, with Plum making a muffled squeak of terror. The unicorn stallion stepped out of the shadows. He’d been standing near the packing material stacked against the wall, keeping an eye on the door. Clever bastard. “Neat trick with the hoofsteps, huh? A little spell I learned a while back. Keeps ponies from guessing where you are.”

The stallion was grinning almost wider than his muzzle as he walked towards us. His eyes glinted in the dim light of the warehouse. “Couple of little superheroes, eh? Used to play that when I was a colt, myself.”

Plum was pressing into me, and I could feel her whole body shaking. “Run when I tell you to,” I told her, too softly for him to hear. “Right to the door and all the way home, don’t look back.” Then, louder, “It’ll be alright.”

“Of course it will,” the stallion said, still grinning with that slash of a smile. “All we want is what you took from us, and we’ll let you go.”

Plum made a mewling sound of distress when I stepped away from her, but I got what I wanted: the stallion focused on me.

“Let my friend go, and I’ll show you where I hid it,” I told him as I circled away from Plum, my tail towards the aisles. I had to clear a path for Plum to run.

The stallion clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “Nah. That ain’t how it’s gonna work, sweetheart. You give us the jar, and I’ll let you both go. Otherwise, you’re gonna get in trouble.” His smile turned saccharine, tinged with false pity. “Stealing. Breaking into a warehouse. All sorts of trouble for two little fillies. You give us the jar back, I forget all about it. What d’ya say?”

I was still circling around him, sidling along so I could keep facing him. He turned to keep facing me and, soon enough, his tail end was towards Plum. I prepared myself to charge him and was just inflating my lungs to shout for Plum to run when the stallion spun on a hoof and started walking towards the terrified purple filly.

“How about you, kiddo?” he said. She squeaked and scrambled backwards away from him.

Something in me shattered right then. I was stalking towards the unicorn, not even sure what I was going to do but with every limb tense and vibrating with rage.

“You stay away from her,” I snarled as I came up behind him.

He stopped and turned his head to glance back at me. I recognized the tensing muscles in his hind leg too late to get out of the way. I barely had time to turn my body when the hoof caught me hard in the saddlebags, sending me flying. Plum’s wail was drowned out by the crashing sound of my limp body slamming into a pile of empty cardboard boxes and packing material. I tumbled out of them and rolled to the floor.

The unicorn snorted and turned back towards Plum.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, sweetie,” he lied to her, all false honesty and concern. He took another step towards her, and Plum took another step back. Then another. Then her back was up against the end of one of the aisles and she had nowhere else to go. “We only want our jar. It’s just a bunch of smelly stuff, right? I just want to—”

My flattened lunchbox spun through the air, a streak of silver in the darkness like the wrath of Luna herself. It took the unicorn in the back of the head with a dull thud and then clattered to the floor. He stumbled forward with a shriek, his now misshapen fedora drifting to the ground. He spun to face me, murder in his eyes and blood running down his neck, but I wasn’t waiting for him. I was already charging.

He reared in surprise, then brought his forehooves down in a clumsy stomp that could have ended me if he’d landed it anywhere near me. I rolled underneath him, stopping by his back hooves. I balanced on my forehooves, drew my body in, and then kicked upwards with every ounce of grounded strength I had.

My back hooves sank into something soft and kept going until they hit pelvis. The unicorn let out a moaning gurgle and began collapsing. I ducked my head and went into a forward roll, coming back to my hooves right in front of a stunned Plum Pudding.

She had picked up my concave lunchbox in her forehooves and was staring at me with her mouth hanging open. I snatched the lunchbox from her and slammed it into my open saddlebag.

“Run!” I told her. She didn’t move. I gave her a shove. “Run!”

“You kicked him in his no-no place,” Plum whispered, incredulous.

“What?”

A loud clattering in the distance brought my head around. Breaker was coming. Not only that, but the unicorn was already getting back to his hooves. If there had been murder in his eyes before, now he looked like he was ready to burn down an orphanage. Rumor and stories will tell you that a kick to the privates will down a stallion for a good long time, but they’re wrong. The truth is that there are few better painkillers than pure rage and the burning desire to stomp another pony into jelly.

“Go!” I bellowed, and nipped Plum in the rump. She shrieked, startled, then seemed to snap out of whatever daze she’d been in. She ran for the door with me right on her tail.

The downed unicorn tried to stop us with magic, but his aim was off. Probably because of all the red he was seeing. He ended up knocking over the junk stacked against the wall in front of us. We got to the small side door and, while Plum opened it, I shot a quick look back.

Breaker was dimly visible off in the distance, galloping towards us with the noise, fury and inevitability of an avalanche.

Adrenaline is a hell of a thing. We covered the distance to the broken fence so fast we might have actually teleported. I made sure Plum went first, and I’d barely made it through the gap myself when I heard a massive crash from behind us. I scrambled over to where Plum was crouched down in the alley before I dared to look back.

Breaker was standing in what was left of the doorway. The metal door was listing drunkenly, attached by only the bottom hinge. The grey stallion, his grey coat shining silver in the moonlight, stood there with his eyes scanning the shadows as he looked for us.

Plum and I froze in the stinking alley, hearts thundering as we huddled together amidst the refuse piled on the damp stone surface. Time stretched far too long as the stallion looked, examining each shadow for us. I’m sure that it was only our dark costumes that kept us from being seen.

I don’t know how long it took, but eventually Breaker went back inside the building. I counted to a slow three hundred before I started to relax.

“Let’s move,” I said quietly to Plum. She nodded and we moved out, slowly and carefully. On the way, we picked up her cape from where she’d left it by the fence. It was a damned good thing that Breaker hadn’t seen it lying there.

It was a tense walk back. We stuck to the shadows as much as we could, looking over our shoulders every step of the way. To make matters worse, the sky was already starting to lighten by the time we got back to Plum’s house. There weren’t many shadows left to hide us.

The Pudding household was still sleeping when we got back. We went up to Plum’s bedroom as quietly as we could, where we finally stripped off our stinking, sweaty and torn costumes. Only then did I turn to Plum to bring up something that had been on my mind for a little while now.

“I kicked him in his ‘no-no place’,” I said, snickering. “Really?”

Plum blinked owlishly at me and then started to giggle. I couldn’t help it, I started laughing too. The adrenaline had drained, we were both exhausted and jittery, and the stress and lack of sleep had made us both more than a little punchy.

It wasn’t until a bleary-eyed and annoyed Mulberry opened the bedroom door and scolded us for being so loud so early that we managed to get our laughter under wraps.

“Sorry,” we said in unison. The mare shook her head and, muttering darkly about early mornings and a lack of coffee, went back to bed for another precious hour or two of sleep before it was time to start getting breakfast ready.

I was about to suggest a quick nap when Plum hugged me fiercely.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said. “I was so useless in there.”

“No you weren’t, Plum,” I told her. I hesitated, then hugged her back. “I never could have gotten that crate open without you. And nopony could have known those guys would show up when they did.”

We held the hug for a few more seconds before we broke. I heaved a sigh and went over to my saddlebags, wincing a little as I moved.

“Are you alright?” Plum asked. The concern in her voice stiffened my spine a little.

“Bruised ribs and ego,” I said. “Nothing broken. Lunchbox took the worst of the hit.”

“Poor lunchbox,” Plum said sadly.

“We’re lucky the nectar jar is still in one piece,” I said. “Otherwise the smell probably would’ve killed us by now. I think I should bring this straight to the police.”

“You can’t,” Plum said.

I blinked at her in surprise. My head was more than a little muddled, and I thought at first that I hadn’t heard her right.

“I can’t?” I repeated. She shook her head solemnly. “Why not?”

“You know that unicorn that was with them? The one you kicked in the you-know?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s the policepony that keeps stopping by to talk to my mom,” Plum said simply.

I stared at her while that sank in. That changed more than a few things, not the least of which meant that, if the unicorn had gotten a good enough look at Plum, he would be able to connect us to the warehouse. I tried to think of an appropriate response.

“Well, shit.”

Yeah. That about summed it up.

Author's Notes:

Thanks, as always, to Merlos the Mad for pre-reading, and Brilliant Point for his amazing editing skills!

For those of you that guessed Plum was going to follow him, you guessed right!

No rest for the wicked

I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I’d planned on trying to figure out what to do now that I knew that there was a corrupt cop on the Hoofington police payroll. I’d asked Plum if she thought the unicorn could have recognized her, but she wasn’t sure. And once the adrenaline wore off there wasn’t much keeping my eyes open. Then the events of the previous night and day caught up at me all at once and I dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I woke two hours later to Mulberry shouting from downstairs that breakfast was ready. My head shot up and I looked around, brain muzzy and eyes crusted. I was warm, too warm. I looked down and saw that I’d been curled up next to Plum Pudding on top of the blankets on her bed. In spite of the chill in the air, I wasn’t cold. That girl put out heat like a blast furnace.

I was feeling worse off after the short nap than I had before I laid down. The pounding in my head drove out all thought, leaving me to stagger out of the bed with the early morning sunlight driving daggers into my eyes.

“Get up, Plum,” I muttered. The filly groaned, muttered something about cotton candy and rolled over. A few seconds later she started snoring again. I nudged her with a hoof. “Get up. Breakfast.”

She cranked open one bloodshot eye to look at me, groaning as if even that was an endeavor nearly beyond her endurance. “Too tired to be hungry,” she mumbled. That’s a first for her.

A gleeful sadism took me over and I grinned brightly at her. “Your own fault for following me last night,” I said. Plum moaned and pulled her pillow down over her head. “Come on,” I said. I poked her with a hoof. “Come on,” I repeated, poking her again. “Come on. Come on. Come on.”

“Quit it!” she shouted, narrowly missing my face with a swipe from her pillow. For some reason that struck me as hilarious. I laughed in her face while she scowled at back me. Her scowl didn’t last, though. Eventually the corners of her mouth turned up and she started giggling. “Fine, let’s go get breakfast, then.”

We made our way down the stairs, stumbling and yawning. This morning it was waffles, which I dished up with some strawberry jam. They were amazing. I had seconds.

I think I had Mulberry confused when I brought up family in other towns. Plum didn’t have much to add. She was too busy dozing over her plate to keep up with the conversation.

“I do have a sister in Greenrock,” she told me when I asked about family outside of town. “Oh, Greenrock is a little village about ten miles away.”

“I know. I’ve been there.” I took a sip of my orange juice and said, “I think it might be a good idea to pack up Plum and go visit her for a couple of days.”

“Hmm? Why would that be, dear?”

“Figgy might keep coming back to bother you,” I said. Figgy, his police officer friend, and a brick wall on four hooves named Breaker, but I didn’t mention them. Yet.

She laughed, dismissing my concerns. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about him. That crate of his is going through customs today, anyway.”

“I just have a bad feeling,” I said by way of understatement. “You said he ran with a bad crowd, right?” She nodded. “What if this ‘crowd’ decides to punish you for not helping with the crate?”

I hated myself for the spark of fear my words had put into her eyes. Those eyes flicked towards Plum Pudding, who was chewing listlessly, more asleep than awake.

“We’ll be fine,” she said, though she didn’t sound as sure now. “And, anyway, Tapioca can’t be moved right now.”

I gave it even odds that Tapioca was faking this illness of his. I still didn’t have any proof he was involved, but every instinct was telling me he was in this up to his neck. But Mulberry wasn’t going to shift if I told her that. All that would happen is that she’d be furious with me for saying it. And so would Plum.

I considered my options and found out that I didn’t like any of them. I had to get Plum and Mulberry out of the house, out of Hoofington. If that crooked policepony had recognized the filly, then it wouldn’t be long before there was an unpleasant house call from some very bad ponies.

I was going to have to tell her about what I’d done. I’d take all of the heat, of course. As far as I was planning on telling Mulberry, Plum had been asleep the entire night. I’d done it all on my own. I was just opening my mouth to spill the beans when there was a knock at the front door.

“Think that’s your mom again?” Mulberry asked me.

“Yeah, probably,” I said. I was pretty sure it was too early in the day for gangsters to come calling. Too many witnesses around. If anything happened, it would be at night. Still, there was no way I was letting Mulberry open that door. I hopped down from my chair. “Want me to get it?”

“Um... I suppose that’s okay?” Mulberry replied. “Invite her in, if you want. We have plenty of food!”

I looked back at her, a smile ghosting across my muzzle. “Yeah. Thanks, I might do that.”

Another knock sounded as I approached the door, managing to sound both timid and impatient. I relaxed a little. That sounded like my mother’s knock, alright.

“Hold on, dammit,” I grated as I reached the door. I cracked it open, ready to slam it shut again if I didn’t like what I saw. “You can just... What the hell do you want?!”

It wasn’t my mother, and it wasn’t a crooked cop unicorn with a crumpled fedora. Instead, Figgy Pudding stood outside the door, hoof still raised to knock. His eyes widened above his greasy pencil-mustache for a half-second before he grimaced at me. I was so glad it wasn’t Breaker or the crooked unicorn cop that I was almost glad to see him.

“What, do you live here now?” he asked. I didn’t say anything, opting to close the door. He pushed it open ahead of him as he started walking forward. I braced myself and shoved a hoof into his chest. The surprise stopped him more than my filly-sized power did.

“Nopony invited you in, you bastard,” I growled at him. He gaped at me. Then his face became a thunderhead of anger.

“Why you little—” His hoof raised. I didn’t break eye contact. He hesitated.

“Go on,” I said, my voice flat and even. “Hit the little filly. And then we’ll all go down and have a nice little chat with the cops.”

“I...” his hoof drooped back down.

Whatever he was going to say was derailed by Mulberry, who’d come up behind us. Too bad she hadn’t seen him about to hit me. Nothing lets a mom know when a stallion is bad news more than him lifting a hoof to a child. And this stallion was bad news in a cheap fedora.

“Figgy?” Mulberry said. The distaste in her voice was carefully hidden but still obvious to both him and me. I saw him flinch out of the corner of my eye.

“Yeah... Um. Hi, Mulberry. Can I talk to Tapioca? It’s kind of important.”

“He’s asleep,” she said, frowning. “You know his stamina isn’t what it used to be.”

“I know. I wouldn’t bug him, but it’s real important.” He fidgeted while she stared at him. “Please, Mully. I swear, it’s important.”

Damn me if he didn’t sound sincere. Mulberry must have heard it, too. She eventually nodded. “I’ll go see if he’s up to it.” And she walked away, leaving me in the doorway, my hoof still on the stallion’s chest.

“So, uh... filly. Whatever your name is. You gonna keep your hoof there?” he asked me.

“You ain’t getting in until Mulberry says so,” I told him.

That didn’t piss him off like I expected. Instead, he laughed and ruffled my mane. “Ain’t you the most adorable bouncer ever,” he said. My eyes narrowed. After a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat. “I ain’t gonna do anything to hurt Mulberry. Or Plum, or Tapioca either.”

“You almost sound like you mean it. You’re still waiting there until she says otherwise.”

“Fine, fine.” He took a step back and sat down on his rump. After a second, he took the fedora off of his head and wiped a fetlock across his sweating brow.

I frowned. His leg was trembling. Something had this stallion rattled. I added two and two together and came up with “smuggling operation”. I was more sure than ever that Figgy’s bosses had suspicions that the Pudding family might have been involved with the fracas last night.

My mind raced as he sat there. I had to figure out some way to protect them. If I hadn’t gotten involved, they wouldn’t be in any danger right now. There had to be something I could do.

Reluctant hoofsteps behind me heralded Mulberry’s return, interrupting my train of thought. “He’s awake and he’ll see you,” she said. Figgy flinched at the disapproval in her voice. “Try not to excite him. You know how weak he is these days.”

“You got it, sis.” Figgy got up and walked to the door, looking down at me. “Okay?” he asked.

I stared up at him for a few more seconds, not shifting. When he opened his mouth to say something, I beat him to it.

“Watch yourself,” I told him. Then I stepped aside. He gave me an odd look and walked in. I scowled after him.

“I’m taking Plum shopping,” Mulberry said quietly to me as she watched Figgy walk away with a frown etched on her muzzle. “I think her uncle is a bad influence. Do you want to come along?”

“No, thanks,” I said, feeling relieved. The market. Nice and open, lots of witnesses. They’d be almost as safe there as they would be in a vault. “I should get home.”

Of course Mulberry wanted to walk me home. I waved her off. “I can get home just fine, thanks.”

Plum came stumbling up behind her, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. “You goin’ home, Cinnamon?”

I hesitated. “I might come back later,” I said, sidestepping the lie. “If it’s okay with your mom.”

“You can come by anytime you like, Cinnamon,” Mulberry said with a smile.

It wasn’t long afterwards that we all left the house. I had my saddlebags back on and waved to Plum and Mulberry as they took a left turn towards the market. I took a right, heading towards my mother’s house. Then I rounded a corner and waited.

Two minutes went by before I judged it safe to look back the way I’d come. Plum and Mulberry were nowhere in sight. I went back to the Pudding house. Like I expected, the front door was unlocked. I really had to talk to them about that, but it worked out to my advantage right then.

I heard the arguing even before I stepped inside. Two voices, both stallions. One was Figgy. The other was Tapioca, though I barely recognized him. He wasn’t speaking in the half-distracted mumble I was used to. I stood in the hallway and listened in.

“No way! I told you I was done!” he was saying to Figgy. “I gave them what they wanted. I kept my muzzle shut. What more do they want?”

“You know better than that, bro,” Figgy said. He sounded... what? Sad? Regretful? Hard to say. “They always want more. Besides, there was that trouble last night. They’re wondering if you had anything to do with it.”

“I haven’t left this house in weeks,” Tapioca said angrily. “You know—”

Whatever he was going to say next was interrupted by wracking coughs.

“Damn, bro,” Figgy said when Tapioca finally wound down. “Is that blood?”

“Yeah.” There was a rustling sound for a few seconds. “Don’t worry about it.”

So much for a fake illness. They stopped talking for a while. Eventually Tapioca started talking again.

“Why do they think it was me? I thought you said Chains saw who broke into the warehouse.”

“He said that whoever it was decked him while his back was turned, he didn’t get a good look.”

Holy hot damn. I felt a grim smile coming on at what was the best news I’d heard in a week. Apparently, his pride had been bruised even more than his ‘no-no’s’. That reduced the threat from a full gang of smugglers to just one slimeball of a unicorn.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Tapioca said. “I’m seriously laid up, here. I’m not up for a walk around the block, let alone breaking and entering.”

“So, if Chains showed up to ‘talk’ to you again today, you wouldn’t have a certain type of jar in your possession?”

“You know I wouldn’t,” Tapioca said, his voice weak and dry. “Their last ‘warning’ almost killed me. I’m not trying anything like that again, especially now that I know they have cops on the payroll. I have a family to think about!”

Pieces started clicking into place. I frowned as I ran over what I’d heard in my head.

“How are they?” Figgy asked. “Mully and Plum, I mean.”

“They’re alright,” Tapioca said, heaving a sigh. “But money is tight. All these doctor bills, and I’m not even bringing in any money.”

Figgy grunted. The two of them lapsed into silence. After a while, Figgy started talking again. “Well, I don’t wanna keep you up. You need some rest.”

I heard him moving towards the bedroom door and scooted my tail down the hallway. I got behind a bookcase just as Figgy opened the door. A few seconds later, and he was out the front door.

I walked to the bedroom door myself. I hadn’t been able to convince Mulberry, but maybe I didn’t need to. There were two adults in this household, one of whom I was having to revise my opinion of. If nothing else, he sounded serious about protecting his family. I pushed the door open and walked inside of Mulberry and Tapioca’s big bedroom, bold as brass.

The smell of body odor and sweaty sheets filled my lungs, dispelling the last of my doubts as to Tapioca’s illness. He was sick, alright. In fact, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, slumped over with his head in his forehooves. His head came up when I walked in, and his eyes went wide when he saw me.

“Cinnamon?”

“Hi, Mister Pudding,” I said as I reached into my saddlebag. I pulled out the ceramic jar and placed it on the nightstand. “We need to talk.”

Author's Notes:

Big thanks to BrilliantPoint as always for his fantastic editing!

===
Editor’s note:
Despite him being a filly, you have to admit he has some balls.

Parental confrontations

“Wh-wh-wh…” was all he could say for a while. I gave him some time. It was the least I could do after knocking his mental train right off of its rails. Eventually he looked up at me and, while pointing at the jar with a shaking hoof, spoke in a harsh whisper. “Where in Equestria did you get that?”

I frowned at him. “Guess.”

I watched as the wheels spun in his mind. He’d gotten the answer already, and I could tell he didn’t like the way it tasted on his mouth. Eventually he just spat it out.

“It was you in the warehouse.”

It was a statement that felt like a question. I nodded. “Good guess.”

“How? Why?”

“I managed to grab the shipping manifest a couple of nights ago, on that first sleepover. Figgy had come over to ‘persuade’ Mulberry to pass the shipment through without it being inspected by customs, and I—”

“He did what?!” He really shouldn’t have tried shouting, because he spent the next minute or so coughing. I waited patiently until it wound down. “That bastard,” he rasped when he’d settled down.

I nodded again. It was an assessment I agreed with. “I was curious what would prompt someone to try and convince his own sister-in-law to commit a felony,” I told him. “So, I grabbed the manifest and found out. Aldavii Nectar. About five thousand a jar, right?”

He gaped at me. Fillies aren’t supposed to know that type of thing, his expression told me. Time for a little push.

“What was your cut?” I asked him. “Before you got greedy and lifted one to sell on your own, I mean.”

He drew in a shocked breath. I let him process what I’d told him. What was going to come out of his mouth next was almost definitely going to be a lie.

“They offered me five percent of the gross,” he said, and now it was my turn to be surprised. “How do you know these things?”

“Maybe I’m just precocious,” I said. “Or, maybe I’m an undercover customs agent magically altered to look like a little filly.” He looked like he half believed me. I gave him a hard grin. “Whatever else I am, I’m also somepony who’s going to protect Plum and Mulberry from all comers. And that includes you, Tapioca.”

He drew back, and I saw the shock and anger on his features. “Hold it,” he said roughly. “I never said I agreed to their offer.”

“Right,” I said. “This is all just some massive misunderstanding. Right?” I didn’t bother hiding the disdain.

“I don’t really care if you believe me, kid,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But I’m the one who’s been protecting this family. And if you did this, then you’re the one who put them right back in danger!”

I couldn’t exactly deny that, but I needed answers more than he needed an explanation. “That’s a nice sentiment. But if you really want to protect them, you’ll turn yourself in.”

“I tried that,” he said, then snorted angrily. “Why do you think I’m so messed up? I took a jar straight to the police office and tried to blow this whole thing wide open. They have cops on the payroll, kid. I got seven kinds of crap kicked out of me, and then some damned zebra potion forced down my throat.”

I scowled up at him. “That sounds likely.”

“It’s the truth!” He had another bout of coughing after that. “It’s true,” he said more quietly.

Dammit, but I couldn’t have chosen a worse time for this crap. My head was already pounding from a lack of sleep, and I was having a hard time fitting my thoughts together. But at that moment, my instincts were telling me he was telling the truth. I filed that thought away. Instincts or no, I needed evidence.

“Say I believe you,” I said. “You have any proof to back this up?”

“None that I’m going to share with a little filly,” he said with another snort.

“Or a magically altered customs agent,” I pointed out.

“Yeah. That sounds likely,” he said, shooting my own sarcasm back at me. I gave him a humorless grin.

“Chains. The red policepony unicorn.” His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Yeah, I know him. I’m the one who decked him last night. Still think I’m a regular filly?”

He eventually snapped his mouth shut. “If you did, then I owe you one. That bastard’s been coming out here two or three times a week, making sure I’m still staying well under his hoof.”

A couple of puzzle pieces clicked together. “You’ve got something on them, and they’ve got something on you.”

The frightened look on his face told me I’d struck gold. “What he’s got is my health, and my family,” he whispered. “I do anything to upset the status quo, bad stuff happens.”

I felt a flash of anger when he said “family”. It was just like these bastards to threaten an innocent mare and filly to keep somepony quiet.

“He’s giving you a treatment for the zebra poison they gave you. Just enough to keep you alive but not enough to cure you,” I guessed. I was on a roll. His eyes widened again and he nodded. “Either that, or he’s giving you more poison in order to keep you sick, and just telling you that it’s the antidote.”

That’s when I could tell that he was more honest than I’d first thought. His face went slack and his jaw dropped. It was obvious that he hadn’t thought of that possibility. Maybe it takes a slightly twisted mind to even consider the chance of disguising a poison as an antidote.

“As for what you have on them, I’m sure I can guess. Some names, for sure. Shipping manifests. Dates and times. Contact names in Zebrica. Maybe some contacts on Equestria, too.” Poor stallion. The hits just kept on coming.

“How the hell… You’re really a customs agent?” He reached for his water with a jittery hoof and ended up spilling more down his front than he got into his muzzle.

I gestured noncommittally. I’m not above lying to criminal suspects, but I try not to lie to the good guys. I still wasn’t sure which he was.

“Tell me you’ve got that proof hidden somewhere safe,” I said. He nodded. “Good. Where?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Not going to tell you,” he said stubbornly. “If anything happens to me, though, a copy goes to each major newspaper, as well as Celestia’s court.”

“Good. If you get a chance, get a copy ready to go to Luna’s court, too.”

He looked startled, and then he frowned at me as if he wasn’t sure what to make of me. Finally, he nodded.

“Right,” I said. “We’ve got that out of the way. Now the most important thing. Get your family out of Hoofington. Today.”

“Why?” he asked.

I considered what to tell him. I decided to go for broke. “I stayed over last night, remember?” He nodded, looking concerned. “And then I went to the warehouse. Saw Chains and some huge bastard named Breaker.”

I saw him shudder. “You got away from Breaker?” He sounded impressed. After having seen that wall of pony muscle rushing towards me, I couldn’t blame him.

“To be fair, I don’t think he ever actually laid eyes on me. He was too far away. But Chains got a good look. That thing Figgy told you about him not seeing me was a lie, he definitely saw me. And he saw who I was with.”

The realization sparked in his eyes almost instantly. “No,” he said in a pained whisper. “Not Plum?” I nodded. Outrage and despair filled his voice as he shouted, “Why was she there?!”

More coughing. I waited while he hacked a lung out.

“She followed me. It wasn’t part of the plan.” Not that it made it any less of my responsibility that she did so. “The good news was that she was wearing her Mare Do Well outfit. He might not have recognized her.”

“But then again, he might have,” he said. He was cradling his head in his hooves, not looking at me.

“Yeah. He might have.” A few seconds ticked off of the clock. “Get out today. Leave town. Go to Mulberry’s sister’s place in Greenrock.”

“I can’t,” he said. He sounded miserable. “There’s nowhere I can go that they can’t get me. Greenrock? That’s a few hours’ walk away. And Figgy knows about it.”

“Then pack up for a family vacation to Manehatten. Or Fillydelphia. Or, hell, even Canterlot.” He shook his head. I stomped a forehoof. “Your family is at risk, here!”

“Because of you!” he shot back, low enough to not trigger more coughing, but harsh enough that he might as well have been yelling.

“Because of me.” I nodded. No point in denying it. “But knowing that isn’t going to keep Plum safe.”

I’d hurt him with that one. I could see it in his eyes.

“They said that they keep an eye on the train station. As soon as I try to run, they’re coming after us. All of us.” He sounded miserable. “They’d have nothing left to lose by taking us. And they have a few cops on the payroll. They could make it look official.”

I flinched. He could be right. That’s the way I would do it, if I were the bad guys. Silence reigned for a couple of minutes, each of us lost in our thoughts.

“Seems to me...” I said eventually. He lifted his head out of his hooves and looked at me with watery eyes. “Seems to me that, if we can’t run, and we can’t fight directly, then we need to get sneaky. We need a plan.”

“Oh, great.” He rolled his eyes. “What could go wrong? It’s only my family at stake, that’s all. What possible plan could we make that could be carried out by a sick stallion and a crazy filly?”

“What, are you kidding?” I said with a slightly maniacal grin on my muzzle. “Those are our greatest assets.”

~~*~~

It wasn’t long after that when I left the Pudding residence for what I hoped would be the last time that day. I frowned at the street in front of me as I walked, deep in thought. We’d thrown around a few ideas for a plan, but we hadn’t able to come up with much. I might have done a better job, but I was exhausted and my headache felt like somepony was smashing a frying pan repeatedly into my skull. I promised him that I would be back after I got my head together and called it a day.

I was still missing some critical details on the situation, but Tapioca had filled me in on at least some of what he’d known. Like that the name of the pegasus in the warehouse was Dust Devil. Like how there were at least two more ponies in the crew that Tapioca knew by face but not by name, another earth pony and a pegasus. And that the pony running the operation went by the name of Mister Sunshine. I’d written everything down in my school notebook so I wouldn’t forget any details.

When I’d taken my leave, he’d made some noise about not wanting to let me take the nectar with me. What put a stop to that was when I’d told him that it was a bad idea to leave it with him. If Chains found it, it wouldn’t go well for his family. The jar was still in my saddlebags, bumping my side every other step. Damned if I knew what I was going to do with it.

I tried to make plans, but my exhausted brain couldn’t get a grip on anything, my thoughts scattering faster than I could organize them. My headache was getting worse, creeping it’s way up the back of my neck from my shoulder blades and tightening like a vice around my temples. With any luck, I could sleep it off once I got home.

I stumbled and yawned most of the way back to my house and finally let myself in through the front door. My mom was there in a heartbeat, her shrill voice drilling into my head while she demanded to know why I was back so late.

“The Deal, mom,” I told her simply, too damned tired to get mad about it. “I get to go out and hang out with friends and stuff, remember? We just agreed on it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I like this new part of the Deal if it means you can stay out so long, making me worry like this.”

And just like that, I wasn’t too tired to be mad.

“You want to start canceling parts of the Deal you don’t like, Mom?” I said, drawing myself up to my full, if miniscule, height. Frustrated rage started bubbling into my voice. “Maybe I can start doing the same.”

Her muzzle worked soundlessly as she tried and discarded several different responses. She finally settled on, “Go to your room.”

It’s where I’d been going anyway, but now it was the last place I wanted to go. “Maybe I’ll go back out and see if Plum wants to play some more.”

“I am still your mother!” she said, stomping a hoof.

“And I’m your adult son!” I shouted back, my voice breaking as my rage vented. She reared back with a look of shock on her face, as if I’d slapped her. The shouting had left my throat raw. “Eh, fine. I’m going to go to bed. Wake me for lunch.”

“You… you’re going to sleep?”

“Stayed up late with Plum last night,” I said. “I’m tired. Going to bed.”

If she said anything else after that, I didn’t hear it. I stomped up the stairs and into my room. The first thing I did was strip off my saddlebags and then empty them. The sweaty and stained superhero outfit went into the dirty clothes hamper. I might as well get it washed, just in case I needed it again sometime.

The flattened remains of my lunchbox I set inside an empty dresser drawer. The jar of illegally imported nectar needed a better hiding place than my lunchbox did. I got on my belly and wriggled under my ridiculously huge bed.

The underside of my bed was a dusty and derelict graveyard for box after box of shoes and accessories, ones that my mom had gotten for me but which didn’t fit in my closet. Belts, hats, scarves and box after box of tiny filly-sized horseshoes, boots and even a pair of crystalline heels that would be too gaudy even on an adult mare.

The box I ended up opening contained four fancy white boots with sequins down the sides. I stuffed the jar of nectar into one of the boots, closed the box, and put it back into its place.

Not exactly a great hiding spot, but it was the best I could come up with after all I’d been through last night. I’d find a better one when I’d woken up. At least, that’s what I told myself as I climbed into bed, shoving the majority of the stuffed animals onto the floor as I did so.

The thought that was running through my mind as I laid my head down was simple. The Pudding family was under threat by an enemy that was bigger, more ruthless, better funded and better positioned than they were. Their only ally was a former stallion now stuck in the body of a little filly. The situation was grim, and they had left us with no choice.

We had to take them down. Hard.

With that thought nestled comfortably in mind, I laid my head down on my pillow. I was asleep within seconds.

Author's Notes:

Thanks, as always, to BrilliantPoint for editing and Merlos the Mad for pre-reading!

I apologize for the delay. I had to re-think this chapter and the direction the story was going. Several plot points have changed, though the ending is still going to be the same. The next chapters should be much quicker in coming out.

Playground Battleground

There was frost on the ground on Monday morning, crunching under my hooves whenever I happened to walk across a patch of grass. Plum was walking next to me, though without the usual bounce in her step. She had been surprised to find me waiting in the street outside of her house in order to walk her to school.

“I don’t want you walking around by yourself,” I had told her when she asked about it. “You’re too easy of a target all alone.”

“So, what, you’re going to walk me to school every day for the rest of my life?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me.

“If I have to.” I shot a smirk her way. “Though we’ll both be better off once I figure out a plan to keep them away from you and your family.”

She smiled over at me, though I could see the worry in her eyes. “No plan, yet?”

“Not yet.” I heaved a sigh. “I’ve got lots of partial ideas, but nothing is coming together. I’ll keep on it. But until then, I’ve got some rules I want you to follow.”

“What rules?”

“First, no talking to strangers.”

“Well, duh,” she said with a snort. “That’s a given.”

“Especially keep away from anypony who’s hanging around your house, or who acts strangely.” I showed her my serious face. “They may be out looking for you. Try to avoid letting them see you.”

She gulped and nodded.

“Next, it’s probably a good idea to avoid the police, at least until we find out how far this goes. But if you get into real trouble, find a cop and ask for help. They can’t all be on the bad guys’ payroll.”

“Right,” she said nervously. I hated that she was scared, but she had to understand how serious this could be. I couldn’t protect her from everything. She needed to know enough to watch out for herself. “But what if it’s a cop that’s acting weird?”

“Find a different one. Or run to the nearest crowd and start shouting your head off,” I continued. “Get as much attention on yourself as you can. If there’s no crowd, run into a store. Ask an adult for help. Knock on the front door to somepony’s house and ask for help. If none of that is possible, run until you can find somewhere to hide.”

“Okay,” she said in a weak voice.

“If that crooked cop unicorn comes over to your house again, you stay out of sight. If it sounds like he’s looking for you, or if he asks your mom about you, you get out of your house however you can and you come find me.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “What about my mom?”

“She’ll be okay,” I said with a confidence that I wasn’t really sure I felt. “She’s a grownup. She can take care of herself.”

She nodded, though she was scowling at the ground as she walked, her face screwed up in a look of concentration.

I nudged her softly with my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I brought this on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I hadn’t gone to the warehouse that night, none of this would be happening. It’s my fault.”

“It’s my fault too,” she said. “I decided to go with you. Besides,” she said with a hint of her usual cheerful smile, “We’re Plum and Cinnamon, filly adventurers extraordinaire. We can handle anything!”

I offered her a smile of my own. “You got that right.”

She stopped walking so suddenly that I took a few steps before I realized she wasn’t next to me anymore. I stopped and looked back at her.

“It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” she asked me. Her voice was pleading with me to make it all better.

“If we stay smart, if we keep our eyes open, if we’re careful…” I put on my best reassuring smile. “Yeah, I think it will be.”

Plum sighed, sounding as if the weight of the world were coming off of her shoulders. And, heck, maybe I’d even told her the truth. We started walking again, and I cast around trying to think of anything I could to get her mind off of things for a little while.

“So, Plum,” I said. “You were saying something earlier about different types of migratory birds?”

She turned to look at me as we walked. “Oh, was I?”

Ordinarily I’d do my best to tune out Plum’s bird talk. Today, though, was a different story. “Something about how some swallows will migrate and some won’t, I think.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, it’s really cool! The Equestrian swallows will migrate south for the winter, but only if led by pegasi. The Zebrican ones will just stay in one place, though. Some of the books I've read say that they were originally one species, but they separated because some flocks would get left behind when the weather pegasi went to find them. Over the years, they adapted to the warmer climate and just stayed like that. According to the book The Common Birds of Equestria, it turns out that they…”

I smiled as Plum rattled on about obscure bird facts. She was still a blank flank, but I’d be willing to bet that cutie mark ended up with feathers on it. She turned into a little professor whenever she was talking about birds.

Plum seemed to be in a better mood after that as we walked together through the crisp morning air. She rambled on about birds for a while longer and I went back to tuning her out like usual. What she was saying wasn’t as important as the carefree way she was saying it.

Eventually, her bird talk wound down. A spring returned to her step as she trotted out ahead of me. When she got a pony length ahead of me, she glanced back over her shoulder with a mischievous grin.

“Race ya!” she said moments before she ran off, giggling like a loon. I felt a smile, a more genuine one this time, pull itself across my muzzle.

“It’s on!” I shouted after her. A half-second later and I was hot on her heels, the dust from the road forming a cloud behind us. We laughed all the way to school and she ended up beating me by a nose.

“I win!” She was gloating, stepping high as she walked into the classroom ahead of me.

“Only because you cheated,” I pointed out.

“It’s a fair tactic,” she said with a gleam in her eye. I shook my head with a dry laugh. What passed for logic in Plum’s head never failed to surprise me.

Our run had put us ahead of schedule. Students were still arriving as I hung my saddlebags on the hook with my name on it. I made my way through the typical early morning shenanigans of our hyperactive classmates, sliding my lunchbox into my desk compartment before sitting myself down.

Reality set back in once I was back in my hated school seat. My good mood started fading as the gabbling of the colts and fillies in the classroom started grating on my nerves. Talk about weekends and incompleted homework, interrupted playtime and boring chores all bubbled in the air around me. The things that little colts and fillies had to worry about. I could only wish my own problems were so insignificant.

Plum’s own spirits seemed to be taking a dive, too. Either she was picking up on my developing bad mood or she was growing one of her own. I should have kept her talking. Poor kid could have used the distraction. Instead, she was frowning down at her desk and keeping to herself. I found myself missing her chatter.

The bell rang and cut the classroom chatter short, much to my relief. Miss Persimmon was already there behind her desk, looking at us all with a well-practiced smile that didn’t touch her eyes. A pity, because she was wearing a fetching green dress that complemented her coloration nicely. Maybe the librarian look was growing on me.

“Good morning, class,” she said.

“Good morning, Miss Persimmon,” the class echoed back. The mare flashed that rehearsed smile at us once again and came around to the front of her desk.

“Just a reminder, everypony,” she said in the sugary singsong she used when she was faking how excited she was about something, “The school play is coming up next week. If you haven’t returned your permission slip yet, make sure you do so by the end of tomorrow, okay?”

Excited murmurs filled the classroom. I snorted and rolled my eyes. The teacher must have noticed that, because she stopped in front of my desk with her mouth turning down into a hint of a frown.

“If your parents don’t sign off on the slip, or if you turn in a slip that says they don’t want you in the play, I may stop by your house to talk to your mommies or daddies,” she said. She was staring right at me while she said it. Then her mouth quirked up into a smile again. “You know, just to see if I can convince them to let you be in the play.”

“Ah, shit.”

I didn’t realize that I’d said that out loud until Miss Persimmon flinched back a little while staring at me in shock.

“What was that?” she said, too stunned to be angry.

“I said, ‘You got it’.”

She scowled as I composed my face into a look of utter innocence. After a few seconds, I began to doubt my acting abilities. She must have decided to let it drop, though, because eventually she shook her head and moved on.

“We’ll be doing casting starting on Wednesday. I’m sure you will all do a great job!” Only the eye twitch gave away the massive lie she’d just told.

“Dibs on Princess Celestia!” piped up a filly in the background.

“I wanna be the Princess!” another filly objected.

“Can I just be a tree or a rock or something?” a unicorn colt the next desk over from me muttered while several fillies began arguing over who would be impersonating our solar monarch.

“Class!” The teacher stomped her hoof, which silenced the kids. “I will make the decisions the same way I always do! By pulling the names out of a hat!”

Groans of disappointment filled the air. Miss Persimmon took a deep breath and let it out.

“Alright, then,” she said as she readopted her chipper persona. “Let’s get started on math, shall we?”

“Aaawww!” the class groaned in unison. Most of the class. I hate to admit it, but I really liked showing off in elementary mathematics.

As much as I enjoyed feeling like a math whiz, it didn’t last long. Math class was over soon enough, and then we entered the nightmare landscape of Arts and Crafts. Construction paper and glitter, macaroni and glue. And dozens upon dozens of crayons and markers everywhere the eye could see.

I don’t think Miss Persimmon much appreciated my own artistic submission: three black dots on a white piece of paper.

“Cinnamon,” she said with a long-suffering sigh as her magic lifted my masterpiece off of my desk. “What is this supposed to be?”

“A polar bear in the snow,” I told her evenly.

She passed it back to me, shaking her head. “I really think you could do better if you would just apply yourself.”

“Give me an ‘F’, then,” I said with a shrug.

Her eyes narrowed and she gave me the disapproving scowl I was so used to. As her lungs inflated for a reply, I decided to push some buttons.

“It has to be you,” I said, “because I honestly can’t give an ‘F’ for this on my own.”

I spent the rest of Arts and Crafts in the time-out corner.

Lunchtime saved my sanity. I retrieved my battered lunchbox from my desk and followed Plum outside. Vanilla Sweet must have been off being a nuisance to somepony else, because our favorite spot under the tree was open. Plum’s mood was better, at least. As we made our way there, the little purple filly was once again chattering away.

We were just sitting down when I realized that she’d asked me something about my lunchbox.

“Oh, yeah. I pounded it out yesterday with one of my dad’s old hammers,” I said. The box was lumpy and misshapen, but it closed and managed to stay latched, which was all that mattered. It was still an improvement over the pretty pink princess lunchbox I’d traded it for.

“Hmm,” Plum said as she chewed on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “So, any ideas yet about what we’re going to do?”

“Follow the rules. Never go out alone. Watch out for that unicorn. If he comes over, hide,” I said. I knew I was reiterating the basics, but it was important that she remembered.

“Anything new, I meant.” She sounded sulky when she said it. I shook my head and she pouted.

“I would have told you if I did,” I said. As if spending twenty minutes in the relative peace and quiet of the time-out corner would have been enough for me to come up with anything solid. The only thing I kept coming back to was the sacrifice play, putting myself in the line of fire to take the heat off of them. But even that wouldn’t necessarily protect them all.

I sighed, poking at my celery sticks with a hoof. “We just stay safe, Plum. Time is our friend. The more of it that goes by, the safer we all are.”

She obviously wasn’t satisfied with that answer, because the next thing she said was, “Well, I still say we should go to the police. They can’t all be crooked!”

“You’re right,” I said. “They probably aren’t. But if we pick the wrong one, then we’re in worse trouble than ever. And even if we pick the right one, they may not take us seriously.”

We ate in silence for a while. I could practically hear the gears clicking in Plum’s head as she tried to figure out an angle. I finished off my lunch while she was still eating her carrot chips. When Plum noticed that I was done eating already, she passed me her apple.

“So, any idea what you’d want to be for the play?” she asked when I had chewed the apple down to the core. I shrugged, glad for the change of topic.

“Don’t really care. Make me a rock or something. The less I have to do, the better.”

“Aww. I think you’d make a great Celestia! Though, she’s not pink.”

I glared into her grinning face.

“I don’t think so. A rock. Or maybe a tree. That’s more my speed.” I grinned back at her. “And you’ve got peanut butter in your teeth.”

Plum flushed red as her mouth snapped shut. She covered her muzzle with a hoof and glared at me when I gave a snort of laughter.

“Besides, the play is next Friday. With any luck, I’ll be back to normal by then.”

I tried giving her a smile, but it didn’t do much good. She stopped looking angry only to look sad instead.

“I was… I was kind of hoping you’d stay like this,” she told me.

The words came out before I had a chance to censor them. “Are you crazy?”

“No!” She huffed angrily, then deflated as she admitted, “But I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

It took a couple of seconds before I could find my voice again.

“You’ll always be my friend, Plum,” I finally told her. “I would have gone nuts weeks ago if you hadn’t been around.”

“Aww…” She smiled at me. “It turns out even the super-tough Cinnamon Swirl has a heart!”

“Sure, but its all dried up, tough and wrinkled.” I regarded at her for a few seconds, considering my words carefully. I owed her the truth. “We’ll still be friends, Plum. But we won’t be able to hang out much anymore.”

She rocked back a little when I said that. “Why not?”

“It would be hard to explain why the full grown stallion was hanging around with a little filly,” I said. “Society wouldn’t like it. Your mom and dad definitely wouldn’t like it, trust me. Our ages are too different. It would be inappropriate.”

She stared at the grass between us for a while. I looked away, in case she started to cry. Instead, I took out my thermos and poured myself some milk to drink.

“Well, then,” Plum eventually said in a matter-of-fact voice as I started drinking. “I guess I’ll just have to marry you.”

Before that moment, I’d never realized that spit-takes could happen in real life. But they can and I did, spitting my milk all over the grass. Plum fell over sideways as she burst out in shrill giggles. I tried to suck in a lungful of air in order to demand to know just what the hell she meant, only to breathe in some of the milk along with it. I spent the next couple of minutes alternating hacking my lungs out and gasping for breath, all to the accompaniment of Plum’s laughter. As soon as I could, I managed to gasp out one word.

“What?!”

Her laughter died away and she sat back up with a grin.

“It’s the perfect solution,” she said, nodding as if she weren’t spouting nonsense. “I don’t want to lose you as a friend, and you said you were too ugly as a stallion to get any mares interested in you, remember?”

My further hacking and gasping were the only answer she got.

“Anyway, I don’t care much about stallions being handsome,” she said, and even while I was in the middle of asphyxiating I was able to roll my eyes. She’d feel differently in a couple of years. “I know that you’re a brave and loyal pony, Cinnamon. What more does a mare need?”

“That… That’s not enough, trust me,” I managed to wheeze. A few more coughs and I managed to add, “Besides, the age difference…”

“Pfft!” Between the raspberry she blew and the dismissive wave of her hoof, I had a pretty good idea of how she felt about that. “My dad is older than my mom by almost eight years. It’s no big deal.”

“Our age difference is going on twenty years,” I pointed out with a raspy chuckle. “Besides, I’d be a grown-up, and you’d still be a filly.”

I was trying to keep my tone casual. In reality, my head was still reeling from the unexpected direction this conversation had taken. I’d have traded everything I owned for this conversation to be over right then.

“I’d wait,” she said, as if that settled the matter.

“Yeah, but you’ll notice colts your own age in a couple of years, anyway.” I said.

“Ugh, I don’t think so.” Her muzzle scrunched up and she added, “They’re all gross.”

“I think you’ll find ‘em to be less gross in a few years,” I said with a grin. “Besides, I wasn’t kidding about being ugly. I’ll show you a picture, sometime. I guarantee you’ll run away in horror.”

I laughed, trying to make light of the situation. It didn’t work out like I’d planned.

“You don’t have to laugh,” Plum said, sounding a little hurt.

“I didn’t mean… Look, I’m really not trying to make fun of you. There’s just no way it would work.”

“But it could!” she said with heat in her voice as she got to her hooves.

“No, Plum.” I shook my head. “I’m really flattered that you’d think that way about me, but no. Even when I change back, you’d still be too young for me to marry.”

She stomped a hoof. I looked up and was surprised to see angry tears in her eyes.

“You could at least pretend, you big jerk!” she snapped.

She spun around on a back hoof and charged off, leaving me sitting there with my thermos of milk in my hooves. I was torn between going after her and staying put. I opted to let her settle down before talking to her again. I was probably the last pony she wanted to see right then.

I started packing up. Plum had left her lunchbox behind, along with the small brownie that was supposed to be her dessert. I put it all back in her box and latched it shut before doing the same to mine. Since I could only pick up one lunchbox handle with my teeth, that means that Plum’s had to be carried on my back. Only for Plum would I end up carrying that damned pink lunchbox again.

I was halfway back to the classroom when I heard the noise of a large and rowdy crowd. Yelling and so on isn’t uncommon on the playground. Anypony under the age of twelve seems to spend way too much time shrieking and hollering at the top of their lungs, usually for no good reason. But this was different. This sound had an edge to it. I dropped both lunchboxes on the path and bolted towards the heart of the shouting.

There was a crowd of colts and fillies in a circle, most of them looking on with mild curiosity. The shouting was coming from the inner edge of the circle, or at least most of it was. As I pushed my way through the crowd, I heard two voices I recognized. One was Plum Pudding’s. The other, Vanilla Sweet’s.

I barreled my way past the useless damned bystanders, cursing up a storm and bruising more than one fetlock in the process. On the way, I recognized one of the fillies I pushed aside as a classmate.

“Get a teacher!” I barked at her. The filly blinked at me in surprise before nodding and running off. Good. At least one pony was doing something useful, unlike these other damned herd animals that were just watching or, even worse, shouting encouragement from the sidelines.

Plum was standing defiant against Vanilla Sweet, with Ivy standing uselessly in the background and looking like she wished she were anywhere else. The look on Vanilla’s face cranked my adrenaline up a few more notches. She had a grin on her muzzle like ice, and a mean glint in her eyes. She started moving towards Plum, who already had a darkening bruise on the side of her muzzle.

Ivy called out a warning just a moment too late. I broke into a run and rammed my shoulder into Vanilla’s barrel, sending her sprawling.

“You can't even face her without your buddy being here for backup,” I said to the bully, not bothering to hide my contempt. That bruise on Plum’s face had my heart pounding. I felt a fire building in my brain and I grit my teeth, trying to keep my anger under control. “You really must be afraid of her, Vanilla.”

The bully was pulling herself back to her hooves, fury boiling in her eyes. Ivy, still in the background, shot a worried look back and forth between us.

“I’m going to rip that ribbon out of your mane and make you eat it,” Vanilla Sweet told me, almost conversationally.

Plum responded to that with a loud, “I’ll make you eat it, you creep!”

I held out a foreleg between her and the bully, barring her way. “I got this, Plum,” I said. She batted my leg out of my way and turned her anger on me.

“This is my fight, Cinnamon!” Plum was shouting at me. I jerked back in surprise. “I can take care of myself, you know! You big dummy!”

“One of you or both of you, I don’t care!” Vanilla’s face had turned even uglier than normal, splotches of red showing up under her coat. “I’ll pound you both!”

Meanwhile, there was a mantra running through my head. Don’t hurt her, she’s just a filly. Don’t hurt her, she’s just a filly… Then I caught sight of the darkening bruise on Plum’s muzzle once again, and the mantra changed. Maybe just a little bit...

I shook my head and folded my ears back against my head.

“I don’t think so.” That was directed to all three of us, though I was looking at Vanilla when I said it. “Nopony is getting pounded today. Because any second now, a teacher is going to break this up. If you don’t want another detention, we should just go our separate ways.”

Vanilla screamed in rage and charged us. Plum stiffened next to me, getting ready to meet the charge head on. That would be a terrible idea. I shoved Plum aside, sending her staggering away. Then I neatly sidestepped Vanilla’s charge and clipped her hooves out from under her with a foreleg.

For the second time that day, Vanilla Sweet went flying. Not bad for an earth pony.

She didn’t take this fall as well as the first one, landing hard on her chin on the hard-packed dirt of the playground. Plum gave a victorious whoop and jumped in the air, punching a forehoof at the sky.

“Take that!” she crowed. “And stay down!”

Yeah, like that was going to happen. Vanilla got back to her hooves with blood on her muzzle and murder in her eyes.

I winced at the sight of the blood. I hadn’t meant for her to get hurt, but she hadn’t given me time for a softer option. All I could do was try to control the fight from then on and hope things didn’t get any worse.

Vanilla rushed again, this time trying a diving tackle that was comically easy to dodge. She landed in a grassy area this time, the air rushing out of her lungs with a whoosh when she landed. This time, her glare wasn’t towards me.

“Help me, you idiot!” Vanilla Sweet screamed at somepony behind me.

A rock clipped me behind the ear, briefly stunning me. Crap, I’d forgotten about her little sidekick. I looked back to see Ivy with a panicked look on her face as she hefted several more small rocks in her telekinetic field. She launched another one at me, this time hitting me in the shoulder.

Ivy soon found herself in too much trouble to try launching any more rocks at me. With a scream of pure rage, Plum tackled her. The remaining rocks fell back to the ground as the two of them tumbled and rolled, struggling with each other. The cheering from the audience around us ratcheted up in volume.

“Plum, no!” I shouted, far too late to do any good. And then I was hit in the side with a wrecking ball.

My breath exploded out of my lungs. I ended up falling on my back with a triumphant Vanilla Sweet on top of me, a cruel sneer on her face and both forehooves raised. But she failed to realize two very important things. The first was that one of the first things I’d learned in self-defense class was how to control a fall.

The second was that my back legs were between us, coiled like a spring.

As Vanilla Sweet reared up and prepared to pound my head into jelly, pure reflex took over. I kicked out, hard, taking her in the stomach and knocking her clean off of me. I heard her hit the ground and I rolled over, getting back to my hooves.

I spared the bully a glance as I got up. She was retching, puking her lunch up on the playground to the collective “eeew!” of the gathered students. She would keep for now.

I found Plum and Ivy struggling against each other a small distance away, on the other side of a tree. I ran over, shouting my lungs out. The unicorn’s head snapped up, eyes wide. With a shriek, she jumped away from Plum and took off, running away as fast as her hooves would carry her. I stopped by a panting and gasping Plum.

“You alright?” I grated at her. I was having a hard time breathing, myself.

“I’m fine,” Plum snapped, still keyed up. “You let her get away!”

“I’m fine, too,” I said in my driest voice. “You know, in case you were worried.”

She blinked at me, eyes wide with surprise. Then she grunted and looked away, apparently not ready to stop being mad at me yet. “Where’s Vanilla Sweet?”

I pointed a hoof. Vanilla was glowering at us as she leaned against a tree. She wasn’t making any moves toward us, and it was clear that I’d knocked the fight out of her along with her lunch.

“We won?” Plum’s voice was loaded with utter disbelief, which quickly turned to joy. “We won!”

“Nopony won,” I said, my voice stiff with self-loathing. “Trust me on this one, Plum. We all lost this one.”

“That’s stupid,” Plum said with a snort and an eye-roll. “You know what I think? I think you just can’t—”

“Just what the hay is going on here?!” a voice shouted.

Our audience scattered like roaches when the light is turned on, leaving just the three of us standing alone and facing the wrath of our teacher, who was descending upon us like a thunderstorm.

Miss Persimmon turned her disapproving eye on all three of us in turn, taking in the dirt, the scuffs, the messy manes, and the bruises. Her mouth opened, no doubt ready to let us know how very disappointed she was. I beat her to it.

“Just where the hell were you?” I shouted at her. The mare took a step back, eyes wide. So did Plum, for that matter.

“I beg your pardon?” the teacher asked, more shocked than angry.

“My pardon? You don’t have it,” I snarled. My legs were stiff and shaking as I stomped towards her. “You knew that Vanilla Sweet was going to be coming after me or Plum. Just like she has every other day for over a week. Where. Were. You?”

“I… You don’t talk to me like that! You’re the ones who were fighting!”

“Yes! And it’s your job to stop us! Where were you?”

The shock was fading from her eyes and anger was replacing it. I cut her off again before she had the chance to work up a decent head of steam.

“By the way,” I said in a tone closer to normal, though still vibrating with anger, “I had to kick Vanilla really hard in the gut to stop her from pounding my face into the dirt. She needs to see a doctor.”

“No I don’t!” Vanilla Sweet protested weakly.

“You could be hemorrhaging internally and wind up dead,” I told her bluntly. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open. “Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I want you to die. Go to a damned doctor and stop being a baby.”

Vanilla looked beyond panicked, now. “I could die? Miss Persimmon, I don’t want to die!” She was prancing frantically in place as she said it.

The teacher glared at me. “Stay right there,” she said, then went over to check on Vanilla Sweet. I used that time to check on my friend, sitting down next to her and giving her a once-over.

“Could she really die?” Plum whispered to me as I looked at the bruise alongside her jaw.

“A remote chance, maybe. Probably not. It doesn’t pay to take chances, though.” I turned her head with my hoof, looking for more damage. “Anything else hurt besides your jaw?”

“What? My jaw doesn’t hur…” she ran a hoof over her bruise and whimpered. “Owieeee!”

I sighed. “That’s adrenaline for ya. Distracts you from the pain.”

“This really hurts!” she whined.

“That’s one reason I don’t like fighting,” I said.

Miss Persimmon came back our way, leaving a teary-eyed Vanilla Sweet behind. She was radiating anger and disapproval as she said, “I’m taking Miss Sweet to the nurse’s office for now. As for you two, I expect you to go straight to the principal’s office and wait there for me. Understood?” Her tone was measured and controlled, a thin veneer of calm over a boiling sea of rage. I could tell, since it was a tone I used often enough.

Plum and I both acknowledged our understanding, Plum with a squeak and frantic nod and me with an irritated grunt and shrug. The teacher gave us a measuring look before taking off with a visibly shaken Vanilla Sweet in tow.

“I think we’re in trouble,” Plum said softly.

“Yeah,” I said. “And that’s another reason I don’t like fighting.” With a grunt, I got back up on my hooves. “Come on, Plum. Let’s go and face the music.”

Author's Notes:

As always, thanks to my editors and pre-readers, which now includes Ekevoo and Coandco, along with Brilliantpoint and Merlos the Mad.

Consequences

We didn’t go straight to the principals office like we had been told to do. I made a quick detour first, ignoring Plum’s objections about disregarding Miss Persimmon’s orders, in order to pick up our lunchboxes from where I’d dropped them.

When we walked into our classroom the colts and fillies stopped their gossiping in order to stare at us. Our hoofsteps echoed in the silence as Plum and I crossed over to our saddlebags to put our lunchboxes away. The second we walked out the classroom door, the excited whispering started up again at twice the intensity.

Plum kept quiet during the long walk to Principal Oak Leaf’s office, which was on the far side of the small school. To the students of Hoofington Elementary, the principal’s office was a place of intimidation and dread, the seat of Authority in the small world of the school. Not too many parents liked it either, though that was for different reasons.

We walked in through the receptionist’s door only to be scowled at by the grey-maned unicorn mare sitting behind the desk. She ordered us, in a tone that landed right on my last nerve, to sit ourselves down and wait until the principal called us.

The seats were small, wooden and cheaply built. Mine squeaked when I sat down, which made the receptionist’s ears flick. Plum sat trembling in the seat next to me, her breathing quick but shallow. The poor kid was having some sort of panic attack. My guess was that she’d never been in actual trouble at school before.

“Relax,” I told Plum. “It’s going to be fine.”

“How can you say that?” she hissed back. “We’re in so much trouble!”

The receptionist looked up and scowled at us. “Quiet, you two.”

Plum shrank back in her seat with a soft “eep” sound. I glared at the old mare, but she was already back to filing her forehoof while pretending to work. I shifted deliberately in my chair, which gave out a metallic squeal in protest. I saw the mare’s jaw bunch up in irritation, and a grim little smile crawled across my muzzle. I waited a few seconds for her attention to wander again before I continued trying to calm Plum down.

“This is just school trouble,” I said quietly, trying to avoid the receptionist’s notice. “We might get scolded, but it’s not like they’re sending us to prison or anything.” I patted her on the back. “Take a deep breath, okay?”

“Okay. Right.” She pressed a hoof to her chest and inhaled, held it for a few seconds, then let it go.

“Feel better?” I asked. Plum offered me a weak smile.

“I said to be quiet!” The receptionist was glaring at us. Plum shrank back and stammered out an apology. Me, I just got mad.

A few seconds went past, and wouldn’t you know it? Suddenly I felt a little restless and had to find a more comfortable position to sit in. My chair squealed like hooves being dragged across a chalkboard, causing the receptionist to flinch as her head snapped up. I stopped before she said anything, sitting there with my hooves in my lap and as close to a look of innocence as I could muster, all while pretending I didn’t see her glaring at me.

Eventually she went back to her filing, and that’s when I started my little game. I’d wait some random interval of time and then shift in my seat. A metallic squeal would echo through the room, flattening the receptionist’s ears and making her clench her jaw. It was never enough at once for her to know for a fact I was doing it deliberately, and I kept quiet otherwise.

I glanced over at Plum and saw her staring at me, eyes wide either with either awe or disbelief that I was deliberately annoying an adult. I shrugged. It may have been petty, but it was still revenge of a sort.

I was interrupted when a stiff-legged and scowling Miss Persimmon opened the outer door, nodded to the receptionist, and walked straight past us on her way into the principal’s office. She shut the door, putting an end to any ideas I might have had of eavesdropping.

“She looks mad,” Plum whispered to me.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered back.

Plum sighed, then leaned against me. I froze, not sure what to do at first. And then I put my right foreleg across her withers and pulled her into a hug. We sat like that for a good few minutes while Plum’s breathing eventually settled back to a normal rhythm. I had to give up my little game with the receptionist, but it was worth it to get the filly calmed down.

We were still sitting like that when the outer door opened again. I looked up as a pair of earth ponies came marching in, a mare and a stallion. The stallion was on the pudgy side, dark brown coat with an off-white mane. He gave us the stink-eye as he stalked by, his ears laid flat and his lips pulled back into an angry snarl. Plum gasped at the sight of him and buried her face in my barrel.

He ignored my glower and instead turned to the receptionist to demand, “Where can I find the principal?”

The receptionist’s eyes narrowed as she pointed to the only other door in the room, which had a big nameplate on it reading “Principal Oak Leaf”. The stallion snorted and marched over to the door, flinging it open before heading inside.

The mare that entered with him didn’t follow right away, staying out in the reception area for a few seconds. She had a big build, bigger than most stallions I’d seen. Her coat was a light yellow, and her short-cut mane was a sandy brown over her darker brown eyes. She also had a definite resemblance to Vanilla Sweet, though without that look of sneering contempt that Vanilla usually threw our way.

Her eyes gave nothing away as she looked us over, though her lips were pressed together and her features were hard. I glared at her defiantly, with Plum’s face still buried in my chest and my foreleg still draped across her shoulders. The mare turned without a word and followed the stallion into the principal’s office, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Almost as soon as the door closed, I heard the stallion start shouting. After a few seconds, Principal Oak Leaf raised his voice in weak protest, but he never stood a chance of slowing down the stallion’s tirade.

With the door shut, most of the words were muffled, making it hard to make out most of what was said. Even so, I was still able to make out a few of the things being said. Words like “incompetent staff” and “barbarian children” floated out from behind the doorway. Every time the yelling spiked in volume, I could feel Plum shiver against my coat. My jaw was starting to ache from how hard I was having to clench it shut.

After a few minutes of having to put up with that garbage, the reception area door slammed open once again as an out of breath Mulberry burst into the reception area. She had a light sheen of sweat all over her and her saddlebags were loose, having slid halfway around her barrel. It was clear evidence of them not being cinched on tight enough, and I figured she must have put them on in a hurry. Her panicked eyes caught Plum’s right away, causing the filly to moan a little and make a valiant but futile effort to hide behind my back.

“Let me see you,” Mulberry said firmly. Plum hesitated before dragging herself out from behind me. I heard a short soft keen of distress from the back of Mulberry’s throat at the sight of her bruised, dirty and grass-stained daughter, who was busily staring at the floor and refusing to meet her mother’s eyes. Mulberry rushed forward, smoothing Plum’s mane back with a hoof.

“Are you alright?” the mare asked, forcing her daughter’s head in different directions so she could look for more bruising, all the while ignoring Plum’s protests. “Oh, your poor mane. Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” I said, holding up a hoof as Mulberry pulled a mane brush out of her saddlebag.

She hesitated, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. “Why not?” she asked.

“Don’t hide the evidence. Let them all see what Vanilla Sweet and Ivy did to her.”

Mulberry gave me an odd look but she still put the brush away. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” she asked us.

Plum fidgeted with her hooves for a few seconds, then started talking. “I was by myself on the playground when Vanilla Sweet found me. She called me a few names and pushed me around a little. And then she started hitting me. Then Cinnamon showed up and pushed her off of me, and then Miss Persimmon showed up and stopped it. That’s all.”

“That’s not all,” I said.

Plum shot me a panicked look, her eyes darting to her mother and then back to me.

“She’s your mom,” I told her. “In order to help you, she has to know everything. Don’t hide anything, okay?”

That earned me another confused look from Mulberry, but Plum nodded and took a deep breath.

“I had a fight with Cinnamon, so I left on my own to go cool off,” the filly said, her tone level for the first time since we’d sat down. “I was upset. Vanilla Sweet and Ivy found me over by the jungle gym, and Vanilla started calling me names. I don’t even remember most of what she said. Well, except for ‘Dummy Plummy’.”

I rolled my eyes and snorted. When the two members of the Pudding family looked at me, I explained by saying, “Making fun of a pony’s name like that is seriously the most moronic way to get a rise out of them. It’s basically admitting that you’re too much of an idiot to come up with something better.”

Mulberry smiled at that, and Plum giggled. The filly was in slightly higher spirits when she continued.

“She asked me where Cinnamon was. I told her she could stick her head up her tail-hole.”

“Plum!” Mulberry’s scolding of her daughter sounded shocked, a reflex no doubt conditioned by years of motherhood, but I could sense a current of barely-suppressed laughter underneath it. I didn’t bother hiding it as I snickered a little, myself.

“Well, that’s what I said!” Plum said defensively.

“Then what?” I prompted.

“She didn’t like that—” Plum continued.

“I’ll bet,” I said.

“—so she shoved me. I… um…” She looked up at her mother, bit her lip, then admitted, “I shoved her back. And then she hit me. So I jumped on her and… Well, I don’t remember much after that until Cinnamon knocked her away from me.”

“Oh, Plum…” Mulberry said with a sigh.

“That’s not all,” Plum said. Mulberry waited while Plum played with her hooves some more. “Um. Well, Cinnamon and Vanilla started fighting, and I was just… just… angry. I wanted to hit somepony. And then Ivy threw a rock at Cinnamon’s head, and I just… I got so mad. I tackled her and we started fighting.”

“And then?” Mulberry leaned forward, stroking her daughter’s mane and keeping her voice gentle. That wasn’t the reaction I’d have expected from my own mother, that’s for sure.

“And then Cinnamon showed up, Ivy got scared and ran away, and then Miss Persimmon showed up and Cinnamon yelled at her.”

“She did?” Mulberry asked, her eyes widening.

“Yeah. Something about it being her job to stop us fighting, or something.”

That statement earned me a raised eyebrow and an surprised stare from Mulberry, my third odd look of the day from the mare.

“Then we got sent to the principal’s office, and Vanilla was sent to the nurse.” Plum frowned at the floor and added, “I’m probably forgetting a lot of stuff. It’s kinda hard to remember exactly. Sorry.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Mulberry gathered Plum up in a tight hug. I looked away when the waterworks started. No need for me to get caught up in that.

The door to the reception area banged open one more time, this time for my own mother. She stood there, eyes burning and her limbs trembling. She sucked in a breath at the sight of me, and for the first time since the fight I wondered what I looked like. I knew that I at least I had a lump the size of a hen’s egg behind my ear where that first rock hit me.

“You were fighting?!” she said loudly.

“Inside voice, Mom,” I said wryly. “And yeah. I wasn’t given much of a choice. It was two on one against Plum.” I sighed and added, “I only wanted to control the situation. I would have been fine, but Vanilla managed to tackle me after Ivy distracted me by pegging me in the head with a rock.”

Mom’s eyes went wide, and then narrowed as her ears flattened against her skull. Her lips pulled back from her teeth as she sucked in a deep breath, and I barely had time to think “Oh, crap” before she bellowed in a voice that sounded almost supernatural: “Where are the Tartarus-spawned devil children that did this to my sweet Cinnamon Sugar?”

The shouting from the principals office stopped as if cut off by a knife. A few seconds later, the door opened and Principal Oak Leaf poked his head out. He saw my mother and Mulberry, both of whom were giving him a look of pure loathing. I swear, that unfortunate stallion looked like he was going to faint right then and there.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” I said with a humorless smile.

~~*~~

Under ordinary circumstances, the office would have seemed huge. Not so much when there were eight adults, two fillies and myself all crammed inside. Miss Persimmon stood next to the floundering principal, looking cool and collected in contrast to her boss’s sweaty jitters. Ivy had been fished out of her class when her parents arrived, and now the three of us were all sitting in student-sized seats arranged along the back wall while our respective parents tried to “work things out”.

It wasn’t going well.

“If we could all just try to calm down,” the principal was trying to say. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“I want these hooligans suspended!” The stallion’s name was Rocky Road. He was Vanilla Sweet’s father, and this was the third time he’d shouted that exact same phrase. “They ganged up on my daughter—”

“That’s counter to the facts, sir,” I said evenly.

He whirled on me, red-faced and sweating. “Don’t you interrupt me!”

My mother stepped between the two of us. She wasn’t quite his size, but she was easily twice as angry.

“Stay away from my daughter,” she said, the warning clear in her voice.

“Your daughter needs more discipline,” he shot back.

“I don’t understand,” Ivy’s mother said. Jade was a creamy green color, tall and willowy. She seemed almost as much at a loss as her husband, a stocky orange stallion whose name was Citrus. “How is our daughter involved in this? She’s such a little angel!”

I saw Ivy blush and look away out of the corner of my eye.

“I’ve always said that Vanilla Sweet was a bad influence on her,” Ivy’s father Citrus said.

Rocky Road started swelling with rage again. He opened his mouth, looking ready to give the orange stallion a verbal beat-down. Before he could get started, though, Ivy managed to get her two bits in.

“No, she’s not!” the unicorn filly shouted. She shrank back when the adults all looked at her. The angry heat in her voice dwindled down to simmering resentment when she continued. “She’s not. She didn’t make me do anything.”

“Sweetie, you’re not thinking clearly,” Ivy’s father Citrus said in what was clearly supposed to be the voice of reason. “I know this is upsetting, but—”

“You never listen to me!” Ivy’s voice came out as a shriek. Then, slightly softer, she said, “If you would just… You don’t pay attention!”

From the looks on her parents’ faces, you would have thought she’d suddenly started talking in Zebrican.

“We’re getting off track,” Rocky Road said, tossing his head. “My daughter is in the doctor’s office right now, getting an X-ray, because that little monster kicked her in the stomach!” He pointed a shaking hoof in my direction.

“Yeah, and think about that for a minute,” I said. “How, exactly, was I able to kick your daughter in the stomach? She’s about twice my size.”

“Keep quiet unless you’re being spoken to,” Jade said. She still looked shaken from Ivy’s outburst. Apparently, she had decided to take her confusion out on me.

“Seriously?” I asked, honestly surprised. I laughed and shook my head. “And who the hell are you to say that to me?” I heard Ivy squeak in shock a couple of chairs over. Her mother just seemed shocked and confused.

It was into this boiling emotional soup that the principal decided to try and dip his ladle. “Well, I think the facts are—”

“The fact is, our daughter is out of control.”

You could have heard a pin drop as every head turned to look at Vanilla Sweet’s mother. Her name was Butter Brickle, and this was the first thing she’d said since the fillies and I had been called into the office. She had just been standing there stoically the whole time while the other parents argued around her.

The first to recover from her statement was her husband.

“What?” His head pulled back like she’d slapped him. “I think—”

“You don’t,” she countered, with an edge in her voice. “I’ve been warning you for weeks now that something like this was coming. You refused to listen.”

“B-but…”

“‘But’, nothing. Our daughter has problems. I’ve been telling you that since the school year started.”

There was a palpable sense of discomfort in the room. Hardest hit was Rocky Road, who flushed an even uglier red than before.

“That’s… Our daughter isn’t—”

She cut him off again. “Our daughter has been picking fights recently, and you know it. And every time she does, she pushes it further. She’s too much like me when I was her age. If it isn’t stopped soon, who knows where she’ll end up? The hospital now, jail later? Or the morgue?”

I felt myself warming up to this mare. She had guts. It isn’t easy admitting that your kid has problems, especially in front of so many strangers.

“Butter, please…” her husband said.

“My own mother tried to knock some sense into me when I was her age.” Butter Brickle scowled, either at the memory or at the thought of hitting her own daughter, I couldn’t be sure.. “She was afraid I would hurt a lot of ponies before I ended up getting locked up. I had too much anger in me.”

“She hit you?” I asked.

Butter Brickle turned to me with a surprised look on her face. I guess some of my own anger had bled through when I asked the question. She nodded.

“And how, exactly, did that make you straighten out?” I asked.

“It didn’t,” she admitted with a wry smile. “That took years, until some time after I hit rock bottom. I don’t want Vanilla to have to go through what I did, but I honestly don’t know what else to do with that girl.”

“Therapy!” Oak Leaf shrunk back as everypony turned to look at him. I think half of us had forgotten he was even there. “Um. We can get her into therapy. And anger management classes. All free, through the school.”

“My daughter isn’t crazy!” Rocky Road protested. I could feel Plum squirming in her seat next to me, probably wanting to add her own two bits to that observation.

“Nopony said she is,” Oak Leaf countered. It seemed like he’d dug down and managed to find his courage, because he was now standing straight and tall, meeting the other stallion eye-to-eye. “Therapy isn’t for only cra— er, disturbed ponies, it’s to help ponies deal with issues that they can’t cope with all on their own. If you two are going through a separation—”

“That’s private!” Rocky Road yelped.

The wide-eyed principal slapped a hoof over his muzzle as yet another uncomfortable silence descended over the room.

“Not anymore,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. Plum stifled a giggle by shoving a hoof into her mouth.

Oak Leaf shot me a glare and cleared his throat. “Nevertheless,” the principal said, ”it can help her just to have a non-biased third party for Vanilla to talk to. To help her sort through her feelings and to approach her anger in a non-confrontational way.”

“We’ll think about it,” Butter Brickle said. “What’s going to be her punishment?”

“Well, I think we should send the fillies outside for this,” Principal Oak Leaf said. “Each student’s punishment should be private, don’t you think?”

The three of us trooped outside and into the reception area once again. We waited in awkward silence as we listened to the incomprehensible muttering coming from behind the door, which was occasionally punctuated with a parent’s voice rising in either anger or denial.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy said eventually. I looked over at her and she immediately dropped her eyes to the floor. “I shouldn’t have hit you with a rock.”

“You planning on doing it again?” I asked her.

She looked up at me in shock. “No!”

“Then I can forgive you for that,” I said. “What about Plum?”

“Hey, she’s the one who tackled me!” Ivy said defensively.

“I guess I’m sorry too,” Plum said reluctantly. “But I only did it because you were hitting Cinnamon with rocks!”

“Okay! I said I was sorry!” Ivy said, tears in her eyes.

Awkward silence pooled around us like stagnant water. I cleared my throat. “Look. I don’t like fighting. Plum doesn’t like fighting. I don’t think you like fighting either, Ivy. Am I right?”

She nodded her head.

“So, we only fought because we felt pushed into it,” I continued. “So, maybe what we do is, we stop ourselves from fighting. Plum stops me, I stop her. You stop Vanilla…” I stopped when Ivy shuddered. “Has she ever hit you, Ivy?”

“Not yet,” Ivy said quietly. “Sometimes I’m afraid of her...”

“It’s up to you to decide what you will or won’t do,” I told her. “You don’t have to be friends with somepony else on only their terms. You get to decide what you want, too.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she listened to me. I sighed and tried again.

“Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do, in order to be friends with somepony. That’s compromise, and it can be a good thing. But there are always things you don’t have to compromise on.” I leaned forward, catching her eyes. “Bullying is one of them. If you don’t like it, don’t do it.”

She snorted and looked away. I remembered back to our first encounter, where she’d obviously been happy enough to go along with Vanilla trying to tease me. I added that up with what she’d said in the principal’s office.

“It’s also a lousy way to get attention,” I said. She looked up at me, startled and maybe a little angry. “Find a better way to get validation of your parent’s love.”

“What do you know about it?” she asked with heat in her voice.

I laughed, maybe a little too harshly. “Come on, kid. You think you’re the only one with a messed up home life?”

Ivy rolled her eyes and looked away with a scowl on her face.

“Maybe I should get therapy, too,” she muttered to herself. “It would be nice to have somepony take me seriously.”

That’s when the principal’s door burst open and Ivy’s parents stormed out like a matching pair of thunderclouds.

“Come on, dear,” Jade said to her daughter. “We’re getting out of this damned school.”

“Honey, language,” Citrus admonished. Bad timing on his part. His wife wasted no time and censored no language in letting him know exactly what she thought of that. The bickering couple, with an embarrassed Ivy in tow, could be heard all the way down the hallway.

Vanilla’s parents came next. Rocky Road glowered at the floor while Butter Brickle led him out. She stopped by us briefly.

“Sorry about Vanilla,” she said. Her husband said something that sounded like a resentful attempt at an apology, no doubt forced out of him by his wife.

“I really am sorry about Vanilla being in the hospital,” I said. “I hope she’s going to be okay.”

“I’m sure she will be,” Butter Brickle said with a half-smile. Then to her estranged husband, “Come on, Rocky.”

Muttering under his breath, he followed her out of the reception area.

Another minute or so passed before Mulberry and my mother came out. Mulberry looked upset and angry, and Mom looked frustrated and uncomfortable all at once. They were talking softly together, much to my surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw my mom just talking to another adult.

“We’re going, sweetie,” Mulberry said shortly to Plum. “I tried to talk him out of it, but you’ve been suspended for the rest of the week for fighting.”

Plum squeaked in dismay and swayed in her chair. I put a steadying hoof on her shoulder.

“That idiot principal,” Mulberry said loudly. “‘Zero tolerance policy for fighting’ my tail.”

“At least the girls aren’t badly hurt,” Mom said, surprising me by being the voice of reason for a change. Mulberry sighed and nodded.

“True,” Mulberry said, then sighed heavily before looking at her daughter. “The important thing, sweetie, is that you’re not in trouble with me. I don’t like that you were fighting, and you should have walked away, but you didn’t start it.”

Plum heaved a sigh of relief before asking, “What about Cinnamon?”

I honestly could not have cared less what my “punishment” would be.

“The same thing,” my mother said with a frown. “Suspension for the rest of the week. Oh, and I signed that permission slip for the school play for next week that you must have forgotten to take home.”

That devious… I cracked my mouth open to give her my exact thoughts on the subject, but I was cut off by Mulberry, whose loud gasp stopped us all in our tracks.

“I have a great idea!” the purple mare said with a grin. “Since you two need to be cleaned up, and since we were talking about it anyway, why don’t we move our mother/daughter spa day to today?”

“What?!” I hate to admit it, but my voice sounded a little panicked and squeaky when I said that.

“I don’t know…” My mother was rubbing at her left foreleg with her right fetlock, a nervous mannerism I recognized from my first childhood. “I should probably get home.”

“Oh, come on, Almond,” Mulberry said, nudging her with a shoulder. I blinked, trying to remember when Mulberry had learned Mom’s name. “The girls have had a rough day today, they could use a treat.” She smiled hugely at my mother, then. “It’ll be fun! And it’s a good bonding experience with the girls. And I have a coupon! What do you say?”

My mom hesitated. I felt a horrible premonition twisting in my gut.

“Mom…” I said, trying to make the warning clear in my voice.

She blinked at me as I glared at her. And then she looked at the eager puppy eyes beamed at her both from Mulberry and Plum.

The puppy eyes beat my glare by a solid mile.

“Okay,” Mom said quietly with a shaky attempt at a smile.

“Alright!” Mulberry said cheerfully.

“Yay!” Plum said happily.

“Oh, hell no!”

The protest erupted from my mouth with all the force and fury of a volcano, only to fall flat when the sole reaction was from the damned receptionist; she treated me to a lemon-sour scowl on her wrinkled old muzzle as Plum and the two moms trotted through the office’s outer door.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself standing outside of the Happy Hooves spa. Mulberry was talking softly but excitedly to my mother, who was nodding along with a plastic grin pasted onto her muzzle. All the while, an overjoyed Plum Pudding alternated bouncing in circles and vibrating with excitement over her very first spa trip.

“How is this my life?” I muttered as Plum Pudding lowered her head and began pushing me inside.

Author's Notes:

Thanks, as always, to the fine folks who edit and pre-read my stuff for me: Brilliantpoint, Merlos the Mad, Ekevoo and Coando, in no particular order. You guys rock!

Hidden in the mists

I stumbled into the spa, thanks to Plum’s eager headbutt to my backside, and was immediately assaulted by the smells and sights that were everything I dreaded they would be and more. Soft contours abounded in the receiving area, which was an immaculate white with pastel accents. On either side of the outer door in the waiting area was a row of chairs, all currently empty, and on the other side of the room was a large desk, framed by curtained doorways to either side.

The receptionist was smiling happily from behind a desk that was a nightmare in chrome, the gleaming metal sending glaring daggers of light directly into my eyes. There was a vase on the desk that was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever seen. It was purple and white porcelain and crammed so full of flowers that a family of four could eat off of it for a week.

Next to the desk was more chrome, this time in the form of a set of shelves holding various bottles and jars of what I could only assume were “high-end” beauty products designed specifically to trick gullible mares out of their hard-earned bits. Plum had already wandered over there and was looking them over with interest.

I aimed a scowl around the room, my nose wrinkling in disgust as the smell nearly overwhelmed me. It was a mélange of soaps, powders, shampoos and hair spray. I guessed that they were supposed to smell flowery and feminine, and maybe they did if you only smelled them one at a time. Getting hit with all of them at once was like a flower cart had crashed into a chemistry lab after an experiment had gone terribly wrong.

Against a wall was a large set of lockers without locks, and that’s where we we were supposed to store our saddlebags. I stomped over there, my bad mood sparking off of me and going completely unnoticed by Plum; the filly was too busy rubbernecking with a slightly dazed smile on her muzzle.

After we’d all stowed our bags, Mulberry wandered over and displayed her coupon to the middle-aged mare behind the receiving desk.

“Very good!” the receptionist said with a beaming smile that got on my nerves. I glared at her but she didn’t seem to notice. “What package were you thinking of selecting?”

The receptionist’s smile became a little strained as Mulberry and my mom entered a long and whispered conference as they stared at the prices listed on a board to the receptionist’s left. While the mares discussed what package I’d be forced into, Plum wandered off to look at the potted plants dotting the small space, and it occurred to me too late that I could have used that time to make my escape.

“What’s included in the Deluxe?” Mulberry asked eventually.

I glanced at the board and snorted, torn between amusement and disgust. The plain old “Deluxe” package was on the lower end of packages. More expensive options were “Super Deluxe”, “Luxurious Deluxe” and “Princess Deluxe”. Seems like almost everything here was “Deluxe” in some way.

“Ah, yes!” the receptionist said. She sounded happy, though she was probably just glad the mares had finally made up their minds. “That’s one of our most popular packages. That comes with a quick rinse along with a mane and coat cleaning, followed by a soak in the hot tub, then by a rubdown, a hoof trim and cleaning, and a good brushing. You’ll feel like a new mare when it’s done!”

The moms had another whispered conference over that and apparently agreed to go that route. Mulberry and my mother brought out their bits, both of them wincing a little when they dropped the money on the counter.

The receptionist pressed a button under her desk. A bell rang somewhere in the background, and a moment later the curtain on the right side of the desk twitched open. The two mares who stepped out into the reception area were that certain kind of gorgeous that would have dropped my jaw back before I decided to waltz through a patch of poison joke. Now, though, they just reminded me of what I no longer was. They introduced themselves, but I missed their names. I was suddenly too busy looking around and wondering if it was too late to find something to hide behind.

We were led past several small rooms on our way to our own private shower room for four. The shower area was tiled in a pale powdery blue, each tile roughly the size and shape of a hoof, designed so that they tessellated together without a gap. Dotting the area were four shower heads, each with a small bench under it that we were instructed to sit on.

The attendants split up as we each made our way to our respective benches. I lucked out, with the slightly prettier one helping me and Plum while the other still gorgeous one started pampering the moms, helping to rinse their manes and tails before lathering them up with shampoo.

The unicorn working with me and Plum filled up a bucket of steaming water. She dumped the bucket on a squealing Plum Pudding’s head, washing away most of the playground dirt and grass embedded in her mane and coat.

While that was going on, I watched my mother out of the corner of my eye. She looked lost and out of place, moving stiffly at the unicorn attendant’s instructions. She had a desperate smile on her muzzle and panic in her eyes as she took her place under a shower head. Mulberry seemed to pick up on my mother’s anxiety, talking to her softly and kindly. I silently thanked the purple mare for making the effort.

Our unicorn attendant was a young mare, probably still in college. She was slim and bright-eyed, with a pinkish-white mane and a light red coat. Her cutie mark was of two interlocked hearts.

I’d never regretted being changed into a filly more than I did right then. Though even if I’d been a stallion at the time, she would have been so far out of my league I’d have needed a telescope to see her. But even though that gorgeous mare would probably have rejected me, I still would have asked her out.

“Oh my, you two are such a mess,” our attendant said to me as she filled up her bucket with steaming water once again. “Let’s get you cleaned up!” As she levitated the bucket I shot her with my best glare.

“I can do this myself,” I growled at her. The unicorn gave me a warm smile and then dumped the bucket of hot water over me anyway. I clenched my jaw. Of course she ignored me. Who listens to a little filly?

Plum giggled somewhere off to my left. “You look like a sea monster,” she said, probably because my dripping mane was hanging down over my face. I gave the comment all the response it deserved by keeping my mouth shut.

I grit my teeth, making a resolution. I decided that I wasn’t going to say a word. I’d put up with this crap in total silence. My mother and the Puddings could drag me to this place, but they couldn’t make me enjoy it. And I’d be damned if I was going to say or do anything that gave them even the slightest indication that I was having anything less than a miserable time.

My resolve to keep quiet lasted until the spa attendant decided to start lathering shampoo into my mane. When she hit the lump behind my ear, I yelped and jumped. “Watch where you put your damned hooves!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see this little bump there.” The mare sounded genuinely contrite.

“Cinnamon, language!” my mother scolded from somewhere off in the distance. I couldn’t see a damned thing right then and didn’t bother trying. Even if my mane hadn’t been hanging over my face, I had to screw my eyes shut to avoid getting shampoo in them.

“Your daughter has… um… quite the vocabulary,” Mulberry said. “Has she always cursed like that?”

“Oh, no,” Plum said happily from her own corner where she was waiting for her turn with the attendant. “It’s usually much worse than that.”

“Um. Well. You know how it is, haha.” My mother sounded shrill and jittery, and more than a little uncomfortable. “I try to scold her about it, but that just seems to encourage her.”

I sighed and mentally urged my mom to calm down. She’d been acting strangely this whole time, displaying more nervous ticks than a room full of clocks. I recognized several from my first childhood and made a note of several new ones she seemed to have picked up since then. With the way her eyes flitted around constantly while her ears were pasted flat down on her head, it was like she was expecting to be pounced on by a tiger at any moment.

I tried to remember the last time she’d spent any time outside of the house. Except for shopping, I couldn’t think of a single time since I’d come back to town. I decided that, if it got my mother out of the house and socializing a little, maybe a spa trip wasn’t all that bad. I’d still rank it in the top five things I’d rather cut my leg off than do, but she spent too much time indoors.

“Well, she’s been a good friend to Plum,” Mulberry said. “And to me, now that I think of it.”

Guilt slammed into me again, reminding me that the entire Pudding family was at risk because I had to be a nosy bastard. A growing restlessness stirred in me, urging me to just leave. I still hadn’t come up with anything resembling a plan, and this spa trip was just another distraction to keep me from thinking about it.

“Stand up, please,” the attendant said to me. She was holding up the bottle of shampoo in her magical grip. “I’d like to work on your tail, now.”

“I’ll do that myself,” I said, opening my eyes in order to give the mare a level look.

“Come on, Cinnamon,” Plum whined at me. “Getting pampered is the whole point!”

“It’s humiliating!” That came out louder than I had intended.

My outburst startled the attendant at first. After a few seconds she relaxed and smiled, placing the bottle by my hooves. “I understand completely,” she said. “Just ask for help if you need me.”

Plum rolled her eyes at me as I reached back and started to shampoo my tail. “You don’t have to be such a baby about it.”

An annoyed grunt was my only reply. How could I explain it to her? I was a grown stallion. Being pampered by these pretty young things here in this spa should have been a dream come true. Celestia knows I’d actually had a dream or two like that when I was a teenager. But as a filly? The humiliation twisted in my guts.

I kept on cleaning my tail. The fight had left it packed with dirt and bits of leaves. I even found a twig in there, which I pulled out with my teeth and dropped to the floor. Plum made happy little noises over in her corner as she monopolized all of our spa attendant’s attention.

Meanwhile, the moms had continued talking. I don’t think I was supposed to overhear, but the acoustics in that place meant that I heard every word.

“She’s an odd filly,” Mulberry said softly to my mother. “Talking to her is sometimes almost like talking to a grown up.”

“She’s always been unique!” my mom said, then very obviously forced a laugh.

I rolled my eyes. I found myself hoping she would just relax and enjoy herself, but all the mental urging in the world on my part wasn’t having any impact.

“Does she have any brothers or sisters?”

I saw Plum’s ears perk up and one of her eyes crack open at her mother’s question. I realized that I’d never told her much about my brothers.

“She… She has five brothers,” my mom said as their unicorn attendant magically lathered up their manes and tails. “All much… much older.”

I snorted. It was so tempting to tell Mulberry that my mother was lying. I was the oldest by a few years.

“Five!” Mulberry’s eyebrows went up at that. “Five colts. I can’t imagine! That must have been difficult.”

“Oh… well… you know…” Mom rubbed her fetlock against her opposite leg again, looking away.

The moms’ attendant interrupted their conversation, then. “Would you like me to turn on the showers?”

“Yes, please,” Mulberry said, and my mother murmured something that might have been an affirmative.

I turned on my shower myself, turning the heat up until it was just shy of scalding. The heat loosened my muscles and eased aches I hadn’t been aware of before. I stood there for a few minutes, barely moving, just letting the water wash the grit and shampoo off of me.

“Need some help, sweetie?” the pink-maned attendant asked me. I opened my eyes and blinked up at her. Her eyes were a deep lavender that I could feel myself falling into and, in spite of the hot water, I shivered.

“I’m fine.” My answer was curt and short. Maybe even angry, though I didn’t mean for it to be. I reached out and twisted the knob on the shower.

Her smile slipped a little and I cursed myself. “This way to the bath, then.” She still sounded pleasant, though more detached than before. I sighed and tried to remind myself that none of this was her fault.

I followed a dripping Plum to the next room. This one had several large tiled baths in it. There were maybe a dozen mares already inside, sitting in the steaming water that came up to their necks. There was more than one conversation going on, the happy chatter rendered unintelligible as the conversations bounced off of the walls, merging into a dull babble that was echoed by the sounds of dripping water.

The solitary kid’s tub was empty, which meant that Plum and I got it to ourselves. She settled in with a happy sigh then flicked water at me with a hoof as I hesitated at the edge.

“Come on, Cinnamon. It’s not going to hurt you, and it actually feels nice.” She cocked her head at me while I stood outside the tub. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

I grunted in annoyance and, even though I knew from her smug smile that she was manipulating me, I lowered myself in.

Damn, what can I say? She was right. The water felt incredible.

“I’ll be back in a short while,” our attendant said with a chipper smile. “Try to relax, okay?”

For a few seconds, there was a feeling of peace and calm. The voices from the distant mares was reduced to an indistinct babble of white noise. Plum broke the silence with a laugh.

“I can’t believe we actually managed to get you into the spa,” she said.

I glowered at her. “I can’t, either,” I muttered.

“You didn’t put up as much of a fight as I expected,” she said. She grinned, tilting her head and tapping her chin with a hoof. “Hmm. Could it be that the rough and tough Cinnamon Swirl is actually having a good time?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I said flatly. I submerged myself until only my nostrils and the top of my head were above water, then shut my eyes. Plum sighed happily across from me, and I heard the water slosh around as she rearranged herself for a few seconds before finally settling down.

I let the heat sink into me, warming me to the core. I kept my eyes closed and tried to tune out the distant chatter of the mares in the deeper adult tubs. This could actually be what I needed: time to think. I let my mind drift as I examined each piece of the puzzle, trying to think of some way, any way, to get the Pudding family clear.

Nothing came to mind. I sighed with frustration. The lump behind my ear was throbbing and sore, and my mind wandered back to school. Retribution from the bullies was yet another thing to worry about. I wondered if taking Vanilla down a couple of notches was enough, or if she’d still be coming after Plum. I wondered what I could do to protect her if I wasn’t there, once I became a stallion again.

My molars ground together when I thought of Plum, on her own in school, facing down the bully and her crony. I knew that Miss Persimmon meant well, but her not being on the playground during the fight had me seriously doubting whether or not I could trust her to keep Plum safe.

Thinking of the mare reminded me of class. I was slowly losing my mind in there. The coursework was too simple, rehashing things I already knew. Math, history… Heck, the only thing I could really work on was my penmanship. That was just as bad as it ever was. I amused myself briefly thinking that I could use my distinctively bad writing to identify myself to anypony who knew me. It was a solution I probably wouldn’t need, not with the cure hopefully on the way.

I shook my head to clear the sleepiness that the hot water and humid air was draping over me. As bad as school was, the smugglers were far worse. With any luck, the only one I’d have to deal with was Chains. But I couldn’t count on that. I needed information. I needed to know everypony who was involved, who in the Hoofington PD were on their payroll, where they met, and the real name of Mister Sunshine.

Mister Sunshine. I snorted derisively. I’d already checked the town directory. Nopony named “Mister Sunshine” or anything like that was listed. Not that I expected to find him there, since that was most likely a pseudonym. Not that it was unusual for there to be a pony named “Sunshine” or something similar, but thanks to Celestia’s popularity as the Sun Princess, they were almost exclusively mares.

I came back to my only plan so far that had a chance of working: the sacrifice play. Make myself known to the smugglers, claim full responsibility for what happened in the warehouse, and let the chips fall where they may. I was just a little filly at the moment. Maybe they would even let me go.

And maybe I could change back to a stallion just by wishing really hard.

I knew it wasn’t likely to work. Chains knew there were two of us. He’d want to know who was there with me. Not to mention, he’d want his revenge. And he wouldn’t tell his cohorts about me, since he was lying to them in the first place about who was in the warehouse that night. If the rest of the smugglers suspected Tapioca, then the Puddings were still a target.

I was better off using myself as bait…

The thought had come out of nowhere. My breathing stopped for a few seconds as my brain latched onto the idea. Bait in a trap. I’d be able to get Chains’ attention, sure enough. But how to get the others? How to get them away from the Puddings?

Gears clicked in my head as I mulled it over. The half-formed plans I’d considered and discarded earlier started matching up and meshing together. This was the piece I’d needed. Not taking the heat myself, not finding their base and sneaking in, not gathering evidence and exposing them to the police and hoping I wouldn’t run across a department full of corrupt cops… A trap. Or, more precisely, a sting.

My heart raced. Details still needed to be ironed out, but now I had the shape of it. And I would need help, and lots of it. Still, I knew what the first step would be.

It was then that the spa attendant came back and jollied us out of the tub. Fluffy white towels, wrapped in her magical aura, draped themselves over Plum and me, rubbing vigorously in spite of my cursing protests. When we were dry, or at least mostly dry, the towels were whisked away.

I glanced over at Plum and couldn’t contain a bark of laughter. Even on the best of days her mane was a messy pile of curls that ran down her neck. It was still a mess, only now it was frizzed out to twice its normal size.

“What, you stick your hoof in a light socket?” I asked her.

“Ha ha, you’re a laugh riot,” she said with an eye-roll. “Like you look any better!”

I glanced in a mirror and snorted at the sight of my dandelion mane sticking out in all directions. “True enough,” I admitted.

We were ushered to a different room along with our mothers, who had their own towels still wrapped around their manes and tails. The two mares were talking softly to each other. Actually, I take that back. Mulberry was talking a slow but steady stream, which my mother answered with the occasional noise of interest or a short answer. She still hadn’t relaxed much. As much as I wanted to feel some satisfaction over that, I just couldn’t. I wanted her to make some friends.

Maybe if she got her own life, she would leave mine alone.

The room we were led into had four mares already in it, each with an apron and a hairnet over their manes and tails. In the pockets of their aprons were metal instruments that I had to assume were implements of torture. Several uncomfortable looking benches were scattered around the place.

“If you don’t mind,” our attendant said, “please hop on up into the hooficure bench.”

I resigned myself to my fate. My hooves needed a trim anyway, and they’re a pain in the ass to do yourself. It was either this, or my mom would probably end up doing it for me. It was a toss-up between which would be more humiliating. I glanced at what the others were doing and mimicked them, climbing up onto the bench and lying down on my side, sticking my hooves off the edge where the hooficure mare could reach them.

The bench was almost as uncomfortable as I’d expected. One of the hoof care attendants, a stocky mare with a greying mane, grabbed my back left hoof with a practiced ease and no-nonsense attitude. She brought out a pick, digging in to the sole and prying out bits of grit and sand that had remained in the hoof in spite of my best efforts to keep them clean.

Well, close to my best efforts and relatively clean, if I’m going to be honest.

While the hoof care attendant got started on our trims, our personal attendant came back out. She was armed with a brush, a comb, and a determined look in her eye as she prepared herself to attack Plum’s unruly mane in an attempt to try to bring it back under some semblance of control.

After the pick came the brush, cleaning the sole and the frog with a gentle scraping that had me gritting my teeth while Plum, undergoing similar torture next to me, started breaking out in uncontrollable giggles.

“You have to keep your leg still, sweetie,” Plum’s hoof attendant said gently.

“Sorry,” Plum replied contritely. “I’ll try.”

It took about three seconds before she went back to her giggling and twitching.

The same routine was followed on each hoof: first the picking, then the brushing. And, once they were all clean, the rasping. The metal file came out, scraping quickly and efficiently along my hoof wall and setting my teeth on edge. I ground my molars together while Plum was making squeaking noises and trying not to squirm on her bench.

“Hey, Plum,” I said. When she looked at me I grinned and said, “Hoof trimming sucks when you’re ticklish, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not ticklish!” she protested.

“Sure, you’re not,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Plum scowled at me and, while she might have still twitched from time to time, she stopped squeaking and managed to mostly keep still. So at least that much worked out.

I leaned back with a smile at Plum’s protests and occasional yelp of pain as the comb snagged on a snarl. I didn’t even mind that much when the attendant eventually moved to me, tugging her comb through my mane and tail.

“Make sure to give her pretty little pigtails,” Plum called from her bench.

I glared over at her grinning face before looking up at the attendant.

“Just straight is fine, thanks,” I said.

“Pigtails sounds cute!” my mom called from her own bench. “I think you should get pigtails!”

“I’m not getting pigtails!” My shout echoed around the room.

Things came to a halt as everypony stared at me.

“Sheesh, fine,” Plum muttered sourly after a few awkward seconds. “No pigtails for Cinnamon Swirl, got it.”

Activity resumed, slowly at first but soon getting back to normal. The hooficure was completed at about the same time as the attendant finished with my mane, thankfully leaving it straight. The hooficure mare stepped back and eyed her work with a satisfied nod. I took a look and grunted. It was a good job. Too good to even be annoyed with. That is, until she asked me the next question.

“What color polish would you like?”

“You bring polish near my hooves and I’ll dump it on your head,” I snapped.

The mare’s eyes went from hurt and surprised to angry. The attendant who had been brushing my mane stopped with a little gasp, and I realized I’d gone too far. It wasn’t her fault I was stuck in this situation.

“You did a good job,” I said. “Let’s not ruin it with polish, okay?”

“Oh, just get clear, Cinnamon,” Plum said, trying to make peace. “It keeps your hoof from chipping.”

“I like chipping,” I said. I ignored the hooficure mare’s shudder. “It gives my hooves a more rugged look.”

She glared at me for a few seconds, her mouth working as if she was thinking of saying something. Eventually she just walked away, shaking her head muttering something about “barbarians” and “monster brats”.

“Stand, please,” my attendant said to me. If I wasn’t mistaken, her voice had lost any attempt at being pleasant. I got to my hooves and glanced back at her.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Yes,” the gorgeous mare said as she started running a flat brush over my coat with more force than needed. “May Flowers is a kind and wonderful mare, and she doesn’t deserve to have a little filly be mean to her.”

I looked again after the retreating form of May, the hooficure mare. I grimaced, realizing she was right. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

The brushing lightened up. “Don’t apologize to me, little miss,” the attendant said.

I looked back at her. “What’s your name, again?”

She hesitated, then gave me a short smile. “Heartshine.”

“Heartshine,” I repeated. I’d definitely have to look her up after I got the cure for the poison joke. “If I promise to apologize to her, will you go easier with that brush?”

She stopped brushing to stare at me for a few seconds, then reached over and ruffled my mane. As she brushed the hairs back into place, she smiled and said, “Yes, and thank you.”

Hell with it. At least I got her name. It was worth the humiliation. Then a terrible idea occurred to me.

“You have a special somepony, Heartshine?” I asked.

“I suppose you could say that,” she said with a musical laugh as she unknowingly crushed my heart. “My husband and I are celebrating our third anniversary next month.”

“Congratulations,” I said sourly.

“Thank you!” she said with a happy smile.

I glanced around, noticing with some surprise that I was the first one done. Plum was still getting her hooves rasped, and the moms didn’t seem to be in any kind of a hurry to get done.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to the room at large. Nopony replied, probably too caught up in their own ministrations to bother.

As I walked, I noticed something. As much as I hated to admit it, May Flowers really had done a great job. You don’t even notice how uncomfortable your hooves get as they grow out, not until you trim them and all that discomfort goes away all at once. If I was going to be honest, I couldn’t remember them ever feeling better. Especially since I usually tried to trim them myself. I never got them even, and usually ended up feeling slightly lopsided until the edges wore down.

Maybe there was something to this spa thing after all. You’d never drag that admission out of me, though. Not even with a team of windigoes led by an Ursa Major.

I walked back out into the hallway but didn’t see any sign of the mare. However, I did see a sign on a door that stated “Employees Only.” I ignored the sign, pushed the door open and looked around the room. What I saw surprised me.

This employee area had none of the glitz and glam of the rest of the place. It was rough and faded, the carpet looking ratty and tattered, with badly painted green lockers against a wall and a card table that had seen better days standing in the middle of the room. Against one wall there was a rough couch, patched and frayed, occupied by a lone mare lying on it and reading the paper. There was also a refrigerator and a sink set into a counter. It looked like I’d wandered into the spa’s lunch area.

May was standing with her back towards me and chatting with two other employees, both looking so much like her it was as if they’d all come from the same factory where they specialized in producing older stocky mares. From the sounds of it, May was griping to the other two about something. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what that might be.

“You can’t be in here, sweetie,” a voice said. I looked up and saw a unicorn mare in a smock staring down at me.

“I’m looking for May,” I said. “I need to talk to her.”

May heard her name and turned around. Annoyance chased the initial surprise off of her face when she saw me.

“What do you want?” she asked, a scowl settling over her features.

“To apologize,” I said. “I’m sorry. I had a bad day, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh,” she said. Then she added, “Ah.”

“Aww…” the other mares crooned as they looked at me with wide eyes and big smiles.

That immediately got my hackles up, but I clamped down on that feeling. The last thing I needed to do was go off again right after apologizing.

“You really did do a great job,” I continued. “My hooves have never felt better, even when my mom did them.” I shrugged, adding by way of explanation, “I just don’t like girly stuff like polish.”

“Hmmph.” May held herself stiffly for a moment, then her face softened. “Well, I guess I can understand. I went through a phase like that when I was a filly, too.”

“I should get back to my mom before she misses me,” I said. “We good?”

“Yeah,” May said with a nod. She looked pleased, a small smile on her face. “I think we’re good. Thanks, hon.”

I shrugged and offered a little smile of my own as I left the employee lunchroom. As soon as the door closed behind me, I frowned. Something felt wrong.

Here I was, stuck in the body of a tiny little filly and dragged into a spa, where I was pushed into all sorts of frilly nonsense. I’d been embarrassed and humiliated in front of a gorgeous mare, a married mare at that. And to top it all of, I’d been forced to apologize to somepony I’d never wanted to interact with in the first place.

After all of that, I should have been furious. I should have been grinding my teeth and looking for something to lash out at. Don’t get me wrong, I was plenty annoyed. I hated that I’d been dragged through all of this.

What I didn’t expect was that, underneath all of that, there was a small bubble of contentment. I didn’t get that at all.

As I walked back to where Plum and the moms waited for me, memories from today replayed in my head. Plum’s giggles and happy sighs, Mom’s awkward attempts at meeting Mulberry halfway in conversation. The fact that Mulberry was even trying to engage my mom in the first place, awkward twitches and all. Even May’s little smile when she’d accepted my apology.

The scowl forming on my muzzle was more due to habit than how I felt. Quietly, I said to myself, “You’re getting soft, Cinnamon.”

I shook my head as I kept on walking back to the others. It was time to wrap up this spa trip and head home.

Author's Notes:

Thanks again to the editing crew (in no particular order): coandco, Ekevoo, BrilliantPoint and Merlos the Mad. Also thanks to Ludicrous Lycan for prereading!

Digging up the past

By the time we got home, Mom was walking with a spring in her step and a gleam in her eye that I hadn’t seen in years. The spa, it seems, had done her some good. Or maybe it was the company.

“Oh, they were so nice!” she said as we walked in our front door. I looked up at her, surprised by the change in her voice. The nervous mumbling from earlier was gone. She was speaking in a happy and confident tone that I hadn’t heard from her in a while.

“Yeah,” I said. “They’re good ponies.” Then I added, “You can trust them, you know.”

She stopped in the foyer and gave me a baffled look.

“Uh, anyway... that tired me out more than I expected,” Mom said as she hung her saddlebags on a hook by the door. “I’m going to take a nap. Are you okay on your own?”

My steady glare was the only answer I was willing to give her. Her smile slipped slightly and, with a shrug, she wandered off to her bedroom on the main floor.

As for me, the half-formed plans in my head drove me on. I left my own saddlebags cinched tightly around my barrel as I made my way upstairs, to one of the places forbidden to me by my mother.

So far, my compliance with that order was due mainly to the fact that going up there was too big of a pain in the ass to bother with. But now, I had a plan. And I’d need to find some of the things packed away in those cardboard boxes.

The attic had a pull-down staircase, the kind with the dangling rope you could yank with your teeth. At my current height, I couldn’t reach it on my own. I sauntered into one of my brothers’ old bedrooms, now being used as storage. Like most of the rest of the house these days.

A few boxes of ancient knitting and crafting magazines later, and I had a makeshift staircase. I climbed up, braced myself, and jumped off. I was aiming for the rope and I almost missed it. I stretched my neck out as I twisted in the air, managing at the last second to catch it with my teeth.

The fall ended with a short, sharp jerk and the feeling of some loosened molars. For a few seconds I dangled at the end of the rope, swinging gently back and forth. I was afraid the weight of my body wouldn’t be enough to pull the steps down, but then I felt them shift.

My dad had a spring installed on both sides of the staircase, both to help raise it back up again, and also to help keep the descent smooth. That’s the only reason why, when the stairs came down, I was lowered gracefully to the floor instead of just being dropped on my tail. I scrambled out of the way as the stairs came down and hit the floor with a gentle bump.

I let go of the rope and trotted around to the front of the wooden staircase. It was dark in the attic, but my father had installed an electric light. I suppose the previous owners had used candles or lanterns when exploring up there.

I made my way up the staircase and onto the attic floor, fumbling around in the dark until I found the pull-chain and gave it a yank. The single, naked bulb flickered on and threw out a dim yellow light, illuminating the dusty floor and the boxes piled on top of boxes that made up most of the attic. The whole place smelled of dust and neglect, along with a hint of mildew.

When I’d been a colt the attic had been both intimidating and exciting. Going up there had been like exploring an abandoned tomb, full of imagined horrors in the shadows and cobwebs. As I got older I realized that the only danger was from dust inhalation and allergies. All that was up there was old junk; things that we didn’t need in daily life but were slightly too valuable to throw away.

Up front and center were the few boxes my mom had bothered to pack before dragging me out of my Ponyville apartment. These were the reason I was expressly told not to come up here. No doubt that was to avoid reminding me too much of my old life. At least she hadn’t thrown them away; I suppose I should be grateful for that much.

My hooves kicked up dust and I got spider webs in my nice clean mane as I made my way over to the most recently added boxes. It was a small pile, since most of the personal items in my apartment had stayed behind, along with all of my furniture. I felt a pang of loss, and another of resentment. After all those years growing up, I’d finally had my own place. A place with no brothers, no roommates… I’d made that place my own. And now it was gone.

I shook my head. This was no time to get maudlin. I started digging my way through the boxes, trying to avoid the waves of nostalgia I felt as the familiar items passed through my hooves.

Mom hadn’t wanted to pack this stuff, but the fit I’d pitched when she’d wanted to leave this behind had nearly brought the apartment building down. Come to think of it, that was when we first made our Deal. She’d pack my old police stuff, and I would agree not to be dragged kicking and screaming the whole way back to Hoofington.

The badge gleamed in the light as I ran my hoof around the edge of it. Sergeant Cinnamon Swirl, badge number 175, Ponyville P.D. I found the lanyard for it and ran it through the back, then hung the badge over my neck like old times. It dragged on the floor, but it felt good to have it back.

I dug through the box for a while longer. I wasn’t sure what else I’d need, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. I dropped my hoofcuffs into my saddlebags, along with my old notebook and pen. My hat I left behind. It was too big for me now, anyway.

Then I found it, the reason I’d come up here in the first place. It was a rectangular box of black plastic and thin metal about half the size of my lunchbox. It had several buttons on the front, along with a counter. I popped it open and looked at the tape inside, trying to remember what was on it.

Terrace, my old partner back in Ponyville, had laughed at me when I’d sunk half a month’s pay on this thing. A voice recorder, he said, was a stupid waste of money, especially since it wasn’t standard equipment. So far, he’d been right about it. It hadn’t come into any great use, but I’d always been a believer.

And now, with any luck, that investment was finally going to pay off. I stuffed the recorder and several blank tapes into my saddlebags, where they joined the other things I’d already put in there.

I turned to leave the attic and was halfway back to the staircase when another thought struck me. I’d been stuck for weeks trying to think of a way to get anypony to believe me about my past as a colt who had grown up to be a police stallion. And now here I was, surrounded by items from my past. I turned and went back amongst the boxes, trying not to sneeze at all the dust I was kicking up. What I needed would be further back, if it was here at all.

I lost track of time as I peered inside box after box. Most of it was pointless relics of the old days. Nightmare Night and Hearthswarming decorations, odds and ends that I didn’t recognize. None of it mattered to me right then. I kept on digging until I found something that grabbed my attention and stopped me cold.

The box was small and rectangular. When I opened it up, it was full of loose photographs. I picked the top one off of the pile, my hoof trembling slightly as memories flooded me. My mom hadn’t had time to stick it in one of her many photo albums. A chocolate-colored stallion grinned back at me from the photo in my trembling hooves.

I felt a sting in my eye and wiped at it with a fetlock. It was just the dust, or so I told myself.

My father. His smile was warm and proud as he stood next to my mother, who looked happy but tired. On my father’s back was a two year old foal that I recognized as my brother Nutmeg. The colt had a manic grin on his face as he stood on Dad’s withers and pulled on his mane.

I ran my hoof over Dad’s features for a second. I realized with a flood of sadness that I’d almost forgotten what he’d looked like. Then I looked at my mom standing next to him. Time and recent events had changed how I pictured her so much that it was hard to believe that this was the same mare.

Her mane had been shorter back then, darker and somehow looking smoother. She’d worn that style for years, only changing it after Dad had died. She looked so young. Even with the bags under her eyes, even with her swollen fetlocks and the rounded midsection of late pregnancy, she looked younger than I ever remembered her being. She must have been my age, in that picture. And she was beautiful, just like I remembered her being when I was a colt. Maybe it was the joy in her eyes; in spite of how tired she looked, she was obviously very happy.

I felt a pang of loss looking at that picture. It was easy enough to place the approximate date it had been taken. With Mom that far along in her last pregnancy and Nutmeg being a little less than two, it must have been taken shortly before Dad had died. And then the mare in that picture would be gone, changed forever in one night of confusion, fear and grief.

I sighed, shaking my head and reminding myself that I had things to do. Still, the picture was put into my saddlebags. I knew why Mom put it in the attic, rather than in an album. I didn’t care. I was keeping it.

I kept on digging. Eventually I found a box of old school art projects and report cards, some from me, others from my brothers. I started rifling through the contents, occasionally cracking open something with my name on it. One particular single-page essay caught my eye. I read the title and felt the old familiar emotions swirling around inside of me.

What I want to be when I grow up, by Cinnamon Sugar Swirl, aged 9. I winced at seeing my full name written on the top of the sheet. I had written that before the teasing started. Classroom mockery had made me pretend part of my name hadn’t existed. I’d denied a part of myself to avoid being made fun of. It wasn’t my proudest memory.

I carefully put the essay aside and resumed my excavation. I lost track of the number of boxes I’d gone through before I found the book I was looking for. I flipped it open, searching until I found the right page. When I did, I slipped the essay inside to mark the page, closed the cover, and slipped it into my saddlebags.

I knew I needed an ally. Between the essay and the book, and with a great deal of luck, I might just have found the key I needed to finding one.

I gave the attic one last glance. It was impossible to disguise the fact that I’d been up here, but I doubted it mattered. It’s not like Mom was likely to go digging through things here any time soon. With a final satisfied nod, I turned off the light and went back downstairs, leaving the attic and the dust-shrouded remnants of my past behind me.

Considering how hard they were to pull down, the stairs went back up with relative ease. All I had to do was give it a good enough shove, and the springs did the rest of the work. I pushed the boxes back into my brothers’ old room, and then returned to mine to go over my new prizes.

Most important was the recorder. If I could record Figgy or Chains saying something incriminating, then I’d have leverage. Leverage enough, I hoped, to get more of the information I was so desperate for.

The trick would be to get them talking, and then stop them from simply taking the evidence away from me once I had it. I was still working on that part of the plan.

I pressed the rewind button on the recorder and the counter began going backwards as the wheels on the tape spun rapidly. When it hit zero, my curiosity got the better of me and I pressed play. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember what was on this thing.

There was a click, and then the dull rushing sound of ambient noise. Silence for a few seconds, and then there was a voice. A voice I both recognized and didn’t. A stallion’s voice, rough and gravely, a dull bass rumbling into the microphone.

I remembered the first time I’d heard a recording of my own voice. And just like that time, it was hard to believe the voice coming out of the device was actually mine.

“Okay,” the voice from my past said. “This is Cinnamon Swirl, recording number one. Let’s see how this goes.”

Then followed a clearing of the throat that went on longer than it should have. And then, much to my surprise and dawning horror, my old, nearly familiar voice broke out into what I immediately recognized as a once-popular Days and Nights single.

“The road I travel is winding away
I walk down it through the lonely days
Knowin’ that, at the end I’ll find
A certain solitary peace of mind—”

“Oh, damnation, that’s enough of that!” I said, hitting the stop button. I don’t know what was worse: the fact that I’d tried singing in the first place or that I’d tried to force my voice into a higher and more pleasant register. It hadn’t worked.

I hit the rewind again, giving the machine my very best glare.

“You are so getting erased, you sonofabitch,” I said with a wry chuckle.

If I was going to use a tape to record criminal confessions on, I couldn’t think of a better one than this. As nice as it had been to hear my old voice again, it was clear that my career as a lounge singer wasn’t going to be taking off any time soon.

I stuffed the recorder back into my saddlebags and considered my next move for a few minutes. With a mental shrug, I decided I’d just go for it. There was no time like the present, after all. I stopped in the bathroom to clean some of the dust and cobwebs off of me, and then I was down the stairs and out the front door.

School was ending now, colts and fillies walking the other way as I made my way up the road. I ignored their whispers and surprised glances. I had something more important to do than to deal with school children.

Miss Persimmon was where I expected to find her, with her head propped up on a hoof and her elbow on her desk. It looked like she was grading papers, at least until she was interrupted by my knock on the doorframe.

“Can I come in?” I asked the visibly startled mare.

“Cinnamon. You’re suspended, you’re not supposed to be here.” Her tone was more surprised than upset.

“I’m not supposed to go to class. Does that stop me from showing up to talk to you about something important?”

She stared at me for a few seconds, a small, confused frown on her muzzle. Then she shook her head. “I suppose not.”

“Good, because I really have to talk to you.” I walked up to her desk. “I know you don’t believe the whole ‘poison joke’ thing. Honestly, I can’t say I blame you. Even in a place as crazy as Ponyville is, poison joke is almost too crazy to be believed. But I brought this.”

I fished the book I’d found out of my saddlebags with my teeth and reared up on my hind hooves in order to drop it on top of her desk. Her magic took it and she pulled it towards herself, frowning.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Exactly what it says on the cover,” I said. “Hoofington Elementary’s yearbook from seventeen years ago.”

Miss Persimmon sighed. “Cinnamon, it’s been a long day. What’s the point of this?”

“Open it to page twenty-seven. Mrs. Cobbler’s class. It’s marked by a homework assignment where I had to write out what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

The teacher let out a long-suffering sigh as she flipped the book open and took out the essay. She glanced at it briefly and then frowned at me.

“This isn’t one of my assignments,” she said.

“No, it’s Mrs. Cobbler’s. Nice old mare. A widow. Had the only beehive manestyle I’d ever seen outside of pictures. She had us write that up, what we wanted to be when we grew up. Mine couldn’t have been anything other than a police officer, like my dad.”

“Yes, I remember Mrs. Cobbler,” Persimmon said absently. “I worked with her for a few years before she died. Is this supposed to be proof?”

That shook me a little. I hadn’t known Mrs. Cobbler had died. I felt a small piece of my foalhood detach and float away. I managed to rally and continued trying to convince the stubborn mare.

“Look at my picture. Top row, fourth one from the left. The colt with the goofy grin on his face. That was me. And check the name, it’s the same as mine. The writing on the essay, both the student’s and the teacher’s notes, you know that’s my writing. And if you’ve ever seen Mrs. Cobbler’s, you’d recognize hers as well.”

The mare looked shaken but still skeptical. She shook her head, scowling at me. “This is some elaborate joke. A fake homework assignment, and you must have gotten her name and appearance from the book.”

I snorted and pawed at the floor with a hoof. “There comes a point where ignoring the evidence in front of your eyes stops being cute and starts being a pain in my ass,” I said. Her eyes flashed with anger and she opened her muzzle to respond, but I kept going. “What about the Cinnamon Sugar Swirl in the book, then? Another joke? A weird coincidence?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Maybe an uncle of yours or something? It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I repeated. “When did Mrs. Cobbler die?”

“Why does it matter?” she asked.

I just stared at her until she relented with a sigh.

“About twelve years ago,” she said.

“And I’m supposedly how old?” I asked her.

“Well, I would assume the same age as the rest of my students, which makes you nine or ten.”

“So I couldn’t have met her, right?”

“No, you couldn’t have met her,” Miss Persimmon said.

“Have met her,” I echoed.

Then I stood there, quietly meeting her eyes until the silence became too much and she had to break it.

“Cinnamon, what are you doing?” she asked me.

“Are you doing?” I said back. Then I stared at her again.

“I don’t understand what this is, but it’s very annoying,” she said sharply.

“Very annoying,” I repeated with a nod.

I waited a few seconds, then cut her off just as she readied herself to start yelling at me. “Mrs. Cobbler did that all the time, didn’t she?”

“What?” Miss Persimmon said, not making the connection.

“Repeating the last couple words you said. She couldn’t help it.” I grinned at her without humor. “I remember, she once spent a whole class discussing it. She called it echolalia. The kids in class used to sometimes tease her over that. She would just laugh it off, though. Said she’d been teased about it her whole life and it didn’t bother her anymore.”

Miss Persimmon stared at me with wide, shocked eyes. Her back legs wobbled and she sat down, hard.

“Somepony told you about that,” she said. “Somepony who knew her…”

“Do you remember how she smelled like vanilla? Like, all the time. Did you know why?” The teacher looked stunned, but still managed to shake her head. “I asked her once. It was what her favorite shampoo smelled like, that’s why.”

“Oh…” Miss Persimmon said weakly.

“Do you remember that her favorite candy was lemon drops, and that she had a bowl full of them on her desk every day? How about how she’d start nearly every class with ‘It’s a great day to learn, boys and girls!’? Do you remember that she had a lazy eye that would sometimes get away from her when she was really tired or distracted? The left one, if I remember right. And a mole on her chin that had a single hair growing out of it. She called it her ‘good luck mole’. Always got a laugh out of the kids.”

I took a couple of steps closer to her and she leaned back away from me, disbelief and unease in her eyes.

“The time for me to play ‘little miss filly’ is quickly coming to an end,” I said. “I need you to at least believe this is possible, Miss Persimmon. Because something bad is going on and I need your help. Because Plum Pudding and her whole family are in danger, and it’s all my fault. And because I’m like this, I can’t do most of the things I need to do in order to protect her.”

I sat down in front of her and looked her squarely in the eye. “I need your help. Plum needs your help. If you keep dismissing me as ‘just a filly’, if you don’t believe the things I tell you, then bad things will happen. I need to know, can I count on you?”

She looked at the book, and I saw her eyes pick out the picture from my childhood. Then she looked back at me. The confusion washed away, and something like wonder took its place.

“It’s really true, isn’t it?” she asked me in a quiet voice.

“It really is,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Especially about the part where Plum Pudding is in danger.”

“Okay,” she said. She got back up on her hooves and looked down at me. “What kind of trouble is Plum in, and why do you need my help?”

I didn’t bother disguising my relieved sigh. “All right, then. Let me start at the beginning.”

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to my editors who, as always, did an amazing job helping me make this a better story: Brilliantpoint, coandco, Ekevoo, and Merlos the Mad.

Jumping the rails

I’d finally done it. I’d managed to convince someone that my situation was real, that I wasn’t just some delusional little filly with aspirations towards joining the police force. I felt a grin spread across my muzzle as I looked at the teacher sitting across from me.

“All right, then. Let me start at the beginning.” I said. “I’d like you to know the full story.”

After all, I didn’t want to leave her with any doubts. She nodded and motioned for me to continue.

Just to give her a little more context, I played her the tape with my voice on it, though I stabbed the stop button in time to spare us both my attempt at singing. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the tape machine and me, probably trying to reconcile the voice she’d heard and the tiny pink filly who was sitting before her.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug. “That’s what I really sound like.”

“That voice made my eyes water,” she said.

I snorted and then started my story from my time as a police officer in Ponyville. I ended up glossing over some of the more unbelievable details of how I’d ended up this way in the first place. Miss Persimmon finally seemed willing to believe me about the poison joke, and I saw no reason to stretch her credulity by trying to explain Pinkie Pie.

I don’t think anypony can explain Pinkie Pie.

Instead, I just explained that my partner and I were chasing an escaped mental patient through the Everfree forest. How we wandered through the patch of poison joke, and how I woke up the next morning, a tiny, bright pink filly. I didn’t say anything about how that damned lunatic had probably lured us through that patch of poison joke intentionally.

Then I got into the details of my first slumber party, where the teacher interrupted me for the first time. Not with a question, but with a snicker.

“Oh, you must have enjoyed that, you big stallion, you.”

“Ha, ha,” I said drily. “You want to hear the story or laugh at my misfortune?”

A single eyebrow went up. “I can’t do both?” she asked.

I found myself grinning at her in spite of myself. I hadn’t expected snark from Miss Prim and Proper. I liked it.

“Don’t see how I could stop you,” I said, my voice as dry as a desert. I launched into the rest of the story. How Figgy Pudding had stopped by in the middle of the night and tried pushing Mulberry into passing something through customs. How I’d nabbed the shipping manifest, and how I’d decided to go there and see what was up.

“You should have just gone to the police,” Miss Persimmon said with a frown.

“Yeah, ordinarily I’d agree with you. But, even if I’d been taken seriously, I didn’t want to get Mulberry caught up in whatever was going on.”

“You’re assuming she didn’t already know?”

I was suddenly on my hooves without realizing it, and when I responded it was with more force than I’d intended. “Hey, she’s a good mare!”

She opened her mouth, hesitated, then shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s just get through what happened, okay?”

Grumbling, I sat back down and started my story again. I went over how I’d arranged another sleepover the next night, and how I’d gotten my mom to put together a dark outfit to help me hide. How Plum had seen it and brought out her own costume, thinking we were going to play superheroes.

“What does this have to do with anything?” she asked.

“Getting to it,” I said. Her eyes narrowed, and I realized I said that much more sharply than intended. I sucked in a breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out. “Sorry.”

She nodded. I picked up the story again, explaining how I’d sneaked out of the Pudding house and over to the warehouse late that night. How Plum had followed me, and how she convinced me to let her tag along when I went inside the warehouse.

“That wasn’t the smartest idea,” she pointed out. I glowered up at her. “Well, it wasn’t!” she said defensively.

“Yeah. If I’d known what was going to happen next, I wouldn’t have ever gone there in the first place.” I fixed my eyes onto hers. “This is where things really started going wrong.”

Then I told her about finding the box. She let out a low whistle when I mentioned the false floor and the fifty jars of aldavii nectar, and gasped when I mentioned the smugglers showing up. There was real fear in her face when I described our escape, and my confrontation with Chains the unicorn.

“I think I might have met him,” Miss Persimmon said quietly. “He did a talk at our school last year, speaking to the students about community safety. You’re saying he’s a criminal?”

“On their payroll, at least, if not in their actual gang. That’s why I can’t just go talk to a detective. If they have one crooked cop on board, they may have more.”

Real fear was in her eyes when she nodded. “I can agree with that.”

I continued, recapping the information I’d gotten from Tapioca, including what he knew of the gang members, the Zebrican contacts, and the mysterious Mister Sunshine.

“That’s it,” I said. “That’s where we are now.”

Miss Persimmon rocked back a little as she levitated her glasses off of her face and placed them on her desk. While she rubbed at a temple with a hoof, she said, “That’s a heck of a situation you’re in.”

“Yeah. And, since I’m the one who got the Puddings into this mess, I have to make sure they get out again.”

“It’s not your fault,” the teacher said. She sighed and unpinned her mane, the black silky tresses cascading down her neck as she shook her head. “Ah, that’s better.”

She looked like an entirely different mare with her glasses off and her hair down. I couldn’t help staring. “Uh… Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said it’s not your fault,” she said as she ran a casual hoof through her mane. “I’d blame the bad guys first, and Tapioca second. Even if you’re sure he was telling the truth.”

“They can’t go to the cops,” I pointed out. “They don’t know—”

“They can go to the press, then. Or write a letter to Celestia’s court.”

Her voice was prim and matter-of-fact. I grimaced and nodded. Those were both pretty good suggestions. But Persimmon wasn’t done.

“And, if you’re right about Mulberry not knowing anything, then I have a hard time accepting that Tapioca is a good guy in all of this,” she said.

I’m not sure why I felt compelled to protect Tapioca, but I did. “He’s trying to protect his family.”

“Mulberry is an adult mare. She needs to know what’s going on. If she doesn’t know the situation, how can she protect herself? Or Plum?”

I didn’t want to admit that she had a point, so I changed the subject instead.

“Look, did you want to hear the plan or not?” I asked.

“Okay, fine,” Miss Persimmon said with a note in her voice that let me know she was only dropping the subject temporarily. “If it’s to help my students, I can do anything.” She considered that for a few seconds and amended her statement to, “Almost anything. Within reason, of course.”

“Right,” I said with a humorless smile. “Well, I don’t have all the details worked out, but my plan so far is to get closer to Chains or Figgy. I’ll get them to give me more information, and I’ll get it on tape. When I find out enough to get them all put in jail, I give it to you and you go to whoever is the highest ranking H.P.D. officer not on the bad guys’ payroll.”

She just stared at me, her eyes unreadable.

Thinking that maybe she didn’t understand her part in it, I clarified. “It has to be you that goes to the police. They won’t take me seriously, recording or no.”

“And how do you plan to accomplish all of that?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Easy,” I said with a slightly manic grin. “I’ll use myself as bait.”

The clock ticked off a few seconds.

“It sounds like a really bad idea,” Miss Persimmon said with a shake of her head.

“No, it’s simple,” I countered. “I look like a filly, but I’m not. They’ll underestimate me. I’ll talk to Figgy or Chains. I’ll tell them that it was me that took the nectar. I’ll tell them I want into their gang, so I can earn some extra money. But I’ll want them to introduce me to the boss, first. I’ll get them talking about their operations, then I’ll get out when I can. And I’ll have the whole thing on tape.”

“And when they search your saddlebags and take the recorder away?” Miss Persimmon asked archly. “Or when they decide to tell you to take a hike right away? Or if they take you to meet the boss but they don’t let you leave again… ever? What then?”

I felt the heat of humiliation crawling up the back of my neck. “I told you I still had some details to work out,” I muttered.

The mare sat back down and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. “Well, parts of it might work. The tape recorder is a good idea, if we can figure out a way for them to not find it.” She gave me a level look and said, “The rest of that is a really, really poor idea, though.”

“Fine, then! If you have a better plan, I’d like to hear it.”

“I gave you a couple already,” she said. “Go to the press, or write a letter to Celestia.”

“That won’t work,” I said stiffly.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no time!” I was shouting again, back up on my hooves. And, judging by the way she was leaning back, a little inside Miss Persimmon’s personal space. I took a deep breath and stepped back.

“Look, it’s the only way I can think of to get the heat off of the Puddings.” I said, reigning in my temper. “I don’t have time to wait for those other things to work. I have to get it done quickly.”

“You can’t do that,” the teacher said. “Cinnamon, you’re only a filly.”

My eyes narrowed, but she cut me off before I could respond.

“I know, I know, you’re an adult,” she said as she held up a hoof. “But you’re also only a filly. You can’t put yourself into that kind of danger. You don’t have the capacity to…” She trailed off, tilting her head and frowning as she looked at me.

I decided to try again to convince her. “I know what I’m doing, and I can handle myself. If it comes to physical violence, I can run. I’m hard to get a hoof on. You’ve got to trust me. I can deal with this, and I’m tougher than I look!”

She kept on staring at me the whole time I was talking. When I was done, she shook her head and sighed.

“Oh, I get it now,” she said softly. “It’s starting to make sense. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“This whole tough-guy routine. You having to solve all of this by yourself. You only came to me because you have no other choices for adults to approach the police.” She gave me a crooked smile. “You think you have to do this on your own to prove to yourself that you haven’t lost it, that you’re still a police officer and a tough stallion, present appearances aside.”

“What..? I… no! That’s not—”

“Cinnamon…” she sighed again. “You know that the risk here is huge. You could get badly hurt. Maybe even wind up…” she shuddered “...dead. And maybe not only you. I don’t want to see that happen. So, tell me. Give me one concrete, good reason why you can’t go to the press or write to Celestia’s court. Or why we can’t just smuggle the Puddings out of town, if it’s really that urgent.”

“They can’t leave!” I shouted, my voice hoarse with desperation. “The smugglers are watching the stations. Even if they left, Figgy knows all of the relatives they could possibly stay with, and they can’t afford a hotel!”

She leaned forward and put a hoof on my shoulder, looking into my eyes with an irritatingly calm smile on her face. It took everything I had right then not to knock her hoof away. “Cinnamon, if it’s because of having nowhere to go, then I can put them up with some relatives of mine. My mother lives in Canterlot, and she has more than enough room. Then we have all the time in the world to fix this without risking yourself.” She leaned back again. “So, can you do it? Give me any reason why you have to put yourself in danger like this?”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land. I had nothing.

“I thought so,” she said, leaning back with a sigh. “Cinnamon… I won’t let you do this. It’s too big for you. I know now that you’re an adult, but I think you need to remember that even adults have their limitations.”

I couldn’t look at her, so instead I stared at the back leg of her desk. It suddenly doubled in my vision. I blinked furiously until my eyes straightened themselves out.

“And I’m guessing that’s why you haven’t told Mulberry yet about your… condition.” She gave me another lopsided smile. “You like her, I can tell.”

Now, that startled me right out of whatever funk I was in.

“I don’t!” I protested, waving my forehooves. “She’s a married mare, and—”

“I didn’t mean like that.” The mare chuckled a little. “I meant that you respect her. You want her to think well of you. But if you told her… well, it would all come crashing down, wouldn’t it? And then you might not ever be allowed to see Plum again.” She cocked her head, then, and if I’d known the question was coming I would have run out of the room ages ago. “Why are you so fixated on Plum, anyway?”

I looked away for a few seconds, considering my next words carefully. Persimmon was kind enough to give me the time.

My eyes dropped to the floor as I considered what I wanted to say. This touched on my past, and how I felt about it, two things I’m not all that great at talking about.

“My whole life…” I stopped, then took a deep breath and started over. “I have five brothers. It goes from me, the oldest, to Nutmeg, the youngest. That’s because my mom was always fixated on having a daughter and she never stopped trying. As a colt, it bothered me, like my brothers and I weren’t good enough. So it’s like my whole life, at least past the age of six or so, has been more or less defined by the fact that I don’t have a sister.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath and finally came out and said what had been in the back of my mind for weeks, now.

“And now I have a little sister, in a way. And I would do anything in the world to protect her and to make her happy.”

I looked up. Miss Persimmon’s eyes were bright and wide, her mouth set in a trembling line, and I barely had time to flinch when she suddenly reached forward and gathered me into a hug.

“Hey,” I said. Then I started squirming and pushing at her barrel with my forehooves. “Hey!”

She let me go, pulling her hooves back as if she’d just burned herself. I fell back on my rump and just stared at her.

“What the hell, lady?!”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sniffle. “That’s just… it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Right, whatever.” I took a moment to regain whatever was left of my dignity.

Miss Persimmon gave me a moment before she cleared her throat. “Well, I think it’s clear that we won’t be going with your plan. So, what now?”

I looked away from her, chewing on my lower lip.

“I don’t know,” I said eventually. “That’s all I had.”

“Right. Well, do you want to know what I think?”

“Sure, why not,” I muttered.

“I think that I’ll go with you to Plum’s house. We’ll talk to her parents together. You’ll come clean to both of them, and I’ll stop Mulberry from murdering you.” She held up a hoof to forestall my protest. “It’s not right that she has no idea what’s going on, and has no idea who really is spending time with her daughter. If you care about her at all, you’ll tell her the truth.”

She stopped there and just looked at me until I nodded. I was defeated and directionless. Persimmon had cut straight through the lies I’d been telling myself.

“Yes,” is all I said.

“Then we’ll convince them that the safest thing to do is go out of town and stay at my mother’s house in Canterlot. I’ll even take some time off of work and go with them and help them get settled in. After that, then Tapioca goes to Princess Celestia’s court and makes his case.” Her eyes narrowed then, and she spoke with a grim satisfaction. “And then we make certain that the full weight of the law comes down on those scum.”

Now that was something I agreed with. I gave her a shaky smile and stood back up. Miss Persimmon stood as well, helping to steady me on my suddenly-wobbly legs by placing a hoof on my shoulder.

“I guess we’re going now?” I asked.

She nodded. “No point in putting this off. Things have gotten far enough out of hoof as it is.”

I sighed. I gave one sharp nod in agreement. “Let’s go, then.”

The walk to the Puddings’ house was quiet and somber. I didn’t have much to say. My mind was too busy running through all the things I would have to tell Mulberry. I tried not to dwell on what her reaction would be to finding out who I really was. I didn’t succeed too well. Now that I really thought about it, having Miss Persimmon there probably would stop the mare from murdering me.

It wasn’t long before the Pudding’s cheery house loomed over us. It seemed huge, or maybe it was just me feeling smaller than I’d ever felt before in my life. We stopped outside the door by some mutually unspoken signal, both collecting our thoughts. I took a deep breath and braced myself. Just as Miss Persimmon raised her hoof to knock on the door, I spoke.

“It wasn’t a bad plan, you know,” I said wistfully. “It actually could have worked.”

She looked down at me and gave me a considering look. Then she smiled.

“Thank goodness we’ll never have to know,” she said.

She knocked, three firm raps on the wooden door. And then we stood there, waiting. After nearly a minute, Miss Persimmon cleared her throat and knocked again. I shifted on my hooves as more time crawled by, and I found myself staring at the door, caught in a strange mixture of dread and eagerness while waiting for it to open.

“Do you think they’re out?” the teacher asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “They said they were coming right home after the spa.”

“Well, I think we should—”

Whatever she was thinking will have to remain a mystery, because it was then that we heard Plum’s voice from behind the closed door.

“Go away!” she shouted.

Persimmon and I looked at each other, startled.

“Plum?” I called out. “It’s me.”

“Cinnamon?”

Something was wrong. Plum’s voice was cranked higher than normal. I heard her scrabbling at the door handle, a single desperate sob coming through the wood as she fumbled at it. I felt my heart rate climbing even before she got the door open.

The Plum Pudding who opened the door wasn’t the happy and pampered pony I’d seen as we’d gone our separate ways outside the Happy Hooves Spa. Her eyes were wide and scared, rimmed with red from crying. She was shaking, her ears pressed down flat back against her head.

Once the door was open she flung herself at me, both forelegs going around my neck as she buried her face into my shoulder and sobbed. I put a hoof on her back out of reflex.

“Plum! What’s wrong?” I asked, beyond scared now.

Next to me, Persimmon had knelt down on the walkway. She was stroking Plum’s mane in an attempt to calm her down. The filly was bawling into my neck as she tried to talk, making most of what she was trying to say incomprehensible. The only words I could make out were “gone, gone”.

My heart clenched, and in my mind I remembered Tapioca’s hacking cough and trembling hooves. I also remembered a day many years ago before, when my father’s partner Shamrock had stopped by the house later in the afternoon. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I answered the door. When I asked where my dad was, all he’d said was that I’d better go get my mother, he had something important he had to tell her.

I barely remembered the rest of that day. Flashes of my mother sobbing. My brothers and I all holding each other, lost and confused. If Plum had come home from her day of pampering to find her father dead, I knew she was going to need a good friend right now. I’d been through the loss of a parent myself, and I intended to help her through this. But first, I needed to know for certain what was going on.

“Plum,” I said as gently as I could, “I can’t help you if I can’t understand you.” I pushed her back slightly so I looked her straight in the eye as she cried and hiccuped. “Take a deep breath… okay, good… now let it out. Now, what’s wrong?”

She wasn’t calm, not by any stretch of the imagination. I could tell that she was devastated. But the next time she spoke I could understand her.

“They took Mom!” she wailed.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. The blood in my veins turned to ice for a half-second only to flash into a boil an instant later. I clamped down on it. I had to remain calm.

“Who did?” I asked as gently as I could.

“Th-that p-police pony… That unicorn, and some others.” She snuffled and hiccuped again. Then she was back to wailing. “They put her in a cart and took her away!”

“Did they say why?” I asked, gritting my teeth and reminding myself that I had to stay calm!

Her mane whipped back and forth as she shook her head frantically.

“N-no… Maybe to Daddy.” She hugged me again. “Cinnamon, I’m scared,” she whispered into my mane.

“I know, Plum. I know.” I closed my eyes and stroked her back. “But I swear to you, we’re going to get her back. She’s going to be alright.”

She drew back and looked at me doubtfully. “You promise?”

“I promise,” I said.

I looked over at the teacher next to me. Her face had faded several shades towards white. She had the look of a mare who’d walked out into the middle of a frozen lake and then heard the ice crack.

“Can you look after Plum for a minute?” I asked her.

She nodded as Plum noticed her for the first time, giving her a confused look.

“Miss Persimmon?” the filly said, confused. “What are you doing here?”

The mare’s mouth opened for a moment as she considered what to say. When she spoke, it was in a firm and confident voice.

“I’m here to help Cinnamon get your mom back,” she said, pulling the filly towards her in a hug.

“Thanks,” I told her, and got a nod in return. I looked back at the filly she was hugging to her. “Plum. I’m going to go talk to your dad and see if they said anything. I’ll be right back, okay?”

She nodded and managed a weak smile. I gave her a quick one back. As I turned and walked into the Pudding household, I heard Persimmon gently urging Plum back into the house.

When I reached the master bedroom, I didn’t have to knock. The door was wide open. Tapioca was sitting upright on the bed, hunched over and staring at the hooves in his lap, his face slack and expressionless.

“Tapioca,” I said. And when he didn’t respond, I said it again. “Tapioca.”

He looked up at me with haunted eyes, a large bruise darkening over his left one. Confusion ran across his features, there and gone again so fast I might have almost imagined it.

“You,” he said, his voice dull. It was a statement of recognition, not accusation. I still flinched inside when he said it.

“What happened?” I asked, stepping into the room.

“They took my wife. Some trumped up charge of obstructing justice.” His voice was monotone as his eyes returned to his forehooves. “Chains… Shale… Another pony I didn’t recognize, a unicorn with a lantern cutie mark.”

“Three of them?” I asked. At his nod, I continued. “Were they all in police uniforms?”

“Yeah.”

His voice was dull, disengaged. I wanted to rage at him, to shout and scream, maybe even shake him until I got answers. But my gut was telling me that I was looking at a broken stallion, and any aggressive move I made could shatter him.

“What did they want?” I asked.

“They want the jar of nectar,” he said. “And they want who took it. I told them I didn’t know.”

“And they took Mulberry to… what, to convince you?”

“To ‘help me remember’, they said.” He laughed bitterly. “I told them I didn’t know.”

“You should have given me up,” I said, unable to hide the heat in my voice. “You should have let them take me!”

“I couldn’t,” he said, looking confused. “I… you’re just a filly.”

“Better me than Mulberry!” I shouted, my calm shattering like glass.

That shook him. He flinched and looked over at me. Then a spark of hope kindled in his eyes.

“Are you really a customs agent in disguise?” he asked softly.

And, just like that, the weight of my sins came down right on my head, bowing my neck until my nose almost touched the floor.

“No,” I said quietly. I heard a soft sigh, or maybe a sob, from the stallion.

I thought of Mulberry, lost and alone in some den of thieves somewhere. My focus came back to me. My resolve hardened.

“No, I’m not,” I said in a firmer voice. “You want to know what I am?”

Tapioca Pudding looked over at me once again.

“I’m a friend to your wife and daughter. And I’m a sergeant with the Ponyville Police Department, on temporary unofficial leave after a chance encounter with a plant called poison joke. And I’m also the last thing that the bastards that took her will ever see coming. I will keep Plum safe, I’ll get your wife back, and I’ll see the ones who took her in prison.” My mouth settled into a grim line. “You have my word on that.”

Something like hope kindled in the stallion’s eyes.

“Poison joke, eh?” he said, his voice still quiet. His spine straightened slightly and he managed a hint of a smile. “That’s a nasty little bugger. Turned you into a filly, then?”

I stared at him in shock for a few seconds before I nodded. “Figures you’d be the only one in this town who’s heard of that damned weed,” I muttered.

“And you have a plan to get my wife back?” he asked, either ignoring or not registering what I’d just said.

I considered my conversation with Persimmon. The mare had a point when she said this was too dangerous for me to handle on my own, but the situation had changed. There was no running from this, no heading to Canterlot and safety. Not when they already had Mulberry. There was no time, either. Whatever had to be done, it had to be done now.

“I do,” I said.

Tapioca took a deep breath and nodded as a ghost of a smile drifted across his muzzle.

“Did they tell you when they expected an answer?” I asked him.

“They were going to let me think on it overnight,” he said, heat kindling in his voice. “They’ll be back noon tomorrow.”

“Good,” I said. It was still late in the afternoon. “We have time, then.”

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

“The plan? Well, the first part of that is easy. We get Plum somewhere safe.”

“Where?”

“Either she stays at my house or she stays with her teacher,” I said. “Who, by the way, is talking to Plum right now.”

Tapioca sagged as at least some of the tension left him. “Thank you,” he said.

“You got it,” I replied with a nod. “For the rest of the plan, I need something from you.”

“Anything,” he said instantly. “Just name it.”

I gave him a hard and humorless grin. “I need to know where I can find your brother.”

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to my editors: Brilliantpoint, coandco, Ekevoo, Merlos the Mad

Best laid plans

Plum reacted with calm acceptance when I told her that she was staying at my house. And when I told her that her father wasn’t coming with us, that’s when the filly dug her hooves in. She ranted and screamed, refusing even to listen. It took the combined efforts of all three of us, her father included, to convince her to go.

With that much adult power arrayed against her, the fight just went out of the little filly all at once.

She hugged her father goodbye in a disturbingly mechanical fashion that broke my heart watching it. I wanted more than anything to get Tapioca out of there as well, but if the kidnappers came back and found him gone, they would assume he left town.

“But why your house?” Persimmon asked me as we walked through the streets of Hoofington. The sun was edging its way towards the horizon, and ponies were hurrying home from work, no doubt to get some dinner in them before relaxing the rest of the night.

“Because I’ll need your help, and I don’t want to leave Plum alone,” I said, nodding towards the filly in question.

Plum’s mood was like nothing I’d ever seen from her before. Her hooves dragged as she walked with her head hanging down and her muzzle almost touching the ground. She wasn’t even watching where she was going as she walked aimlessly between the two of us, which is probably the only thing that kept her from veering off and walking into any buildings.

“Besides,” I said. “They want the jar, which is at my house. Since we have to stop there anyway, I feel it’s best if we leave Plum with my mom.”

How that was going to pan out, I was dreading to see. It would require tact, and no small amount of deception. Mom wasn’t likely to let me go face a band of criminals on my own, not even to save her new friend Mulberry. This sort of thing is why she’d pressured me to retire from the police force in the first place.

As we walked I kept an eye out, not only ahead of us, but behind us as well. The last thing we needed was to have one of the gang members following us to my home. Plum wouldn’t be safe if they knew where to find her. I’d seen nothing so far, but that was no reason to let my guard down.

It didn’t take long before we reached my house, the peeling white fence leaning drunkenly across the yard. I opened the gate and made my way to the door, bracing myself before I opened it.

Mom wasn’t going to be happy about this.

“Come on in,” I said after I got the door open. I closed it behind them once they were in the entryway.

“This is where you live?” Persimmon asked, her muzzle wrinkling in distaste as she looked around at all the stacked boxes, clutter, and outright trash lying around.

“Yeah,” I said, too preoccupied to be embarrassed about it for once. “Plum, you can head up to my bedroom, okay? Maybe take a nap or something.”

The look of hopelessness the filly gave me chilled me. She nodded and started to move towards the stairs, but I stepped around in front of her and stopped her, holding a hoof up to her shoulder.

“I promise you, it’s going to be okay,” I said, gathering the filly into a hug. A trembling foreleg reached up and hugged me back. “They said they’d keep her overnight. They won’t do anything until tomorrow at the earliest, and I plan to get her back before night falls.”

“Okay,” Plum said quietly.

Her mood seemed a little better as she walked up the stairs to my bedroom. I watched her go until she was out of sight, then turned to the teacher.

“Wait here, please,” I said.

She nodded, looking around with a distracted look on her face. I left to go find my mom.

She was in her workroom, the pedal-powered sewing machine clacking away as she ran fabric under the needle. I recognized my “super-hero” outfit from the black and purple, and realized that she must have found the rip I’d made in the costume and decided to fix it.

“Hey, Mom,” I said, startling her.

The wheel on the sewing machine wound down as she stopped pedalling to turn and smile at me.

“Oh! Hello, dear. Were you out?”

“Yeah, I went over to Plum’s for a little while. Speaking of which, I have something to ask you.”

“What is it?” she asked as she took the costume out from under the needle to inspect the stitching.

“I want Plum to stay here for a few hours, and I want you to keep an eye on her for me.”

Her brow knitted in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“A problem with her parents,” I said, skirting as close to the truth as I dared. “I thought it would be best if she got out of the house and stayed here for a while.” I scraped a hoof along the ground as I considered my next words. “I’m going to head back out and see if I can help them.”

“You’re not going to be here?” Mom put the costume aside and frowned down at me. “Cinnamon, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to get involved in this. If they’re having marital problems, then it’s up to them to fix it.”

“I know,” I said. “And, trust me, the last thing I’d want to do is get between a husband and wife who are fighting.”

Again, everything I was saying was technically true. And at the same time, a lie. I couldn’t think of a better way, though. And even this much of a delay was causing the tension in my chest to wind up a few more notches. Every second between now and getting Mulberry back was a second I couldn’t afford to waste.

“Then what—”

“It’s just something I need to check on. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

She stared at me, her expression unreadable. After a few seconds, I realized I was tapping a hoof and forced myself to stop it.

“You’re hiding something from me,” she said with a frown.

“Because you don’t need to know,” I shot back.

Her frown shifted to a glare.

“I’m calling in a favor, Mom,” I said, my impatience threatening to burst out and swamp my fragile facade of calm.

She tilted her head at me as her glare faded. “What favor, exactly?”

“All of them,” I said curtly. “You owe me, and you know it. Watch Plum, just for the next hour or two, and I’ll call it even.”

Her eyebrows raised and the glare returned as she huffed out a breath through her nostrils.

“Oh, really? I owe you? For what?”

“For what?” I was actually stunned for a half a second. “For what?! How about for dragging me away from my life so you could stuff me in a dress and put a ribbon in my hair? How about forcing me to go to school again? How about the constant humiliation every single day that I’m stuck in this damned filly’s body?! How about that, Mom?”

My voice rose steadily as my tirade continued, and at first it looked like I was reaching her. Her head drew back and her ears flattened as she raised a forehoof to her chest. Not that I cared, not at that moment. All the rage I’d been suppressing for the last two months flowed out of me like an infection from a lanced boil. I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d tried.

My advantage didn’t last. Mom rallied, her own anger rising as mine vented. Her faced flushed an ugly red even as tears of frustration and rage flowed down her cheeks.

“Well, as if it’s so bad that you’re like this! Like it wasn’t bad for me, every damned day, thinking that you were out there with the criminals? Wondering when I’d get the letter saying you were in the hospital, or dead!” She stomped a hoof and loomed over me. “You’re damned right I kept you like this on purpose! If it’s the only way I can keep you safe, then I’ll do anything!”

“Better safe than happy, huh?” I shot back, and I could see the impact those words made on her heart.

Then Mom’s eyes narrowed as she drew in a deep breath. But before she was able to go on the counter-offensive, she was interrupted by a soft, dry voice coming from the sewing room’s doorway.

“Well, that dispels any lingering doubts I might have had about your story,” Miss Persimmon said with an arched eyebrow and a wry half-grin. “Sorry I ever doubted you, Cinnamon.”

“Uh. No problem,” I managed. “I thought I asked you to stay—”

“What’s she doing here?!” Mom shrieked, pointing a trembling hoof.

“She’s here to help me do what I need to do,” I said. I was still trembling with adrenaline. “For Plum’s sake.”

“Why is she in my house?” Mom snapped at me. Before I could even think to answer, she whirled on the teacher and shouted, “Get out!”

“I don’t think so,” Miss Persimmon replied calmly.

“You get out!” Mom took a step towards her, her eyes wild.

“Child Protection Services,” Miss Persimmon said coolly, freezing my mom in her tracks. “I have my own personal contact at the local Hoofington office. All teachers do.”

Mom’s jaw worked, but only squeaks came out. Miss Persimmon either didn’t see or was ignoring my scowl.

“I know you’re trying to help,” I said, putting a warning in my voice, “but don’t you ever threaten my mom.”

Miss Persimmon smiled at me sadly and shook her head, causing her unbound mane to undulate gently.

“I’m a teacher,” she said calmly. “And, filly or stallion, you’re my student. I failed to protect you once already, today. I’m not going to fail again.”

I glanced over at my Mom, who looked to be on the verge of a panic attack.

“You can’t… Nopony will believe you,” she said, a hint of defiance entering her voice.

“If you mean about Cinnamon’s transformation, they don’t need to,” Miss Persimmon said. “One look at the state of this house and they’ll take her… sorry, him, away for at least a week while they assess his living situation.” She cocked her head at my mother and added, “I’m willing to bet that, in that time, we could figure out a way to return Cinnamon to normal.”

I looked back and forth between Persimmon and Mom, feeling torn. The teacher looked calm and resolved while Mom looked like she was on the point of breaking. Every instinct was telling me to stand between the two of them, get Persimmon to back down. Work for a peaceful resolution. Only, there was one thing even more important.

Mulberry was still in danger.

“Damn it all,” I growled. “We don’t have time for this!” I rounded on my mother and barked out, “Mom!”

She jumped and looked down at me, eyes wide and near panicked.

“What?” she said, her voice weak and wavering.

“I’m going out. I need to arrange a safe place for Plum, and Miss Persimmon is going to help me do that. I need you to keep her here, and safe. Got it?”

“But…”

I held up a hoof as I took a deep breath and held it while I counted to ten. When I finally let it out, I felt a good deal calmer.

“Mom,” I said seriously. “This is important. I have to help her. That girl…” I sighed and felt my shoulders slump. I looked my mother in the eyes and said, “Please. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister, and she needs my help.”

Mom’s eyes widened in shock. “Sister?” she said weakly.

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a few breaths and then nodded. When she spoke, it was in a quiet voice that held just a hint of awe in it. “Alright. I’ll do that for you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as a good amount of the anxiety I’d been trying to ignore flooded out of me. “Thanks. Can you two wait down here? I’m going to go talk to Plum.”

“Okay,” Mom said. Persimmon nodded her assent, and I left the two mares behind in the sewing room. I can only imagine what kind of an awkward situation I’d left them both in.

Plum was lying on her back on my bed. Three of the plush animals had been rescued from the pile at the top of the bed and were being hugged to her chest as the filly stared at the canopy above her. Her eyes flicked over to me briefly as I closed the door behind me.

“How are you?” I asked.

She shrugged, then hugged the plush animals tighter. One of them, a stuffed robin, squeaked a little.

“I’m going to get the nectar,” I said. I waited for a few seconds, but she didn’t reply.

With a sigh, I walked up to the bed and dropped down on my belly in order to wriggle underneath it. I found the box with the nectar in it on my third try and pulled it out with me as I backed my way out from under the bed.

Plum hadn’t moved an inch as far as I could tell. My heart clenched at the emotionless expression on her face. I ground my teeth together as a dull and unguided rage began building. Plum was almost always smiling, laughing or talking, or some combination of all three. As I shook the jar out of the boot I’d stored it in, I promised myself I’d restore that smile. And while I was at it, I’d see that every single pony who had crushed her spirit would suffer for it.

“How are you going to do it?” Plum asked softly.

I gave her what I hoped was a confident smile. “Easy. Step one is to get you to safety, and that’s done already.”

When that failed to produce anything resembling a smile, I forged on.

“Step two is trickier. Miss Persimmon and I go find Uncle Figgy and we get him to tell us where they’re keeping your mom.”

“And then what?” she asked dully. The exhaustion in her voice made my heart ache. “The two of you break in past however many bad guys and rescue her?”

“We aren’t dumb enough to try,” I said gently. “No, we just find out where she is. Then we get Figgy to tell us who we can actually trust in the police office.” Hopefully, the Captain wasn’t one of the ponies on the smuggler’s payroll. “We bring the jar as proof, and Figgy will come along and tell his side of the story too.”

Her muzzle scrunched up at that. “How’ll you make him do that?”

“You sound like you doubt me,” I said, cranking my smile up a little. “But don’t forget, I’ve been trained for this kind of thing. I’m sure I can convince him to talk to the cops. Even if he refuses, the jar, along with our testimony, will be enough to get a rescue operation going. Then we all go get your mom. The police arrest the bad ponies, including the ones on the force, Mulberry goes back home, and everything goes back to the way it should be.”

I started stuffing the jar into my saddlebags as Plum mulled that over.

“And if they won’t help you, or if the police are all bad, then what?” she asked, her voice small.

“Then we go with Plan ‘B’,” I said. “Persimmon distracts them long enough for me to sneak in and find Mulberry. I’m small enough to go unnoticed. I’ll find her and break her out of wherever she is. Then I’ll find a way to cause a big commotion and we’ll make a break for it.”

“And if they catch you?”

I looked over at her. Unshed tears were pooled in her eyes as she stared upwards. The forelegs holding the plush animals were trembling. I made a hard decision then: I decided to tell the truth.

“I’ll level with you, Plum. There’s a chance that this won’t work out. They may catch me, they may stop your mom from escaping. But if they do catch me, then they’ll have what they want: the jar and the pony who took it.” I grinned. “I’m pretty sure I can turn that into a win.”

“How?” she asked.

This kid. Always asking the hard questions.

“I’ll tell them that I only did it because I wanted to join their gang,” I said. That much of my old plan could still work, if it came to saving my hide.

Plum looked at me as if I were a crazy pony. I shrugged, then forced my features into a pout and blinked up at her with my big, blue eyes. With my voice in a higher register than I usually used, I said, “Please, mister! I only wanted to impress you guys. I want to join your gang! It sounds so cool! And think of all the ways having a little kid around could be useful! I could deliver messages, and nopony would ever search my saddlebags because I’m just a kid!”

In spite of everything, that got Plum to crack a smile. I decided to push my luck and dug my old yearbook out of my saddlebags.

“Oh, almost forgot,” I said as I flipped the pages. “If you were ever curious about what I looked like as a little colt, here you go.”

The plushes fell aside as Plum sat up and reached for the book, a glint of curiosity kindling in her eyes. I told her where to find the picture with me in it. She stared at it silently for a few seconds before her muzzle scrunched up.

“You weren’t kidding about being ugly,” she said.

“Hey!”

She actually managed a giggle at my mock-offense. Then she hopped off the bed and gave me a fierce hug.

“Actually, I think you’re kind of cute,” she said. “You know, in an ugly kind of way.” She kissed me on the cheek and offered me a wavering smile. “Still, if your ears stick out that much when you’re a stallion, I think I’d better call off the wedding.”

“They stick out worse, actually,” I said. I reached over and took the book back, closing the page on the ruddy young colt with the big ears and the crooked teeth.

“Hmm.” She ran a hoof in circles on the carpet, then looked back up to me. “You promise you’ll be safe?”

I nodded. “Me and your mom,” I said.

Her eyes stared into mine for a few seconds as if searching for answers there. She finally nodded and said, “Okay.”

“Good,” I said, feeling relieved. “You wait here. Get some rest or something. I’ll tell my mom to cook you dinner later on if you get hungry.”

“I won’t be hungry,” she said. Then she climbed back up on the bed, gathered a few more random plushes to her chest, and rolled over with her back to me.

I looked at her for a few seconds. She looked so tiny on my huge bed, so fragile. So alone. I turned and walked out of my bedroom, closing the door softly behind me.

I could feel the tension from the lower level before I’d even made it halfway down the stairs. I found Mom and Persimmon sitting side by side on the couch. The teacher was saying something, and my mom was staring at the floor.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I hopped off the bottom stair.

Both mares looked at me, then at each other.

“None of your concern,” Miss Persimmon said. “I was just having a chat with Almond, is all.”

My eyes narrowed, but this wasn’t the time to get into it.

“Fine,” I said curtly. “Let’s get going, then.”

Persimmon got up off of the couch and walked to the door without a backwards glance. My mom just sat there, fidgeting with her forehooves and studying the dusty, cluttered floor.

“Mom?” I said. She flinched and looked up at me. “Plum said she probably won’t be hungry, but if you could offer her something to eat in an hour or so that would be great.”

She nodded. “I have some pasta and cheese sauce I can reheat,” she said.

“That’s fine.” Another thing occurred to me, then. “Mom, if somepony comes to the door and asks about Plum, and it isn’t Mulberry or Miss Persimmon, you tell them she’s not here. Got it? No matter who it is, even if they’re wearing a police uniform.”

“Police..?” Her brows knitted in confusion. “Cinnamon, what’s going on?”

I hesitated. “Just family stuff,” I lied. “Just… keep her safe, alright?”

“I… I will,” she said. Then, cautiously, “Cinnamon?”

“Gotta go, Mom,” I said, heading off whatever question she was going to ask.

I followed Miss Persimmon out the front door, closing it softly behind me.

“So, where to first?” she asked.

“To go and talk to a criminal,” I replied with a smirk.

“Oh.” Miss Persimmon’s face lost a little bit of color. “How wonderful.”

~~*~~

The apartments lining the street were beaten down and ragged, a fair match for the local population, ponies of rough edges and hard lives who lived on the lowest rungs of the social ladder. Graffiti marked the walls here and there, and I recognized the signs of three minor gangs. They were chopping the neighborhood up into pieces, each claiming parts of it for their own.

The ponies who lived here weren’t the kind who enjoyed strangers, especially ones as well groomed as Persimmon. They would stop what they were doing to stare at us blankly as we walked by. It put the mare on edge.

“This isn’t a good neighborhood,” she told me nervously.

“I know. But this is where Figgy Pudding lives.” I scowled at the front entrance of the shabby apartment building for a moment before picking my way past a couple of vagrants lying on the sidewalk. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

I led the way, Persimmon coming up behind me. The poor mare was doing a good job of acting nonchalant, but her ears twitching madly on top of her head gave her fear away. The crumbling stone steps to the building gave way to a front door with a broken lock, which I pushed open.

“Apartment 6D,” I said, heading through a hallway of peeling wallpaper to find the staircase.

One advantage of being a filly is that I have less mass to move around. I bolted up to the sixth floor and then had to wait for Persimmon to catch up with me.

“You going to be okay?” I asked her.

“I’ll be fine in a minute,” she said, a little short of breath.

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. Unicorns have no endurance. I decided to use the time it took her to recover in order to get myself ready. I dug through my saddlebag until I found my badge with its too-long lanyard and prepared to loop it around my neck.

“Here,” Persimmon said. Her horn glowed and my badge lifted off of me in a faint green nimbus. She tied a knot in the lanyard and lowered it back over my head. The badge now hung across the front of my chest, right where it should be.

“Thanks,” I said. “Think you can use your fancy magic to get my mane out of the way?”

She smiled as her horn glowed once again. I felt the ribbon in my hair untie itself and slide out, only to be replaced a moment later by one of Persimmon’s own hair ties. Soon enough I had a copy of the teacher’s typical bun on the back of my head. It felt strange and heavy, but it was good not having all that hair in the way.

With Persimmon recovered, we made our way down the dingy hallway. One of the lights was flickering, casting a disorienting strobe effect that made the pair of us blink until we got past it. Apartment 6D was on the right side, the last apartment in the hallway. As we approached, I nudged Persimmon with a hoof, holding that same hoof up to my lips when she looked down at me. She nodded, getting the message, and we both walked quietly up to the door.

Rather than knocking, I put my ear against the wood. Somepony was definitely in. I heard muttering and hoofsteps coming from within, as well as the occasional thud as something fell over. I recognized the muttering voice as Figgy Pudding’s.

I stepped in front of the door and hit it hard with a hoof, three steady and even knocks. The sounds coming from inside cut off instantly. When it became obvious that nopony was coming to the door, I knocked again.

“Get your ass over here, Figgy Pudding,” I shouted. “I know you’re in there!”

A few more seconds passed. Then I heard hoofsteps heading towards the outer wall. I growled, realizing that he was heading towards the fire escape. I didn’t have time to chase that stallion around the city.

“It’s about Mulberry!” I shouted desperately. “I just need to talk!”

The hoofsteps stopped. Then I could hear him making his cautious way towards the door.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Plum’s friend,” I said, motioning to Miss Persimmon to hide a little further down the hallway. “You know, the little filly?”

Figgy’s door cracked open to reveal a bloodshot eye, which rolled down and widened in shock when he saw me.

“I’ll be damned,” the stallion said. Then he opened the door. “Look, kid, I don’t have… hey!”

I walked in right past him, easily evading his belated attempt to stop me. A quick glance was all I needed to assure me that he was alone in here. The apartment looked much like I’d expected, a one-room efficiency. The water-damaged wallpaper was peeling at the seams and yellowed from years of cigarette smoke. A small kitchen area was separated from the rest of the room by a low counter, piled with dishes and empty take-out boxes. On the floor was a rumpled mattress, the sheets a dingy grey and pushed to one side of the bed. The whole place stank of bachelorhood gone wrong.

That’s not where my attention was, though. I was focused on the suitcase that was propped open on the one ragged couch in the room. It was stuffed full of articles of clothing and toiletries.

“Going somewhere?” I said, finally getting a good look at the stallion.

He was much worse for wear than I’d remembered seeing him. His greased mane was sticking out in all directions and his left eye was bruised and swollen shut. There was another bruise along the side of his jaw. Nicks and scrapes covered his legs and chest, and when he walked it was with a definite limp.

“None of your business, kid!” he snapped at me. “Now get—”

“My goodness,” Miss Persimmon said as she came in from the hallway, shutting the door behind her. “Cinnamon, you do bring me to the most interesting places.”

Figgy had gaped at her like a goldfish until she was done talking. Then he shrieked, “Who the hell are you?!”

“She’s with me,” I said. I held up my badge with a hoof. “And, Figgy? You’re in more trouble than you can imagine.”

I was a felon, now. Since I was past my retirement date, I was now guilty of impersonating a police officer. But it worked, and that was all that mattered to me at the moment. The strength went out of the stallion’s hindquarters the moment his eyes landed on the badge. He sat down hard on his filthy carpet, eyes wide.

“This has got to be some sort of joke,” he said desperately. “Right? You’re not a cop.”

“She’s one of our finest,” Persimmon said smoothly. “Magically altered, of course. All the better for infiltration and investigation.”

I grinned at the mare. That was pretty good. She winked at me, then looked back at the now suddenly trembling Figgy Pudding.

“Maybe you’d better tell Officer Swirl everything you know.”

“I... I don’t know anything!” he said. Then, “I want a lawyer.”

“I don’t have time for this, Figgy,” I said, scowling. “I’m not even here for you. There’s a little filly bawling her eyes out because some bad ponies took her mom.” He flinched, and I pushed harder. “She’s terrified she’ll never see her mother again. She’s hoping somepony will help rescue her before it’s too late.”

Figgy was studying the floor in front of him. I watched a tear track down from his uninjured eye with a sense of crystalline satisfaction.

“Figgy, I’m going to guess that your… friends are the ones who beat seven kinds of hell out of you. It’s obvious you’re cutting out of town. But you have to think about who’s getting left behind. Your brother. Plum.” I walked over and, with my best fake sympathy, I put a hoof on his side. “Mulberry.”

I felt him shudder at the name.

“She’s one of the sweetest and kindest mares I’ve ever met,” I said softly. “And she’s in some serious trouble. And the only pony in all of Hoofington who can help her right now is you.”

“They’ll kill me,” he whispered.

“Then think of what they’ll do to Mulberry if they don’t find what they want.”

He shuddered again. I let him sit for a while and stew.

“There’s a way out of this,” I said.

He looked over at me, doubt in the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.

“How?”

“Crown’s evidence.”

His eye opened wide and he got back up on his hooves. “No way! I’m no snitch! There’s no way—”

“Focus!” I barked. “This isn’t about snitching. They have Mulberry, Figgy! They went after your family! They crossed a line, and you know it.”

I glared at him as I advanced. He retreated until his rump hit the far wall.

“It isn’t about snitching, it isn’t about honor, it’s not even about the law,” I said, my voice soft and deadly. “It’s about who you’re going to protect. Is it going to be the ones who blackened your eye, or is it going to be your own family?!”

The stallion was panting as his one eye stared down at me. He licked his lips, and I saw that one of his teeth was missing. The smugglers had really done a number on him. And, if they were willing to do this to one of their own, then it was more urgent than ever to get Mulberry away from them.

Figgy’s ears drooped as his will broke.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice thick and raspy.

I nodded and pulled the tape recorder out of my saddlebags.

“Everything,” I said as I hit record. “Starting with where they’re keeping Mulberry.”

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to my editors: Brilliantpoint, coandco, Ekevoo, Merlos the Mad

Into the lion's den

Police Captain Iron Bear’s den was out of step with the rest of the house, which was artfully decorated and modernized. Here, wood paneling reigned supreme above the faded green carpet. Framed citations, awards and medals decorated the walls, along with the Captain’s diplomas and certifications. Of the two bookshelves, the one that was largest by far contained a staggering variety of heavy non-fiction books ranging from law to chemistry, history and psychology. The smaller one held a selection of fiction, including some Westerns by Plains Walker, one of my favorite writers.

Ordinarily, the den was large and comfortable, with a lumpy red couch and several reading chairs. That’s how it was when we’d arrived, Figgy in tow, causing the Captain’s wife to wake him from his nap. Twenty minutes later, Figgy had been moved to a different room and the den was filling up with police officers.

Currently, the office had only standing room left, stallions and mares both in and out of uniform packed in tightly. I was lucky that I got to stand on the desk, or I might have been crushed. I attracted the occasional glance, but for the most part these officers took their Captain’s explanation of my situation at face value.

As the Captain explained, those glances changed from confused or amused to impressed. After all, I’d somehow managed to uncover the evidence surrounding a major smuggling operation and several corrupt cops. And, what’s more, I’d done it while being stuck in a filly’s body.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again. It was as if I’d been walking around with tight bands constricting my body and mind, and now those were gone. I had never realized before how important having respect was. And not only from others, but self-respect as well. I felt my sense of who I really was coming back to me, and I knew I wasn’t going to give this feeling up again.

I couldn’t.

The Captain himself was a solidly built older stallion with a thick, iron-grey mustache and a very slight Stalliongrad accent. He led the planning session with a calm and experienced efficiency, and it wasn’t long before we were ready to go. His ice-blue eyes swept over the assembled officers who had come at his call.

“Any questions before we get started?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you ponies all out of your minds?” Every eye turned to Persimmon, who was standing in the doorway. “I can’t believe you’d risk Cinnamon like that! He’s only a filly!”

That caused some chuckles from the officers, which dried up quickly when they realized that neither the Captain nor I were joining in.

“You mind if I take this one, Captain?” I asked.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Thanks.” I looked at Persimmon, but my answer was for the whole room. “Whatever I may look like, I am, first and foremost, a police officer. The Captain has accepted that,” I said, gesturing at the stallion, who nodded.

“Many of you have accepted it, as well,” I continued. “For those of you still doubting me, know that I’m resolved to do whatever it takes to get Mulberry out of there, safe and sound.” I looked around the room, meeting the eyes of my fellow officers. “If I can use what happened to me to make this operation safer for all of us, then it’s both my right and my responsibility to do so. Would any of you do less?”

I glanced around the room. Nopony seemed inclined to disagree with me.

“Alright. Any other questions?” Captain Iron Bear looked around the room. No further questions were forthcoming. “Right. You all know what you need to do. Everypony get to your assigned locations, and good fortune to us all.”

The ponies murmured their affirmations and began moving out. I heard some muttering as they were leaving, and I picked out the names of the six corrupt officers that Figgy had named. They were spoken of with attitudes ranging from disbelief to outright disgust and anger. I knew how they felt. No officer likes to hear that somepony they’ve worked with has betrayed the force.

These were the most trusted officers that Iron Bear could contact in time. They were beat cops, cops out on vacation, cops who were off-shift, and they had all come running when their Captain called. That, alone, was a sign that the gruff stallion deserved my admiration. The fact that he’d insisted on treating me like an adult cinched it.

As the room emptied out, I hopped off the desk, no longer in danger of being crushed under unwary hooves.

“You be especially careful, Sergeant Swirl,” the Captain said.

I nodded. “You can count on it, sir.” I started walking, then hesitated and looked back. “And, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for believing me. About being an officer, I mean.”

“I’ve heard of stranger things,” he said with a shrug. “And I’ve met Miss Persimmon before. She’s a level-headed mare. Once she vouched for you, that settled matters as far as I was concerned.”

I nodded, my mouth stretching into a wide smile. It was nice being taken seriously, for a change. I started walking again, Persimmon joining me as I walked out the door.

“I still don’t like this,” she said, scowling back at the Captain as if it was his fault. “The risk is incredibly high.”

I shook my head. “I knew the risks when I signed onto the force. Operations like this are part of the job. Not only that, but this lowers the risk for everypony else.”

“I can’t convince you to change your mind?” Her voice was plaintive, a tone I’d never really heard from her before.

“No,” I said shortly. Then, I sighed.

How could I explain it to her? Maybe she was right about me needing to prove myself. Maybe this was all some stupid macho thing to try and regain my lost stallionhood. But this was also the first time in weeks I’d been treated like an adult by other adults. The first time since I’d wandered through that patch of poison joke that my opinion had mattered, that my voice was listened to, that anypony had relied on me for anything important.

And then there was one other thing, even more important than any of that. It was my trump card, and I decided to play it.

“Mulberry is still a hostage,” I said as we walked together towards the front door. “And it’s at least partially my fault for getting involved in this whole mess. I’m the only one that can do this. If I don’t… well, maybe we can get her out unharmed, and maybe not. And maybe more ponies get hurt than would otherwise have to. It’s worth the risk.”

Persimmon was quiet the rest of the way out of the house, even as we passed through the door and through the tasteful garden in their front yard. She stopped by the front gate and locked her eyes to mine.

“You can’t ask me to like it,” she said, then drew in a deep breath. “But… I accept it, I suppose.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Just come back safe.” She offered me a wry smile. “I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt, you know.”

“Like I’d ever do that to you,” I said with a grin. Then I sobered up. “You know where the tree is, right?”

“Yes, I go past it every morning on my way to work,” she said, then patted at her borrowed saddlebag as if reassuring herself it was still there.

“Just stick to the plan, and everything will be fine,” I said. I glanced at the sky. The evening was moving along, and time was running out. “I’d better get moving.”

Persimmon gave me another crooked smile before she walked away. I watched her go for a few seconds before I turned and glanced back at the house. The Captain, Iron Bear, was standing by the front door, and his commanding ice-blue eyes locked onto mine. He gave me a nod, a mark of respect. I returned it, then turned and trotted away.

Two turns, several blocks, and a quick consulting of street signs later, I found myself in the right area. I slowed from my previous trot and tried to look casual as I walked down the street. It was a fairly nice neighborhood, all well maintained apartments and cozy little storefronts; the perfect place to live if you were a young couple looking to start a family. Or if you were part of a smuggling operation looking to avoid notice.

When I’d heard the name of the place, I’d kicked myself. It should have been obvious. Looking for a smuggler calling himself “Mister Sunshine”? What more likely place to look than “Land of the Sun Imports”?

It was a store very much like many others I’d passed on my way here. Big glass windows out in front on the first floor, which was dedicated to retail space, and three more stories of brownstone apartments on top. According to Figgy, this was where the mysterious Mister Sunshine both lived and worked from. The top floor was his living area, the second his office space. The apartments were otherwise either empty or used by the smugglers themselves. The tenants were all fictitious, with convincingly forged histories.

It was a front, and a damned good one. Nopony would look twice at a place like this, and any activity would be assumed to be either because of the fictional tenants or the store on the first floor.

I noticed the guards out front as I approached. They weren’t standing around and looking intimidating, oh no. They were a couple of older stallions, saggy-featured but still thickly muscled, sitting on a wrought-iron bench in front of the store and chatting like the old chums they probably were. They could have been anypony’s grandpas. One was a unicorn with a light orange coat and a thinning grey mane, the other a dull brown earth pony with a jet black mane, an obvious dye job.

They were nice and casual, nothing obviously sinister about them, not unless you knew what to look for. Heck, even I probably would have walked right by them if I hadn’t known. It was the little things that gave them away. It was in how they would casually look up and down the street on a regular basis. It was how they seemed to weigh everypony that they saw, including me. I saw myself registered in one of the old stallion’s eyes, weighed and then dismissed as a threat, all within the space of a second.

Good. I wanted them to underestimate me. I felt myself grinning and forced myself to stop it.

Besides the two old stallions on the bench, the street was largely empty. A few shoppers on their way to a cozy home and a nice dinner. Some children playing pointless foal games in the street, sometimes chasing balls around, but mostly just them running around and shouting.

The only excitement was in the form of a large covered wagon half a block away that was having trouble with one of the wheels. The team of four burly stallions was collected around the faulty wheel and discussing what to do with it. The elderly guard stallions on their bench kept turning to look at them with eyes that held more curiosity and amusement than suspicion. As I got closer, I heard the two of them joking about the stallions’ plight.

“Poor suckers,” the orange one was saying. “That sorta crap always happens when you’re close to the end of the day and just wanna get home.”

“Yeah, or early in the morning, in order to screw up the rest of your day,” the other said. They both laughed.

I was still getting closer when a third guard stuck his head out of the shop. This one was about as subtle as a brick to the head, and I couldn’t stop the grin on my muzzle at the sight of him. The younger stallion, dressed in a police uniform, glared at the four teamsters with their broken-down wagon and started talking out of the corner of his mouth at the two guards.

“What’s goin’ on out here?” His stage whisper could probably be heard halfway up the block.

“Nothin’ you need to worry about,” the elderly earth pony said. His tone was light but held an undercurrent of contempt that made the younger stallion flinch. “Get back in the shop and mind your business, Chains.”

The red unicorn grimaced and started going back inside, stopping cold when he saw me. His eyes widened, and I had no doubt that he recognized me, even without my black and purple body suit.

The grin had never left my face since I’d seen him, and now I broke into a cheerful little trot. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up, in spite of how much more dangerous it made things for me. Still, I had a feeling I was looking a little too malicious. I tried imitating Plum as I got closer, widening my eyes and perking up my ears.

“You!” Chains said, his voice full of loathing.

The older stallions exchanged a confused look, then glanced between the unicorn and myself, probably trying to figure out how the little pink filly merited so much hate out of a grown stallion.

“Yup!” I said cheerfully. I stopped in front of the older stallions and turned my grin up a notch. “How you doing, Limpy?”

Chains growled in a rage as his horn lit up. I never got a chance to find out what he was planning to hit me with, because the elderly unicorn’s horn flared a bright green just a split second before a flash of green light cracked across Chain’s face, knocking the unicorn staggering to the side.

“What in Tartarus is wrong with ya?” The orange unicorn hissed savagely as he stood up and got chest-to-chest with the corrupt cop. “She’s just a kid!”

Honor among thieves. I would have laughed, if these weren’t the bastards that had kidnapped Mulberry.

“He’s probably just mad that I kicked him in his ‘no-no place’,” I said, not able to stop myself from sniggering. I lifted the bags off of my back and placed them in front of the still seated earth pony. “It happened back when I got this from the warehouse.”

I flipped open the bag and the earth pony gawked at what he was seeing. “Rut me with a rake!” he shouted as he jumped up off of the bench to get a better look.

“That’s a filly, Boulder!” the orange unicorn growled. “Watch your damned language!”

“Never mind that, Brassy, you gotta see this!”

Brassy gave Chains a warning glare before he stepped back and took a look inside my saddlebags. He gasped and bit back an exclamation when he saw the nectar jar.

“I think this belongs to you guys,” I said, giving them my best Plum-inspired sweet smile. “And I thought I’d bring it back.”

The older stallions exchanged a worried glance. Chains was glaring at me from his post in the doorway of the shop.

Boulder gave me a warm smile as he knelt down on the street. “Hey, kid. That’s an interesting jar. Where’d you find it?”

The original plan had been to bluff past any questions like this as long as I could, all in the hopes of being brought in to meet the boss. With Chains here, though, I could afford an unexpected tactic: honesty.

“You can ask him,” I said, nodding at the red unicorn. “He was there.”

“Chains?” Brassy turned to give his subordinate a level glare. “Care to explain?”

“I don’t know what the kid’s talking about,” he muttered. “She’s touched in the head, or somethin’.”

“You don’t remember the warehouse?” I asked, faking innocence as best as I could. “You tried to stop me leaving, so I kicked you right between your hind legs and walked out.” The older two stallions were gaping at me. Chains was giving me a look that promised an early and preferably painful death. I put on a confused look as I stared back at him. “I’m surprised you don’t remember it. It wasn’t that long ago.”

I could see it when it clicked for the two old stallions. Their eyes lit up and they both started up with deep, rolling belly-laughs. Chains flushed an ugly red as Brassy elbowed him in the chest. The orange stallion was gasping for breath, but he managed to get out a question.

“T-This is the ‘two or three big guys’ that decked ya, kid? This little filly?”

“Give him a break, Brassy,” Boulder said with a grin. “She’s probably tougher than she looks.”

“Tougher than he is, for sure!”

That set the two off again, laughing boisterously. The four teamster stallions turned from their stricken wagon to give us a curious look, then shrugged and turned back to try and fix their broken wheel. Meanwhile, I was doing my best to look good-natured but confused, like a little kid who knew they had done something funny but wasn’t sure what it was.

“M-maybe… Maybe this is the griffon he said was with ‘em?” Boulder said eventually.

Brassy whooped and held his ribs as he laughed. “Griffon?!”

“Yeah! He said there was this griffon! Gave him the stink-eye, said it was gonna hamstring him!” Boulder started laughing again, tears rolling down his face.

“Shut up!” Chains bellowed, his face flaming.

I don’t think Chains was prepared for that to work. He sure looked like he was regretting it when the laughter stopped like it was cut off by a knife.

“Kid,” Brassy said in a pleasant and conversational tone. “There are certain things you never want to say to me or my buddy here. That’s one of them. You understand?”

“Y-yeah…” Chains said, backing away from the pair of them.

“Yeah!” I said in my most scolding tone of voice. “You wanna respect ponies older than you! My Dad said so.”

That got another chuckle out of the two older guys, though nothing like what happened before.

“I like this kid,” Boulder said. “Can we keep her?” He gave me what was probably supposed to be a warm smile. I managed not to shudder in revulsion.

Brassy rolled his eyes and then turned to me. “Okay, kid. So, you found this jar in a warehouse. Why did you take it, and why are you showing it to us?”

“Well, it belongs to you guys, right?” I said, trying to flutter my eyelashes and look innocent. I probably should have practiced that, because I have no idea if I pulled it off.

“I didn’t say that,” Brassy said. “But let’s pretend I did. Why did you take it?”

“Because I wanna join your gang!” I said with a grin.

The three stallions all looked at each other, faces blank with confusion.

“You wanna what, now?” Brassy asked.

Boulder leaned in close to Brassy and said quietly, “We shouldn’t be talking about this out here.” Then he asked me, “Does your mom know where you are, kid?”

“She doesn’t care where I am, as long as I’m not running around in the house,” I said, rolling my eyes and shrugging. “Look, can I see your boss?” I looked between the three of them. “My dad always told me that I should deal with the boss first, if I could.”

That was true enough. Take out the biggest fish you could, that was Dad’s motto. Then you scoop up the followers when they’re swimming around leaderless and confused.

“Look, kid… What’s your name, again?” Brassy asked me.

My heart froze for a second and I cursed myself. I’d never thought of a fake name to give them! Something in my very soul balked at giving these scum my real name. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Strawberry!” I said. I flinched as the name came out of my mouth. I amended it quickly. “Strawberry Lemonade.”

“Nice to meet you, Strawberry Lemonade,” Brassy said with a grandfatherly smile. “But why in the world would you think we’re in a gang?”

“Because he’s here,” I said, pointing a hoof at Chains, “and he was one of the gangsters in the warehouse. Him, a pegasus, and a huuuuge earth pony, the biggest one I’ve ever seen!”

The two older ones gave Chains a look that held absolutely no humor. The red stallion shrank back further into the store.

“I mean, I’ve been looking for you guys forever. And I finally found ya!” My Plum impersonation was coming more naturally to me now. I leaned my head forward while looking around as if I were getting ready to tell them a huge secret. “So, I give you this, and you can let me join! But I wanna talk to your boss, okay? He should meet me.”

The two older stallions exchanged another glance, and I saw Boulder give an almost nonexistent shrug.

“Tell ya what,” Brassy said. “Let’s talk inside, alright?”

“Sure!” I said as my heart began thumping. The moment I walked through that door was when the real danger started. I might not ever walk out again.

I picked up my saddlebags in my teeth and trotted into the store, all while doing my best to act with the giddy excitement I’d so often seen from Plum. Inside the shop were tables and shelves, all loaded with Zebrican and Safarian imports. Masks and combs, little dolls, beaded necklaces, all kinds of crazy things. I even saw what looked like a woven rug from one of the giraffe tribes.

There was also a pegasus behind the counter, one I recognized. He glanced up when the three of us came in. Chains was over in a corner, pretending like we weren’t there.

“Why don’t we leave your bags with Dust Devil over there, okay?” Brassy asked me.

I hesitated, pretending to think it over. Then I shrugged and dropped my bags to the floor. “‘Kay, but I keep the jar on me until I see the boss.”

Boulder chuckled as I reached in and dipped the jar out with a hoof. I held the thing in my mouth while Brassy’s magic lifted the bags off of the floor. He trotted over with them and passed them over to Dust Devil, leaning over to whisper something to the stallion before coming back to join us. No doubt he’d just said something along the lines of “Search these bags, find out what you can.”

It didn’t matter. There was nothing in there that would identify me, now.

“Come on,” Brassy said as he trotted to a door at the back of the store. “You too, Chains.”

Chains grimaced and came over to join us. We made an odd procession as we passed through the doors and started climbing stairs. Brassy was in the front, followed by me, then Boulder, and finally Chains, dragging his hooves at the rear.

When we got to the second level, I looked down the hallway and saw four doorways leading to different apartments. I wondered if Mulberry was in one of those right now, and my hooves itched to take off, leave these stallions behind and go look for her. Instead, I focused on climbing to the next floor.

The third floor was different. No long hallway leading towards the front of the building. Instead, there was a waiting area that looked for all the world like a doctor’s office. A fancy doctor’s office. There were chairs along the walls, richly upholstered in burgundy velvet. The walls were a cream color, trimmed with dark oak.

A rich mahogany desk was located in the back of the room, next to a large wooden door. Behind the desk was what looked like a secretary, a middle-aged unicorn mare with a light pink mane and a grey coat. She looked up as we entered, her face measuring and expressionless, one of her hooves going underneath the desk where, I presumed, there was a panic button.

“Wait here,” Brassy said and started walking towards the desk.

Chains stepped forward as if he intended to follow along behind. He ran into Boulder’s outstretched foreleg.

“Not you,” the earth pony said with narrowed eyes and a slight smile. Chains gulped and nodded before taking a step back again.

The three of us waited while Brassy talked to the secretary or receptionist or whatever it was that the mare was. Heck, maybe she was a bodyguard. Then Brassy went inside, closing the solid wooden door behind him.

It only took two minutes before he poked his head back out again, addressing the room at large.

“Strawberry Lemonade, you’ll have to wait out here for a while. The boss wants to talk to my buddy, Chains, here.”

Chains’ eyes widened in a panic. He glanced behind him to see that Boulder had somehow moved between him and the exit. The earth pony was just standing there nonchalantly as if there was nothing much going on. I wondered for a half a second if the unicorn was going to make a break for it. I’d have paid good money to see what Boulder would have done to him if he’d tried. Instead, the stallion steeled himself and followed Brassy past the door, which opened and closed too quickly for me to get a good look behind it.

“Come on, kid,” Boulder said. “Let’s go have a seat, okay?”

I replied with a nod, unable to talk with that damned jar in my mouth. My stomach was churning slightly at the taste of it. Some of the nectar must have gotten on the outside. I wandered over to one of the chairs and jumped up into it. I sat on my rump and spat out the jar, holding it in my hooves as I waited.

I sat patiently for a minute before I remembered that I was supposed to be a little kid. I let out an overly dramatic sigh and started kicking my back legs.

“This is taking forever,” I said in my very best whine.

“It won’t be long, kid.” Boulder said. “The boss just wants to ask Chains a few questions about what happened in the warehouse.”

“Fine,” I said with a dramatic grumble. My heart was still racing, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out I was sweating buckets, but this was actually getting kind of fun.

While I waited, I was planning. The question about my name had caught me off-guard, and I wasn’t going to let that happen again. I started planning out a fictional biography for myself, keeping the details vague enough to adjust them on the fly if needed.

As the minutes passed, I no longer had to pretend to be anxious. The sun was on its way down. This whole thing would be a lot more dangerous once the night came. I found myself caught between hoping things would speed up, and wanting to delay them a while longer. This was where the whole plan could fall apart.

Finally, the door opened. Chains came out, his head slumped down with Brassy right behind him. The red unicorn was headed for the door when a voice from the office stopped him.

“Boss wants you to take a seat, Chains. He’s not quite done with ya, yet.”

Chains nodded jerkily and moved to another seat, as far away from me as he could get. I can tell you that I felt positively hurt by the avoidance.

“Strawberry Lemonade? The boss will see you now.”

I did my best to hide my raw nerves as I hopped off of the chair, trying to project an attitude of eager excitement. I trotted in through the door, which Brassy closed softly behind me.

“Cooool!” I said as I looked around the office. And it wasn’t all acting, either.

The office I walked into made the reception area look plain and drab. The walls, painted a deep red, were complimented nicely by the rich, dark-stained oak. The floor was hardwood, covered with expensive Zebrican imported rugs. Bookshelves lined the walls, heavy with books bound in cloth, wood, or even a few with leather, which was not quite illegal in Equestria, but was pretty damned close. The lamps in the room were electric modified from old gas lamps, the brasswork intricate and solid, the bulbs protected by thick crystal.

There were doors on either side of the room, no doubt going to more private areas for the boss. There were a couple of low, heavy tables that looked older than my grandmother, each with a few plushly upholstered chairs around them. The desk that dominated the room was almost the size of Plum’s bedroom and was probably worth more than my mom’s house.

There were two other figures already in the room. One was Breaker, the enormous grey stallion standing to one side of what would have seemed like a huge chair if anypony else were next to it. I gave him a wary look. He gave me a bored look back through half-lidded eyes, and then went back to staring stoically at the door.

Seated behind the desk was the elusive Mister Sunshine. He had his elbows up on the desktop, his hooves pressed together with his chin resting on them. He looked down at me from his half-moon glasses and made a strange half-smile beneath a studious expression.

I didn’t have to fake my interest as I looked at him. Even though I knew what to expect, thanks to Figgy’s testimony, I still hadn’t had many opportunities to see one of his kind in person.

“Cool!” I said after spitting the jar into one of my hooves. I did my best enthusiastic grin. “You’re a zebra!”

The zebra chuckled. “That I am, little filly. And your name is Strawberry Lemonade, I understand?”

“Yeah!” I said, nodding. I was busily reminding myself that I was excited to be here, I was really happy to meet the boss, I was enthusiastic about joining a gang. All the while, my heart was thundering in my chest and my nerves were telling me to take a break for it. “Hey, your office is really neat! I like those lamps.”

“Thank you, my dear,” the zebra said with a chuckle. “And you have something that belongs to me, you say?”

I nodded, walking on three legs until I reached his desk. I had to rear up on my hind legs in order to place the jar on the desk. It was too far away for the zebra to reach easily, and I heard Brassy chuckle behind me. The jar became enveloped in his magical aura and floated over to the zebra.

“Thank you, Brassy,” Mister Sunshine said as he took the jar. Then he frowned. “This seems a little light, my dear,” he said as he bounced the jar in his hoof.

“That’s because I’m not stupid,” I said smugly. “I took that smelly stuff out and put it in my thermos, then I hid the thermos where nopony else will ever find it!” I grinned at him and said, “I’ll give it back once you let me in your gang!”

I wasn’t sure how the crime boss would react. I was hoping for amusement. I was afraid of anger. I was entirely at his mercy, and I knew it. I tried to keep that knowledge off of my face, instead trying to keep on a mask of a little filly who thinks she’s cleverer than she really is.

It must have worked, because the old zebra started laughing.

“I must say, I like your spirit.” He studied me for a while longer, long enough for me to start fidgeting. Eventually he looked up at Brassy. “You checked her, of course?”

“She had some saddlebags, boss. They’re downstairs. She wasn’t carrying anything else.”

“Right.” Mister Sunshine’s eyes measured me for a few seconds longer. “Right,” he said again. “Well, I like a little risk, so why not? But first, little filly, you have to tell me how all of this came about. And I want the truth, alright?”

I slumped with relief. If they noticed, hopefully they’d just assume that Strawberry Lemonade was glad she’d gotten her wish to get into the gang. Cinnamon Swirl, on the other hoof, was just glad that he wasn’t about to get brutally stomped on.

“It all started a while ago. My family moved here from Ponyville, and I started going to school here in Hoofington, but I didn’t have any friends. I met this weird filly,” I said, apologizing mentally to Plum for having to say that, “who didn’t have any friends, either. She invited me to a sleepover at her house. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I went.”

I said all of that as quickly as I could, seemingly without taking a breath. Plum had taught me well. I continued on in the same fashion.

“When everypony else was asleep, I got up to use the bathroom, and I heard voices downstairs. I went to see what was up, and there was this gangster there talking to the filly’s mom! I could tell he was a gangster, ‘cuz he was dressed like one. He had a piece of paper and was trying to give it to her, but she kept saying ‘no’. Eventually he left, so I snuck into the kitchen and took the paper. I saw the address, so I thought I’d try to find whatever it was that the gangster wanted. And I figured it was this jar, because there was a lot of them under the fake bottom of the chest!”

“I… see,” Mister Sunshine said, looking slightly taken aback by the flood of information. “And… why did you want to get involved with my organization?”

“My dad,” I said. I was starting to enjoy this ride, using a modified version of the truth. “He used to be involved with gangs when I was little, and it always seemed so exciting!”

“Who was your father?” Mister Sunshine asked

I was riding high now, invention coming to me quickly. “Fruit Punch,” I lied breezily. “He ran with the Manehattan Quickhooves for a while.”

The Quickhooves were a real, but now defunct, low level gang that had started about fifteen years back. A gang war had erupted about four years earlier, and the survivors had been scooped up by the local police. Hopefully that would be enough to cover any flaws in my story.

I scuffed at the floor with a hoof as my ears drooped. I didn’t have to fake my sadness when I added, “He died when I was little.”

Mister Sunshine exchanged a look with Brassy. “You ever heard of Mister Fruit Punch, Brassy?”

“Can’t say I have, boss,” the unicorn replied. “Never knew much about the Quickhooves, though. Smash and grab guys, from what I heard. Some protection, I think.”

The zebra nodded and leaned back in his chair, steepling his hooves under his chin while his emotionless eyes dissected me.

“And, if you join our organization, what is it you want from us?” he asked finally.

I grinned. I was ready for this. My planning time in the waiting room had been put to good use.

“There’s lots of stuff I want to buy,” I said, perking my ears up. “Mom says I can’t get earrings, but I want some. And there’s this filly from school that keeps showing off this stupid necklace she’s got. I’m going to get a better one, just to show her!” I stopped as if a thought had just occurred to me, then I leaned forward and gave the zebra a narrow look. “You will pay me, right?”

Brassy and Mister Sunshine both laughed. The zebra clapped his hooves together and smiled down at me. “Delightful! You’re going to go far, young miss.”

Breaker didn’t react at all during any of this. If it weren’t for the subtle movement of his ribcage, I could have thought he was a statue carved larger-than-life.

“Well, I guess that all makes sense. And you say you got past Chains when you left the warehouse?”

“It’s not my fault! He tried to stomp me!” I said, waving my hooves as if I thought I’d get into trouble. “I had to buck him where my dad said a filly should never kick a colt unless he was being a jerk!”

Brassy lost it and started laughing like a loon. His boss, even though he was smiling himself, gave him a stern look that dried up the laughter.

“That’s very brave of you, to go into the warehouse all by yourself at night,” Mister Sunshine said.

I knew when I was being tested. I slumped my shoulders and sighed.

“I wasn’t by myself,” I said as if it were being dragged out of me. “That filly I was staying with followed me! I was wearing my pajamas, since they’re all dark and I’m all pink, and I thought it would help me not be seen. I think she thought I was playing a game, or something. So, she put on some superhero costume and followed me all the way in! She wouldn’t go home, even when I told her to!”

Mister Sunshine nodded, and I knew I’d passed his test. Chains must have told him the real story.

“Okay, Miss Lemonade,” Mister Sunshine said. “All you have to do, now, is tell me where to find the thermos that holds the nectar.”

“Nuh-uh,” I said, shaking my head. “I told you, it’s in a spot nopony but me can find. If you want your nexter back, I can take you there.”

The smuggler leaned back in his chair, once again studying me with those glittering eyes. I wondered briefly if I’d oversold it when I’d deliberately mispronounced “nectar”, and my nerves started twanging like a badly tuned guitar. I gave him my best impudent grin and prayed that a cold sweat wouldn’t start running down my face.

“Very well,” he said finally. “I’ll have some of my acquaintances go with you, to make sure you’re safe. Brassy?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Get together three or four of the boys and escort the little lady to her treasure trove, will you?”

“You got it, boss.”

I held back a sigh of relief. The first part of the plan had gone off better than I’d expected. Now it was down to the rest of it. I could only hope Persimmon had done her job.

“And then you’ll let me join, right?” I asked.

Mister Sunshine hesitated before shrugging. “Sure, why not?” he said with a chuckle.

I gave it maybe a ten percent chance that he was serious about that. The odds were much better that he just wanted his supply back. Whatever it was he planned to do with “Strawberry Lemonade” after that, I was probably better off not knowing. And it didn’t matter anyway.

“Awesome!” I said, grinning and jumping up and down for a few seconds.

Mister Sunshine smiled down at me from behind his glassy eyes. “Fare thee well, Miss Lemonade,” he said. “I hope that ours will be a long and fruitful relationship.”

I grinned back at him. “Me too.”

Brassy led me out of the office and had me wait in the reception area with Boulder while he rounded up a few stallions to join us. Chains, with a look of dread covering his features, walked into the office when the receptionist called his name.

“Relax, kid.” Boulder’s voice was jovial. “We ain’t got that many cops on the payroll that he can afford to waste ya.”

Chains straightened up a little. “You think so?” he said, hope raising in his voice.

“Yeah. He’ll probably just get Breaker to give you a nice little talking to.” Boulder’s dry chuckle was all kinds of nasty at the panicked expression on Chains’ face. “Don’t keep him waiting, kid.”

Chains licked his lips, braced himself, and walked into the office. Whatever was going to happen to him next couldn’t have happened to a more deserving stallion, as far as I was concerned.

The wait seemed to drag on forever. I started pacing restlessly in the reception area while I waited for the orange unicorn to come back with the gangsters who would escort me to the park. Meanwhile, my mind was racing. The first part of the plan had gone better than expected. But the next part was at least as fraught with danger, and not just to me.

It wasn’t long, maybe only a few minutes, and Brassy came back with four other stallions in tow. One pegasus, two earth ponies, and another unicorn, all of them in nearly identical vests and fedoras. I wondered briefly if they all used the same tailor, one who specialized in gangster stereotypes. The pegasus was even sporting a ridiculous handlebar mustache large enough to make me wonder about how it impacted his aerodynamics.

We were underway immediately. I was in the middle of the group as we went downstairs, me and the six stallions. We went out through the store on the first level, and that’s where Brassy stopped.

“We’re heading out,” he told the pegasus behind the counter. Then he turned to Boulder and said, “I’m going with Miss Lemonade, here. You okay on the bench by yourself?”

“Eh, I’ll be fine,” Boulder said. “Get going, ya old bastard.”

“Watch your language in front of the kid!” The scolding was half serious, half good-natured.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I know all sorts of swears.”

Honestly, he had no idea.

“A lady doesn’t swear, kid,” Brassy said, this time completely serious. “So, no swearin’ around me, got it?”

I nodded, schooling my expression to seriousness.

“Can I get my saddlebags back?” I asked.

“Sure, kid,” Brassy said, giving a nod to Dust Devil.

The stallion passed them over to me and I put them back on as quickly as I could. As I trotted outside to join the others, I nosed into one of the bags and took out a toothpick, crunching it firmly between my teeth. Brassy saw that and gave me a little chuckle, probably thinking about how the cute little filly was already acting like a tough gangster.

“The sun’s going down,” Brassy said as we trotted out the door. “We’d better get a move on.”

I glanced at the sky. The sun was still half a hoof above the horizon, which meant that there was still time. Not much, but it would do.

“Your folks okay with you being out this late, kiddo?” the pegasus gangster asked me.

I shrugged. “My mom’s used to me staying out late. It’s fine.”

A couple of the stallions exchanged glances at that.

“You oughta be careful running around after dark,” Brassy said seriously. “Bad things can happen to little fillies at night.”

“I’m careful,” I said. I put as much indignation into my voice as I could. “I can take care of myself, you know!”

“I’m sure you can, kid. Just watch out, okay? There’s some bad sorts out there.”

Don’t I know it.

“Okay,” I said, trying to sound as if I meant it.

A short distance away from us were the four teamsters, who were still working on fixing up their wagon. Talks had apparently degenerated to the point where they were arguing over whose fault it was. The four of them all seemed to notice us standing there at the same time. They quieted down and looked over towards us with guilty expressions before starting up discussions once again, this time in a more reasonable volume.

“So, where to, little miss?” Brassy asked me.

I grinned and switched the toothpick to the left side of my mouth. “We’re going to my favorite park!” I said loudly.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the teamsters as he flicked an ear and stomped his back left hoof.

“Okay, listen up you four,” Brassy said to the younger gangsters. “It’s gonna be a little conspicuous if all five of us are walkin’ with the little lady, here. So, you guys are gonna hang back a ways and watch our backs, alright?”

“You got it, boss,” one of the earth ponies said.

“Walk casual, like it’s just a coincidence you’re going the same way we are,” Brassy said. He got their affirmatives, then turned to me. “Right. Lead the way, kiddo.”

Brassy swept a foreleg in front of his chest, indicating that I should take the lead. I grinned and, head held high, I trotted off with Brassy next to me while the other stallions trailed behind us. I looked back in time to see one of the teamsters break off from the others and approach Boulder, who was sitting on his bench and watching us walk away.

As I turned my head forward, I heard the teamster ask the gangster, “Excuse me, but do you know anywhere that might still be open and can do wagon wheel repairs?”

I didn’t get to hear Boulder’s reply. We rounded a corner, and I started leading Brassy through the most scenic route imaginable. We went the wrong way several times, rounded back, and crossed our own paths more than once.

It was almost like they weren’t being led by somepony who’d grown up in this town and knew these streets like the back of his hoof. Somehow, I kept getting turned around over and over again, burning off precious minutes while the stallions all grumbled behind me. Oh, the shame of it all and boy was my face red.

“Kid, I’m pretty sure we’ve been here before.” Brassy finally said to me after we’d crossed the intersection of Trotter Street and Buckle Avenue for the third time.

“Um,” I said, then shuffled a hoof, trying to look embarrassed. “I think I’m a little lost.”

“Well, where are we going?”

I glanced at the horizon again. The sun was starting to set. We had maybe another twenty minutes of daylight left. I can only hope I had delayed long enough.

“Silver Park,” I admitted.

“Well, that’s not far away,” Brassy said, ruffling my mane. “Mind if I lead the way?”

I sighed as if I were a little kid who knew she’d messed up. “Fine, I guess.” I let my head drop and my ears droop.

Brassy laughed and ruffled my mane again. “It’s okay, kid. We all get lost, sometimes.”

It was only five minutes later when we finally reached the park. Three minutes after that, and we were approaching the tree. I glanced around as we walked up to it. There were a few more joggers around than I might have expected at this time of the night, what with this chill in the air, but it wasn’t enough to remark on. Also, there were a few more couples sitting on the nearby benches than I would have thought there would be. But it was still just a normal late evening in the park. I smiled and started moving towards the tree when I saw something that almost stopped me in my tracks.

Lying on a bench near the tree was a burnt-orange mare with a jet black mane. She was pretending to read a book while sending sidelong glances my way. What’s worse, she was pretending to read it while sitting in a pool of expanding shadow. At least she had it the right way up.

I stared at Persimmon, wondering what her presence meant. She was supposed to plant her bag and leave, not hang around. Was she here to warn me? Maybe I hadn’t taken enough time getting here. Maybe something else had gone wrong. I stood there for a moment, wondering what I should do.

“Something wrong, kid?” Brassy asked, and I realized that I’d stopped for a second. Our gangster escort had caught up with us and were doing a horrible job of acting casual.

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s in this tree, here.”

I put the mare out of my mind. I didn’t have much of a choice but to proceed as planned. My heart thudded along with my hoofsteps as I approached what the kids called “the secret tree”.

It wasn’t that the tree itself was a secret. It wasn’t hidden, it wasn’t even all that unusual. What it was, was three trees that had started growing so close together that they had fused into one massive trunk. A lightning strike when I was a colt had killed off one of the three trees, and when it had rotted away, it had left a hole at ground level just big enough for a pony my size to crawl into.

“Wait here,” I said to the stallions. Not waiting for any acknowledgement, I got on my belly and wriggled in.

For a moment, I didn’t see the bag. A sense of dread washed over me, and I was sure I was going to die that day. Then I saw it: a hint of canvas. The relief that flooded over me was like being drenched with warm water on a cold day.

I flipped the bag open and grinned as I reached in. The thermos was there. So was the tape recorder. A deft flick of my hoof, and I had it recording. With the thermos pulled in tight to my chest, I left the recorder and bag behind as I wriggled out.

I could feel the mud and leaves that were matted into the fur on my belly as I stood up. Brassy held his hoof out, waiting for the thermos to be passed over. I hugged it tighter to my chest.

“Just a minute,” I said. “If I give this over, I get to be in your gang, right?”

“Kid, let’s not play games,” Brassy said. He was smiling, but I could hear the patience wearing thin in his voice.

“I need to know!” I said. “That your boss, that zebra… Wait, what’s his name, again?”

“Mister Sunshine,” the pegasus said. Brassy elbowed him in the ribs, making him squawk like a chicken.

“Mister Sunshine,” I repeated with a nod. “He’ll let me in, right? I want to be in your gang!”

“Do you even know what the gang is, kid?” Brassy asked me, frowning. “What we do?”

“Sure! You run capers, like in those pulp books, right?” I grinned at him. “Heists and bank robberies, and stuff like gambling dens, and you’re all really cool and stuff!”

“We don’t do that kind of stuff so much,” Brassy said. “Bank robberies are dangerous. Gambling dens? Yeah, some of that. Mostly, though, we’re in the import and export business. Pretty boring work for a kid.”

“Import and export?” I asked, trying to sound confused. “Wait… like the smugglers in Daring Do and the Secrets of the Crystal Caverns?”

“Heh. Maybe a little like that.” Brassy said with a nod. “Maybe you’re better off just giving that over, going home, and forgetting all about this?”

“What?” I tried to sound upset. “No! You promised!”

I looked around. In spite of the sun now nearly completely down, the number of ponies casually walking along the park paths seemed to be increasing.

“Kid, just pass it over,” Brassy said.

His patience sounded like it was nearly gone. I decided to go for one last effort.

“What is this stuff, anyway?” I asked him. “It smells like butt.”

Brassy sighed and ran a hoof over his mane. “It’s called aldavii nectar, and it’s very valuable.” He sighed again and stepped closer. “Come on, kid. I want to get back before dark, okay?”

I stared at him for a few seconds. Behind him, I heard an earth pony mutter to the pegasus, “Hey, this is a pretty popular place all of a sudden.”

I glanced around. He was right. More joggers and walkers than ever. And behind the stallions I saw something that made me want to grin. I managed to keep a lid on it, instead holding out the thermos with a sigh. Brassy’s horn glowed and a bright green aura took it.

“It’s weird that you called it that,” I said, switching the toothpick to the right side of my jaw. “Because I could have sworn it was plain old chocolate pudding.”

Brassy narrowed his eyes at me, then unscrewed the cap on my trusty thermos. He sniffed at it, and was so distracted by the contents that he didn’t hear one of his goons say, “Hey, aren’t those the guys that were out in front of the store?”

“You playing games with me or something?” Brassy asked me. The kindly grandpa routine was over. “What the hell is this?”

I grinned up at him for a split-second, then took a deep breath.

“Chocolate pudding!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Chocolate pudding, chocolate pudding!”

As code words go, I suppose it could have been worse. I was shouting it over and over, and all of the gangster stallions were staring at me like I’d lost my damned mind. That’s why it came as a complete surprise to them when they found themselves rushed and surrounded by “late-evening joggers”, all of whom were suddenly sporting police badges on lanyards and shouting things like “Police! You’re under arrest!”

The earth pony mooks and the unicorn were already down, each covered by two or three officers. The pegasus tried to make a break for it, only to be knocked, wailing, out of the air by two police pegasi and pinned firmly to the ground.

“Shit!” Brassy shouted, obviously forgetting about not swearing in front of the “little filly”. He whirled in place, narrowly missing being tackled by an earth pony officer. Then his horn glowed, and I yelped in shock when I felt a band of force solidify around my midsection.

I started kicking and hollering up a storm. That is, up until I felt the cold metal of the knife against my throat. That quieted me right down.

“Everypony back off!” the orange unicorn shouted.

Everypony froze. Then I heard a shout of distress from Persimmon. Two of the officers moved to restrain her while another one of the officers, a sergeant according to his badge, made a pacifying gesture towards Brassy.

“Let the filly go, pal,” the sergeant said. “You know you aren’t walking away from this, right? You really want to be up on a murder charge, too?”

Brassy laughed bitterly. “What’s it matter at my age? I go back to prison now, and I’m never setting a hoof outside as a free pony ever again.”

“That’s too bad,” I said softly.

I’d turned my head so that I could see him clearly. He rolled an eye over at me, and I saw a flash of guilt in his eyes.

“Sorry about this, kid,” Brassy said. “I like ya, but I can’t go to prison.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I said. “Because you don’t have a choice.”

Did you know that the very best way to stop a unicorn’s spell is to disrupt their concentration? I shouted and lashed out with a forehoof, hitting him right in the base of the horn. The old unicorn yelped in pain, clapping his hooves to his head as his magic winked out.

I found myself in free-fall for half a second before landing on my hooves, staggering, and falling on my side as the knife thunked blade-first into the dirt next to me. Immediately, the sergeant was there, helping me up.

“You okay?” he asked me as he helped me stand up.

“I’m fine.” I looked over to where Brassy was being restrained by two unicorns, horns glowing, and no less than three earth ponies. His face was set in a furious snarl as he was dragged away from me. “Mulberry?”

“We got her,” the sergeant said. “She’s safe and giving her statement now.”

The whole world went a little grey and swimmy for a few seconds before I remembered to breathe again.

“Good,” I felt myself saying. That probably qualified for understatement of the year. “How’d it go down?”

“Not bad,” an accented voice said. I turned to see Iron Bear walking up behind us. “The plan, it went nearly perfect. I wasn’t expecting you to get so many of their crew to come with you. Made it much easier when we moved in.”

“I have a dangerous face,” I said, deadpan. “What did you mean by ‘nearly perfect’?”

A sour look crossed the captain’s face. “That Mister Sunshine got away. Him, and some huge bastard with him. They went through us like a ball through bowling pins. Whoever didn’t get knocked aside, Mister Sunshine blew some powder in their faces and they fell over, paralyzed.”

That was new, and more than a little worrying.

“They alright?” I asked.

“No worries. It wears off fast.” Chief Iron Bear scowled. “Still, between the two of them, we now have four officers out for medical evaluations.”

“Glad you still had enough left over for part two,” I said, glancing at the criminals currently in detention. “Hey, I almost forgot. You might need this.”

It only took a few seconds for me to wriggle back into the hollow part of the tree, grab the saddlebag, and scoot back out. I took out the tape recorder, hit stop and then rewind.

Brassy saw the recorder and groaned. “What the hell? Who are you, kid?”

I took out the other item in the bag.

“My name—that is, my real name—is Cinnamon Sugar Swirl,” I said as I walked towards him, looping the lanyard over my head. “Police sergeant, formerly of the Ponyville P.D. and currently on temporary assignment with the Hoofington P.D.”

I spit out my toothpick and dropped the badge to my chest where it swung gently, glinting in the last rays of the setting sun. Brassy’s eyes followed it like it was a hypnotist’s watch. I couldn’t help but smile as a grim sense of satisfaction welled up in me.

“And you are under arrest, you sonofabitch.”

~~*~~

It took a half hour or so for us to give our statements and be cleared to leave. The Captain insisted on assigning a police sergeant to walk me home. Persimmon tagged along too, though I’m not sure why she didn’t just head home.

I could have protested that I was fine, but I wasn’t in the mood to turn down the company, especially after having a knife pressed up against my jugular. As tough as I like to think I am, I still had the shakes from that. So, no. I didn’t mind the company at all.

The three of us walked through the late-evening gloom towards my house, Persimmon on my left and Sergeant Pinwheel on my right. I felt small, sandwiched between the two of them, but I didn’t gripe about it. I had other things on my mind.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Miss Persimmon said with a roll of her eyes.

“Classic divide and conquer,” Sergeant Pinwheel said. “Captain Bear had barely enough officers he could trust to even try this raid. Not to mention, the fewer gangsters in the building, the less risk to everyone.”

“So, I go in as a distraction and get as many of them to go with me as I could,” I said, adding in my two bits, “and the Captain could use his whole force on each smaller group.”

“Like I said, I just can’t believe that your stupid ‘bait’ plan actually worked,” she grumbled stubbornly.

I winked at her. “Normal folks sometimes have trouble following the thought processes of us geniuses.”

On the other side of me, Pinwheel barked out a surprised laugh. Persimmon just snorted and rolled her eyes again.

“Genius. Right,” she said, deadpan. “Did you forget that I’ve graded your homework?”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” I asked. “Smugglers arrested, bad cops being rounded up as we speak, Mulberry on her way home, unharmed… All in all, I call it a win.”

Persimmon tossed a concerned look my way. “I guess. I’m worried about that Mister Sunshine, though.”

So was I, but I decided to deflect the subject instead of saying so. “If he’s got any sense, he’s halfway back to Zebrica by now.”

“She… sorry, he is right, ma’am,” Pinwheel said. “If he’s stupid enough to stay in town, we’ll get him. But he’s most likely running for it. We’ve got officers out looking everywhere.”

Persimmon shook her head at that. We walked in silence for a few minutes, until my house came into sight. That’s when the mare started talking again, her voice quaking slightly.

“I still can’t… Cinnamon, when he held that knife up to your throat…”

We walked along in silence for a few more seconds.

“Yeah.” There wasn’t really much else I could think of to say. And then we were at the gate. “Well, thanks for walking me home—”

“No, I’m not done yet,” Persimmon said with a shake of her head. “The sergeant and I still have to walk Plum home. And you need to get some sleep.”

“...Right,” I said. I’d actually managed to forget about that. Of course Plum would have to go home, too.

I opened the gate and passed the others through before I closed it again. Then a thought occurred to me.

“Sergeant, would you mind waiting out here?” I asked.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said, shrugging. “My mom gets spooked around strange ponies.”

Which was a half-truth. The rest of the truth was that if I walked through the door with both Persimmon and a police officer, I can’t imagine how my mother would act. Not to mention the mess inside. The fewer that saw that, the better.

Sergeant Pinwheel nodded and took up station next to the doorway as I opened the door and walked inside the house. Nopony was around at first glance.

“Hello?” I called as I stepped into the nearby living room.

Almost immediately, I heard the rushing of hooves as my mother pounded towards me.

“Cinnamon!” She gathered me into a fierce, rib-creaking hug. “I was so worried!”

“Cinnamon?” That was from Plum, who was exiting our living room with a look of mingled hope and desolation.

I beat on my mom’s shoulders until she got the hint and let me down. I gasped for breath for a few seconds, then smiled at Plum.

“Your mom is okay,” I said. “She’s on her way home, now.”

Plum exploded into tears the likes of which reminded me of her earlier hysterics. I was half expecting it, but I wasn’t expecting the soggy filly to fling herself onto me, embracing me in a hug nearly as strong as Mom’s.

“Thank you… thank you…” she managed to say. I was at a loss. All I could think of doing was patting her back and stroking her mane.

We stayed like that for a minute, Mom and Persimmon doing their best to look like they weren’t in the middle of an awkward, emotional scene. After a while, Plum broke contact. She offered me a weak and relieved smile while wiping a foreleg across her muzzle. She looked like she was going to say something, but my mother beat her to it once she finally got a good look at me.

“Is that your police badge?” she asked.

I’d forgotten to take it off. I glanced down at it, glinting on my chest. Then I looked up at my mother.

“Yes,” I said. “Because I’m a police officer.”

“Cinnamon,” mom said, her voice starting to sound angry. “We talked about this.”

“No. You talked about this. I wasn’t given a choice.” I planted my hooves firmly. “But now I have. And I’m taking it. I’m staying on the force, Mom.”

“Like that?” She sounded incredulous, like she was about to start laughing.

“Of course not,” I snapped back. “But I’ll be cured eventually. And, here’s the thing, Mom. Even if I’m not, eventually I’ll grow up again. And when I do, I’m back on the force. You can’t stop me, and I won’t let you guilt me out of it again!”

She opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated as her eyes narrowed. Suspicion filled her voice as she asked me, “Why were you wearing the badge tonight?”

I snorted. “Why do you think?”

The pending argument was interrupted by a solid rapping at the door.

“Who could that be?” Mom asked, frowning.

“It’s the police sergeant who walked us here,” Persimmon said, looking relieved that something had interrupted our argument. She reached out and opened the door with a hoof.

The door swung open to reveal a dapperly-dressed zebra. As soon as it was open, he blew into his upraised hoof. A cloud of white powder flew into Persimmon’s face, and she gasped in a lungful of air out of reflex. Then she gurgled and fell over, legs stiff.

I think I shouted her name. Or maybe I just swore. I’m not sure which. Plum was shrieking in my ear. I remembered later that Mother, surprisingly, wasn’t saying a thing. She was simply staring at Sunshine with narrowed eyes, her ears laid back but her body looking relaxed.

“Well, well, well. Miss Lemonade, was it?” Mister Sunshine said with his humorless smile under ice-cold eyes. “I do believe I have a bone to pick with you.”

He planted his forehooves on Persimmon’s paralyzed body and shoved her roughly out of his way so he could enter. Plum wailed in distress behind me as we watched the helpless mare slide down the hallway. An electric fury surged through my body, urging me to charge him right then and there, to do as much damage as I could before he put me down. The only thing that stopped me was the thought that I would be leaving Plum defenseless if I did.

A section of the night moved behind the zebra and Breaker came in, squeezing his massive bulk through the doorframe.

“Imagine my surprise—and, I have to say, disappointment—when, not minutes after you left my office, I found my business being raided by a large number of law enforcement officers.” Mister Sunshine’s tone was relaxed and conversational, almost cheerful. But there was a hidden edge to it, sharp enough to draw blood. “Indeed, quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

Mister Sunshine’s smile never reached those glittering eyes of his as he moved slowly towards us. I shoved Plum behind me and started backing away. Breaker loomed behind his boss, taking up most of the hallway beyond the living room.

“And then, while fleeing, I see the stallions I sent with you being arrested in a park. How very upsetting that was! And now I see that you are wearing a police badge. Interesting. Is there anything you would like to say to me?” Mister Sunshine asked me.

“Yes.” I drew myself up. “You’re under arrest.”

Mister Sunshine looked surprised for a moment, and then a deep laugh rolled out of his chest. He cut it off with a sudden snap of his jaws.

“Breaker, take care of the mare. I’ll get the fillies.”

“Yes, boss,” Breaker rumbled.

The giant stallion stepped past the zebra, moving towards my mother. I was grinding my teeth so hard together that I swear they were ready to crack.

This was my worst nightmare coming true: a threat to my family that I was powerless to stop. Desperately, I reached out in a last-ditch effort to ground myself, trying to give myself any kind of extra edge I could get my hooves on. If nothing else, maybe I could be enough of a distraction that Plum could get away. I had no illusions about my mom running away if I was still in danger.

The frustrating thing about earth pony grounding techniques is that you need to be calm and focused for them to work. I was neither. There are maybe a hoof-full of ponies in Equestria skilled enough with the technique to ground themselves while they are under attack.

Maybe that’s why I was shocked right down to my hoof-tips when my mother spun with a grace I’d never expected to see from her, planted her forehooves on the floor and bucked that bastard Breaker so hard in the chest that he flew, all four hooves leaving the ground as his breath exploded out of his lungs. He hit the wall of the living room like a wrecking ball and, with an explosion of sound like a tree struck by lightning, he kept on going, taking a large part of the wall with him.

Breaker landed on his side with a thud, narrowly missing Persimmon’s prone form, and slid across the hallway floor until he hit the wall under the staircase. He impacted that with the sound of shattered drywall and breaking studs that shook the floor under my hooves.

As the rest of us gaped at what had just happened, I saw that the massive stallion might have been down, but he definitely wasn’t out. He put his front hooves under him and was already trying to lever himself up, sections of wall falling away from him and his coat dusted white with plaster and drywall.

Mom sped past in us in a blur, stopping right in front of the dazed stallion. She reared back and then brought her forehooves together, hard, on either side of the stallion’s massive skull.

Breaker went down like a sack of wet cement.

And then my mother calmly turned to face Mister Sunshine with a face that looked like it was carved from stone.

The zebra cursed, his former decorum forgotten as he dipped his hoof into his vest pocket. I bolted forward with a shout just as he pulled it out, more white powder cupped in the hollow of his hoof. I didn’t have a plan, I just rammed him head-first in the side as hard as I could.

Mister Sunshine’s breath whooshed out of him, scattering the powder in a cloud in front of his own face. Then, out of reflex, he breathed in deeply.

“Oh, shit,” he said in a mildly surprised tone. Then he rattled deep in his throat, stiffened up, and fell over with a thud.

Plum and I stood, speechless, staring at the carnage all around us. Finally, my mother spoke up.

“Cinnamon, honey,” she said in the calmest voice I’d ever heard her use, “I believe you have some explaining to do.”

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to my editors: Brilliantpoint, coandco, Ekevoo, Merlos the Mad

The comments from my editors can get kind of fun. Here's an example:
Editor's note:

Hoopy's editing adventure
"…while I waited for the orange unicorn came back with…"
BP: Tense issue.
Hoopy: Whoops, fixed.
"…while I waited for the orange unicorn come back with…"
BP: You forgot the word "to". :P
Hoopy: Nooooo, it's been there the whole time, I promise... >_>
"…while I waited for the orange unicorn come to back with…"
BP: *facehooves* Read the highlighted section one more time...
Ekevoo: sometimes the editing section is funnier than the story :)
Hoopy: :P
"…while I waited for the orange unicorn to come back with…"

Fate's Lie

It wasn’t until a large chunk of plaster fell from the wall and landed on Breaker’s chest that the world finally rushed back in around me. I stopped gaping at the carnage, my mind becoming crystal clear in an instant of panic.

“Persimmon!” I shouted as I broke into a run. My mother yelled something that I ignored while I hurdled Breaker’s neck, skidding to a stop by the teacher’s head. White plaster dusted her coat, and her legs were stiff and trembling. Strands of her mane were strewn across her face, and that untidiness was somehow the most unsettling thing to me right then. The Persimmon that I knew would never allow her mane to get away from her like that.

I cradled her head in my hooves and brushed her mane from her wide and staring eyes, which locked onto mine with a pleading desperation. Her lungs were heaving, and small mewling noises came out of the back of her throat as she tried to speak.

“Relax,” I said softly. “You’re going to be okay. The police said this stuff wears off quickly.”

“Cinnamon?”

I glanced up to see Plum picking her way carefully through the debris-strewn floor. Her eyes were red and she was no longer crying, though her whole body was still shaking like a leaf. My mother was standing behind her, her earlier calm washed away, leaving her looking afraid and angry.

Mom could wait for now. I focused on the filly, who looked like she was ready to collapse at any moment. Luckily, I had an idea of something to keep her mind occupied until we could get help.

“She’s going to be alright, Plum,” I told her with a smile. “Can you stay with her? I have to go check on the sergeant outside.”

Plum nodded and took my place as I stood up. I looked at the two of them for a moment as the purple filly began stroking the jet-black mane and talking gently to the mare. Persimmon’s breathing had slowed to a more normal pace by the time I began making my way down the hallway.

“Cinnamon!” Mom’s frightened shout stopped me just shy of the outside door. “You have to tell me what’s going on!”

“Those two kidnapped Plum’s mom tonight,” I said shortly. “You’re going to want to find something you can use to tie them up with.”

The color drained from Mom’s face as I looked between the two criminals. Breaker was as still as death, but Mister Sunshine’s eyes met mine, twin chips of ice regarding me steadily.

“Start with the zebra,” I said, my voice flat. “Make sure he’s tied up tightly. I have to check on the officer who was with us.”

My mother nodded sharply and moved quickly into her craft room as I made my way cautiously outside. When I saw that nopony was outside the front door, I moved with more confidence into the yard. If Sunshine had any more backup with him, they’d run off already.

Sergeant Pinwheel had been dumped ignominiously into what would have been the flower bed if it had been weeded at all this year. I felt some of the tension leaving my shoulders as I saw his barrel moving. His eyes, the only part of his body he could move, locked onto mine as I approached.

“The bad guys are down. My mom is tying them up now.” At least, I hoped she was. “That paralytic the zebra used on you should wear off soon, according to what the captain told me earlier.”

He blinked twice slowly, and I assumed from that he’d understood what I’d said. I reached down and took the police whistle out of the front chest pocket of his uniform, inhaled deeply, and blew into it over and over again until I felt like I was ready to pass out.

I have to admit, I was impressed by their response time. Officers swarmed to my house, the first arriving within seconds. I left Pinwheel in the hooves of several officers and escorted the rest into my home. When they saw the carnage inside, I heard a couple of gasps and one appreciative curse from the officers.

My mother didn’t notice at first that she had company, not with all of her focus on the zebra she was in the middle of tying up. She wasn’t taking any chances; all four his legs were tied tightly together at the fetlock, with more cord wrapped around his muzzle. His vest had been cut away by a huge pair of fabric shears, leaving the mobster looking somehow smaller and more fragile than before. He shifted his gaze from her back to me as I walked in.

“Good job, Mom,” I said. “How about we let the officers take it from here, though?”

She looked up, startled for a moment before scowling at the police.

“I don’t want them here,” she said flatly. Her voice rose as she told the police, “Get out of my home!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” one of the officers said, while the others were checking on Breaker and Persimmon. “This is a crime scene now.”

Mom snorted and pawed the floor with a hoof, but accepted it with bad grace. She gritted her teeth and glowered at the officers as they moved around, all of whom were wise enough to give her a wide berth.

Captain Iron Bear, as unflappable as ever, showed up within minutes to take charge of everything, turning the chaos into a precision machine with a few well-chosen orders. He surveyed the activity with a critical eye before giving a satisfied nod.

“Alright,” the captain said, regarding me, my mother and Plum with a raised eyebrow. “Would anypony like to tell me what happened here tonight?”

I heard an annoyed grunt and a sharp intake of breath from my mother and quickly stepped forward, cutting off whatever it was she was about to say.

“I will, sir,” I said, trying to tune out Mom’s grumbling from behind me.

I started relaying what had happened after I’d left the park with Persimmon and Pinwheel. Mentioning Mr. Sunshine’s paralytic powder got the trussed up zebra a scowl. Telling him how Mom had kicked Breaker through a wall got her a pair of raised eyebrows and an appreciative nod.

I looked back to see how Mom was handling this and my mouth went dry. My mother wasn’t paying any attention to what I was telling the captain. Instead, her face was an expressionless mask as she watched as the officers moved through her home. Her muscles were so tense that her legs were trembling, and her ears were pasted down on her head. I eyed her warily, wondering if she’d make it through the night without some sort of breakdown.

Plum caught my expression and looked up at the mare next to her. She must have seen that my mother was close to losing it, because the filly moved closer to her and pressed her shoulder into my mom’s leg.

Mom jumped slightly and looked down into Plum’s uncertain and hopeful smile. Her face ran from suprised to smiling in the space of three heartbeats, and some of the tense stiffness left her posture. Mom sat down to wrap her foreleg around the other side of the filly’s body, bringing Plum into a hug as the two of them quietly watched the officers work.

I felt a surge of guilt. That should have been me, comforting my mother. I’m not sure why it never occurred to me to try.

It was around then that a commotion from outside grabbed my attention, and the captain’s as well. I trotted to the door with Captain Iron Bear right behind me. A familiar purple mare was being held back outside of our gate, the officers sternly warning her to stand back. Mulberry was having none of that, instead pushing forward while frantically calling Plum’s name.

“Let her through,” Iron Bear commanded.

I don’t think Mulberry even saw me as she ran by, wide-eyed and still calling Plum’s name.

“Mom!” Plum cried, leaving my own mother behind as she rocketed towards Mulberry like a little purple cannonball. Mulberry, sobbing, sat on the floor and gathered her daughter up to her in a hug that enveloped the filly whole.

I watched the scene with half a smile on my face. I was glad to see them together, and at the same time, I was sorry that Mulberry had gone through even more trauma. Celestia knows what had gone through her head when she got here and saw all the police outside.

Captain Iron Bear must have been thinking along the same lines, because he left the scene with a satisfied smile. In spite of everything else that had happened that day, there was a mother and daughter who were back together again, which made it a good night.

I moved over to sit next to my own mother while Mulberry and Plum reconnected. Mom had a wistful expression on her face as she watched the two of them. Again I felt a stab of guilt, followed by another of resentment. It wasn’t my fault she didn’t have what those two did.

“So,” I said to fill the silence between us, “did Dad teach you grounding? I didn’t know he did that.”

Mom shook her head. “I was the one who taught him,” she said absently.

I stared at her blankly for a moment. “What?”

“I learned it from your grandfather. Didn’t I ever tell you he was in the military?”

She had. I’d never made the connection.

“Why didn’t you ever mention it?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Heck, why didn’t you teach us? I’ve been making do with what little Dad taught me, and the occasional instructor on the force!”

She blinked a few times, frowning. Looking down at me, she said, “I don’t want you learning that nonsense.”

“It came in useful tonight, didn’t it?” I waved a hoof at the massive mound in our hallway that was the unconscious Breaker. “You saved us with that.”

“It didn’t save your father.” Mom said, her voice emotionless. “In fact, I think it got him killed.”

That was news to me. “How do you mean?” I asked.

“Chocolate wasn’t as good at it as he thought he was,” Mom said, sighing. “I think that overconfidence is why…”

She trailed off, looking away with a grimace and leaving me with my mind whirling.

The words were out of my mouth the moment I realized it. “You’ve been blaming yourself this whole time.”

She flinched and kept looking away from me.

“Yes,” she admitted after a few seconds, laughing bitterly. “Not just me, of course. The pony who did that to him is to blame, too. So is Shamrock.”

“How is Dad’s old partner to blame?” I asked.

“He should have been watching out for him!” Mom snapped. “He let Chocolate down.”

She stood up, anxiety pouring off of her as she started pacing.

“I don’t like this,” she said loudly to nopony in particular. “I want this done with. I want you ponies out of my house!”

The officers who were exchanging Mr. Sunshine’s makeshift restraints with actual police fetters traded a look, but didn’t say anything.

“Mom,” I said softly, placing a hoof on her leg, “they’ll be done as soon as they can be.”

She grumbled something before retreating to her craft room and slamming the door loudly behind her. I sighed, returning my attention to what was going on around me.

Two ambulances had arrived by then, one for Pinwheel and one for Persimmon. The sergeant got into his mostly under his own power, stumbling only slightly as his fellow officers helped him into the back. Persimmon wasn’t afforded that dignity, instead being levitated out on a stretcher by two white-coated unicorn paramedics working in tandem. They loaded her into the ambulance, steadfastly ignoring her slurred assurances that she was just fine walking, thank you very much.

I didn’t know what to say as I walked alongside her stretcher, but I at least wanted to let her know she wasn’t alone. As they loaded her into the back of the ambulance, I managed to catch her eye.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this,” I said.

“S’no problem, Cin’mon,” Persimmon slurred back at me, still under the influence of that powder.

“I’ll come visit you in the hospital,” I promised. “After all, I have the day off from school tomorrow.”

That brought out a lopsided smile. The doors to the ambulance closed with a thunk. I stood in my front yard, watching the lights travel down the road until they faded into the darkness. I spared a moment to glare at the gawking neighbors as I turned and walked back inside.

As I walked back into the living room, I noted that Mulberry and Plum were still sitting together, Mulberry with her foreleg looped around Plum’s shoulders and holding on as if she never intended to let go. The mare looked up and her eyes narrowed as she studied me, her mouth drawing down at the corners. I stumbled slightly before continuing on my way at a slightly slower pace.

“So,” I said, sitting down facing the mother and daughter. “I’m glad you’re alright, Mulberry.”

Plum managed a trembling smile, but Mulberry’s face didn’t change.

“I… Yes. I’m alright,” the mare replied. Her face relaxed a little bit. “I understand I have you to thank for that?”

I snorted. “Whoever told you that was greatly exaggerating my part in this.”

“Maybe,” she said. A tense silence stretched between us. Eventually, she cocked her head and said, “Is it true?”

I grimaced. I was pretty sure I knew what she meant, and I also knew that this wasn’t the best time or place to have this conversation. Still, I owed her the truth.

“Depends on what you mean,” I said. “But if you meant the part about me being a filly because of a patch of poison joke, then the answer is ‘yes’.”

“Oh,” Mulberry said in a small, weak voice.

Plum gasped and looked up at her mom. “How did you find that out?”

“After they got me out of there, they took me to the station to take a statement,” Mulberry said to her daughter, not looking at me at all. “The officers said you were here, and that you were safe.”

She gestured at the scene in front of us. No less than four ponies were lifting the unconscious Breaker. Two were earth ponies, carrying him on their backs. The other two were unicorns, assisting them with glowing horns. And they were still struggling.

“Seems like they were wrong,” she said flatly. She sighed and shook her head. “When they took me home, I had a little talk with your daddy. He mentioned that Cinnamon wasn’t all she pretended to be.”

Guilt twisted in my gut like a worm.

“I’m sor—”

“No,” Mulberry said quickly. She sighed, resting her forehead against a hoof. “Not right now. I can’t deal with this now. It’s been just too much, today.” She laughed bitterly. “I feel like I might just collapse if anything else goes wrong today.”

“Right,” I said, shifting my hooves uncomfortably. I hesitated, trying to think of something to say. In the end, I just got up and walked away. It seemed like the least damaging thing I could do at that moment.

I looked over to see the now vestless Mister Sunshine still lying on his side on the floor of the living room. He should have been able to move, considering that the powder had started wearing off on the others, but he hadn’t said a word this entire time. Instead, I found his flat, cold eyes on me, staring at me levelly, and I had the feeling that they hadn’t left me this entire time.

I stared back, keeping my face calm. I wasn’t going to allow this scum to intimidate me with an obvious, if unspoken, threat.

Captain Iron Bear caught it too. As the zebra was heaved to his hooves by a pair of earth pony officers, the police chief leaned down and whispered something into his ear. I didn’t catch what was said, but whatever it was made Mister Sunshine flick his ears and look back at him uncertainly.

“Get him out of here,” Iron Bear ordered his officers.

The officers on either side of him nodded and started escorting the zebra, who was forced to take tiny, shuffling steps thanks to the hobbles he was wearing. I heard the muttering from the crowd outside quiet down as the zebra was paraded past them and into the back of the second police wagon.

“They’ll be spending tonight under guard in the police station’s infirmary,” Iron Bear said quietly. “No worries. I will not underestimate them again.”

“Thanks, Captain,” I said.

“As for you, Officer Swirl, I thought I told you to go home and rest, not ‘go and apprehend the fugitive criminal mastermind’.” There was a hint of a dry smile under Iron Bear’s bushy mustache.

“Sorry, sir,” I said with my best poker face on. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Captain Iron Bear chuckled. We stood in silence for a moment, watching as his officers took notes and pictures. One unfortunate soul was getting a terse reply from my mom as he tried to get her statement. As Mister Sunshine’s ruined vest was packed in a large plastic evidence bag and brought outside, the captain turned and looked at me with a serious expression on his face.

“You did well tonight, Officer Swirl.”

It didn’t feel that way to me, not right then. Still, an ember of pride started glowing in my chest. “Thank you, sir.”

“What are your plans now?”

“I… ” I frowned as I looked at the massive hole in the wall of our living room. I found myself vaguely hoping that the wall wasn’t load-bearing. “Honestly, sir, I’m not certain. I was supposed to be retired weeks ago, but I didn’t really have any ideas where to go from there.”

“About that,” he said. “Since you went MIA before your official retirement date, regulations say that you’re still officially considered an active police officer until it’s discovered what happened to you. I’m not certain what your status will be on the Ponyville P.D. now that we’ve found you, but I’ve seen enough of you to know that you’ve got a place here. Once you’ve gotten yourself cured, of course.”

My ears snapped upright as I turned slowly to face him. He wasn’t looking at me, instead keeping an eye on his officers as they worked.

“I can be a police officer again?” I asked softly, not quite believing that I’d heard him right.

“I’ll need to review your record, of course,” he said. “Provided that there are no outstanding disciplinary issues, I’d be happy to have you on the force.” He grinned down at me from behind his mustache. “It just so happens that I have several open positions for new officers at the moment.”

My head was reeling, and I felt a little faint. Sure, I’d told my mom I was intending to be a police officer again, but that had been an act of bravado, conjured up in the heat of the moment. This was real. To have it put in front of me like this… it was as if a door that I’d thought closed and barred had been broken open, and I felt my future falling into place. I broke into a broad smile that I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to.

“Sir, I would like that very much,” I said, my voice seeming to come from a long distance away.

“Very good,” the captain said with a curt nod. “See me when you’ve been cured. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on how things are progressing.”

I nodded, but I’d barely registered what he’d said. I was vaguely aware that I was grinning an idiot’s grin. I felt like I was glowing, and I felt a tingle crawl down my body. I felt my grin slip at the same time as Plum gasped behind me. It was a sensation I had felt once already. I can’t imagine many ponies ever feel it twice.

“Cinnamon!” Plum’s voice was awed. “You got your cutie mark!”

I glanced back, and a sense of unreality washed over me when I saw a grey-blue police shield on my flank, with a magnifying glass crossed diagonally over it. The joy I’d felt earlier splintered like a broken mirror and crashed down around me.

“That’s not my cutie mark,” I said, my voice hollow in my ears.

Miss Persimmon had warned me earlier that day that I had limits; I was about to be reminded again. This was one shock too many in too short of a time, and my filly body couldn’t handle it. Grey rushed in from my peripheral vision, and I was out before I hit the floor.

~~*~~

I woke from a nightmare to the feeling of being suffocated. I shouted and lashed out, trying to get some air and to get this oppressive weight off of me. I felt soft objects go flying away as I struggled to get upright, the ground beneath me far too soft, shifting nauseatingly beneath my hooves.

Panting, I looked around in the darkness. The only light was from a window, letting in the moonlight. The space I was in was familiar, and it slowly dawned on me that I knew where I was.

I was in my ridiculously frilly princess-style bed, and the damned mountain of plushies had collapsed on top of me. My flailing hooves had scattered the soft toys in every direction, some of them knocking items down from my dresser, others falling harmlessly to the floor.

It took a few minutes for my racing heart to slow back to anything like a normal rhythm. I stood on my bed, sunk into the plush bedspread up past my fetlocks as I panted for breath. The lamp beside my bed had been knocked over, and I struggled for a moment to remove a stuffed penguin from the lampshade before finally turning the light on.

I was groggy and confused as I looked around. My bedroom looked like a war zone, fuzzy soldiers lying injured and scattered across the carpet. I caught my reflection in the mirror, and the night’s events came back to me with an icy, crystalline quality.

I’d fainted. Like some weak little filly, I’d fallen over on the floor. I’d come to with Plum crying in the background and my mother standing over me, her hooves on my shoulders as she rocked me gently and called my name. She had been asking me if I was alright. I had mumbled something back, though I have no idea what it was. My mind had been in a fog, but I vaguely remembered that Mom had bundled me up and rushed me up to my room.

Apparently I’d fallen asleep some time after that. How could I have fallen asleep after what had happened? The mark on my hip was wrong. Completely, totally wrong. How could I have ignored that and just gone to bed like nothing had happened?

When I had been a colt, my decision that I’d grow up to be a police officer had been the defining moment of my young life, calling forth a pair of hoofcuffs to decorate my coat. I’d worn that cutie mark with pride. It had been who I was, how I’d defined myself.

The grey-blue police shield and magnifying glass I was seeing now, that belonged to some other pony. I wasn’t sure who that pony was, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t me.

I turned off the light and allowed myself to fall over on my side before rolling over onto my back. I stared up into the darkness and wondered just what the hell had happened to my life.

I spent the rest of the night alternating between moments of nightmare-plagued sleep and staring wakefulness. At one point during the night I heard approaching hoofsteps. I squeezed my eyes shut at the sound of my door opening.

“Cinnamon?” Mom said softly.

She sounded worried. I lay on my side, keeping my breathing steady and my ears still. It was an old trick I’d learned as a colt. If I flicked my ears, she’d know I was awake.

She stood in the doorway for a few seconds longer before sighing and leaving, shutting the door behind her.

I opened my eyes again, staring out into nothingness while my mind wheeled and whirled. The image of that wrong cutie mark kept flashing up, and every time it did, my mind flinched away from it like a hoof from a hot stovetop.

Was I too late to be cured? That’s what I was wondering about. One of the things, at least. A new mark meant a new destiny. Was I going to be this way forever? If so, could I live with that?

I honestly didn’t know.

My thoughts chased each other in circles until the windows of my bedroom started glowing with the light of the early morning sun. With the light came a restlessness, infecting my legs and shooting up into my brain. I rolled out of bed, all four of my hooves hitting the carpet simultaneously.

I put on my saddlebags before I left my bedroom, shifting them back far enough that they covered that false cutie mark. The bags were uncomfortable in that position, and I’m sure they were going to chafe as the day went by, but I didn’t care. I checked the contents, noting that I had my bit bag, some school supplies and a few other odds and ends.

My police badge wasn’t inside. I looked around the room, but I didn’t see it. I couldn’t make up my mind right then if it mattered where it was. Too much of my attention was with what was going on in my head. Everything else seemed oddly detached, as if what were happening around me was actually happening to somepony else.

I didn’t have any destination in mind when I left the room, all I knew was that I couldn’t be here right now. I’d always considered that bedroom to be a lie about who I was. The darker recesses of my mind suggested that maybe it wasn’t as much of a lie as I used to think.

I snarled and pushed the thought away, but it came back again and again. And with it came another question: Who am I, really?

I walked as quietly down the stairs as I could, making my way towards the front door. My eyes caught on the damaged wall between the hallway and the living room and I stopped for a moment to study it.

It was another thing that was wrong. This house had largely been the same my whole life, present clutter notwithstanding. Now it had been changed. Torn, damaged and broken. There was something vaguely threatening about that. I felt that, even if the wall were to be fixed, I would always be able to see a scar there.

Somepony had gone after the area around the wall with a broom and dustpan, clearing up the debris. Which made that section of hallway the cleanest area in the house, underscoring the strangeness even more.

My hoof was on the bottom step when I heard a soft cough, and for the first time I noticed the distant glow of a light coming from the other room. My mother was in her craft room, likely losing herself in yet another project. I froze where I was for a few seconds, waiting to make sure I was still unheard before moving silently to the front door and letting myself outside.

The sun was just cresting the horizon, tinting the frost-painted grass with a rosy glow. My breath hung frozen in the air and I found myself shivering. The part of my mind that was still paying attention to what was going on noted that winter was definitely around the corner. It was just more background noise for me to tune out as I made my way to the front gate. I scowled as I reached it, seeing that it was listing open drunkenly. I tried to pull it closed, but it wouldn’t latch properly. One of the hinges was twisted, possibly from when the officers tried to carry Breaker through to the police wagon.

I tried again to close it. It refused. I tried again, then again to close that defiant gate, and suddenly I found myself cursing and slamming it over and over again until the top hinge gave way completely, tearing raggedly out of the wood. I stared at it for a long moment, and then I felt something in my mind just give way. I slowly became aware of myself screaming in a rage while kicking and hitting the gate repeatedly until it was nothing but a mass of splintered wood.

I stood panting and sweating in the chill morning air as my sanity started to filter back into me. Shame and embarrassment crept over me as I stared at the destroyed gate, and I wondered where my self-control had gone. My ever-so-helpful brain decided right then was a good time to remind me that I’d spent the last few minutes shouting and cursing at the top of my lungs at an hour when most ponies were probably still trying to sleep.

“Cinnamon?”

My mother’s uncertain voice from the doorway froze my breath in my chest. I glanced back to see her, her mane in disarray and bags under her eyes from a lack of sleep. I wondered how much of my tantrum she’d seen. The humiliation was rising, threatening to swamp what little reason I had left.

“Cinnamon,” she said gently, “why don’t you come in—Cinnamon!”

I ran. I couldn’t face her, so I just ran, pretending not to hear while she called out my name from behind me. I put my head down and galloped through the nearly empty streets until my heart threatened to explode, and then I ran even further.

I finally stumbled to a halt and collapsed next to a park bench some unknowable amount of time later, my heart hammering as a pain like a knife in my ribs made it nearly impossible for me to catch my breath. As I lay on the frozen grass, it didn’t take long for the sweat to cool to ice water, leaving my body shuddering and cramping from the chill that I felt in my bones.

My eyes watered from the pain as I forced myself back onto my hooves. I started walking, my legs trembling like jelly, though I had no destination in mind. I kept my head down, staring at the sidewalk as I simply let my hooves take me where they would.

Early morning commuters weaved around me as I wandered. Most ignored me, though some called out to me, and others cursed me for being underhoof. I barely registered them. My mind kept flashing images of the broken gate, and then added in the shield with the magnifying glass. As wrong and alien as my body had felt when I’d been changed from a stallion to a filly, somehow that unfamiliar mark managed to seem even more wrong than that.

My hooves stopped their wandering and I looked up. I was surprised to see where I was, though I shouldn’t have been. The Puddings’ house. The place I’d found the most comfort for the last few weeks.

I shouldn’t be here. I had no right. Not to their time, not to their company. I’d lied to them about who I was, even though I wasn’t certain of who that was anymore. I’d gotten them into the worst kind of trouble imaginable when I’d meddled in their affairs. This was a family that would have been better off without me.

The windows were dark. I guessed that the family was still asleep, getting some much needed rest. I turned to go, still shivering, and just kept walking.

As the sun came up, the frost on the ground started to recede. That didn’t help the cramping in my legs. My body needed warmth and time to recover but I simply didn’t give a damn. I trudged along in a fog of bleak indifference.

I was in the town square when I finally realized that I did have a destination after all. There was a mare out there who had stuck her neck out for me, and had nearly paid the ultimate price for it. I owed it to her to at least check to make sure she was okay. And, after all, I’d promised I’d visit today.

Hoofington General Hospital had been built shortly before I was born. In fact, I was the fifty-first foal born there, according to a special certificate given to the first hundred foals the hospital staff had helped deliver.

My legs were numb by the time I stumbled in through the revolving doors. The heat from the air prickled my coat, and my skin started registering a pain like pins and needles. I ignored it as best I could, brushing back my mane with a hoof in order to look a little more presentable as I made my way to the front desk.

The nurses on staff all told me what a wonderful student I was, and how touching it was that I was concerned enough to skip class and come see my teacher. I got her room number and made my way through the impersonal white hallways until I found her.

Persimmon was standing by the foot of the hospital bed, scowling into a mirror while she magically moved her brush through a bad case of bed-mane. She jumped a little when I knocked on the doorframe but relaxed as soon as she saw me standing there.

“Cinnamon!” she said, a smile breaking across her features like a sunrise. “You came to visit?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I said, rubbing a forehoof on the opposite leg.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “My bloodwork came back clean, so they’re letting me go this morning.”

A few seconds of awkward silence floated by between us before she rolled her eyes. “Come on in and stay a while, Cinnamon.”

“Oh, right.” I stepped into the room.

“Everything okay?” Persimmon asked me, concern etching her face. “You look a little rough.”

I ran a hoof self-consciously through my mane. “I didn’t sleep well,” I said, by way of massive understatement. “So, you get to go home today?”

“Glad to be going, too,” Persimmon replied as she turned back to her mirror and started working the brush again. “I have a hard time sleeping in unfamiliar places. And I really, really need a hot shower.”

“I’m just glad to see that you’re okay,” I said. I worried vaguely about the dullness in my voice, but I don’t think she noticed it.

“I started feeling better late last night,” she said as she brushed her mane. “It took a few hours, though. Anything happen after I was gone?”

I glanced back to make sure my saddlebags were still in place. “Not really,” I said. “Sunshine and Breaker will probably be in front of a judge today to see if they get out on bail or not.”

Persimmon looked back at me, eyes wide. “Is that possible?”

I snorted and sat down on the floor. “Unlikely to the point of impossibility. If their other crimes weren’t bad enough, having assaulted several police officers puts a cinch in it. They won’t be setting a hoof outside of prison for decades.”

“Oh, well that’s a relie—Oh my goodness, you’ve gotten your cutie mark!”

My head whipped around to see that sitting down had caused my bag to slip forward just enough to show the edge of the damned thing. I winced and scowled.

“That’s not mine,” I growled.

She cocked her head at me, her mane still half-unbrushed. Somewhere in the back of my brain the stallion I used to be found her semi-disheveled state incredibly endearing.

“What do you mean?”

“My cutie mark is a pair of hoofcuffs,” I said. I pulled my bags forward, showing the entire mark. “This thing just… showed up.”

I glowered at it before snorting and looking away. The school teacher gave me an odd look as she set her brush down.

“You know, Cinnamon,” Persimmon said slowly as she approached me, “in some ways, I think you’re a very lucky pony.”

“Lucky.” My voice was flat and my ears were laid back against my skull. “Oh, yeah. I’m so incredibly lucky. Ripped away from my life, my body, my own mark. Everything replaced with something I don’t want or don’t recognize.” I was vaguely aware that my voice was rising in volume, but I found it hard to care. “I look in a mirror, and I don’t know who’s looking back. I don’t even know who I am anymore! I’m so damned lucky, alright! Just look how lucky I am!”

My voice broke at the end and I turned away. My eyes burned and my throat felt thick and swollen, but I’d be damned if I was going to start bawling in front of her. I held it back with everything I had, gritting my teeth and trying to control my breathing.

“What I meant is that you’ve gotten a second chance to define who you are,” Persimmon said softly. “Hoofcuffs for your first cutie mark, right? Well, that was because you had a simple dream: to become a police officer. But your new mark? I believe that means something different, something more.”

She put a hoof on my shoulder, and I was sorely tempted to knock it away. Instead, I settled on just glaring at her in confusion.

“I’ll tell you what it means to me, Cinnamon. It means that you’ve grown as a pony. Just being a police officer isn’t enough for you anymore. That magnifying glass? I think it means that you’re a pony that will keep looking for the truth, no matter how long it takes. And the shield is obvious.”

“It is?” I asked, interested in spite of myself.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “It tells me that you’re a pony that will stop at nothing to protect the ones you love.”

I blinked, and an unruly tear used that opportunity to make a break for it down my cheek. Just the one, though. Most of the pressure I had felt behind my eyes had dissipated as Persimmon’s words took root in my mind. But she wasn’t done yet.

“But the cutie mark doesn’t define you, Cinnamon,” she said. “You define it. It’s a reflection of who you already are. You should know that! Everypony who gets their mark learns that lesson. Maybe you’ve just forgotten?” She gave me a smile. “You define your mark, not the other way around. If it’s different now, it’s just because the pony you are now has grown up from the colt you once were. I’d honestly be more surprised if it hadn’t changed.”

It’s funny, strange, and a little bit frightening how just a few words can tilt the entire world on its axis like that, knocking my hooves out from underneath me. My thoughts scattered in more directions than I could count as I tried to absorb what she’d said. The bleakness I’d struggled with all night was still there, still rooted in my heart, but now something else was there too: a kind of fierce and unexpected joy, coupled with an ember of determination that was growing hotter and hotter.

I didn’t have to let what had been happening define who I was. Not this filly’s body, not this new cutie mark, but me. How could I have forgotten that?

And here came the waterworks again. I cleared my throat and looked away, feeling disgusted with myself and my lack of control. Persimmon did me a kindness by turning her back and working on her mane again while I got it out of my system as quietly as I could. After a few minutes she glanced back, then floated me a box of tissues. I blew my nose noisily.

Strangely enough, I actually felt better. Minutes passed as I worked it out in my head. I found myself remembering the feeling of acceptance during Iron Bear’s planning session. I remembered how Plum never once questioned my story after she’d accepted it. And now Mulberry and Persimmon knew as well. This town was full of ponies who knew who I really was.

Could that be enough? I wasn’t sure, but it was a damned sight better than it had been before. I drew in a long, slow breath and held it for a few seconds before pushing it out again. I wouldn’t let a different mark define me. I knew who I was.

“You know, it just occurred to me,” I said after a few minutes. Persimmon paused her brushing to look back at me. “My last cutie mark had me as a beat cop. If anything else, this new one suggests that maybe I’ll be a detective.” I grinned. “I guess I just gave myself a promotion, huh?”

She laughed, and I joined in. It felt good.

“Cinnamon, I… well, I don’t suppose you’re coming back to class now that your secret is out. But I wouldn’t mind if you stopped by sometimes, just to check in.”

I stared at her for a few seconds. Her mane was still unbound, and it fell in a glossy wave down the right side of her neck. The morning sun was coming in through the window, framing her features in a soft glow. I found myself grinning widely in spite of myself.

“I think I can manage that,” I said.

~~*~~

I found myself back out on the town, though with a slightly better attitude than before. I wasn’t hiding my mark anymore, at least. And once again I found myself wandering, letting my hooves go wherever they wanted.

As it turns out, they wanted breakfast.

I found myself outside of a small diner near the hospital, my stomach rumbling at the smell of the greasy food inside. I had three bits and change to my name, and I had no intention of heading home yet. I went inside.

It turns out that three bits and change can just barely afford a stack of kids-sized pancakes, but only if you throw in a hungry look to a sympathetic waitress.

I sat in silence, ignoring the stares around me. I didn’t give a damn what the ponies here thought about the lone filly in the diner by herself. That is, until one of them slid into the booth opposite me. I glanced up, startled to see a familiar pony sitting across from me. I almost didn’t recognize him out of uniform.

“Cinnamon Swirl, right?” he said with an easy grin. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Sergeant Pinwheel?”

“Yup!” he said with an easy smile. “Don’t mind if I join you for a bit, do you?”

“Nah.” I waved a hoof dismissively. “I’m glad to see you back on your hooves. Had me worried last night.”

“Me too,” he said, then snorted and shook his head. “Man, I thought it was all over. Especially when I heard what sounded like half your house coming down!”

“Just a wall,” I said with a smirk. “It turns out that my mom packs a mean kick.”

“So I understand. Hey, is that all you’re eating?” he said as the waitress came out with my kid’s stack of pancakes, each one the size of a bit.

“Yeah,” I said, frowning at the tiny cakes. “I guess so.”

“No way. That won’t cut it at all!” He shook his head and turned to the waitress, who just happened to be walking past our table at that moment. “Sparrow, sweetheart, could you bring out whatever Cinnamon here wants? On my tab.”

Sparrow smiled and reached into her front apron pocket, pulling out a menu and passing it over to Pinwheel, who in turn tried to give it to me.

“Oh, hey, you don’t have to do that,” I said, trying to wave him off while my rumbling stomach cast a dissenting vote.

“Forget it,” Pinwheel said, ignoring my admittedly half-hearted protest. “You saved my life last night. Well, technically your mom did, but close enough. This meal is on me, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Fine, fine. I know when I’m beat.” I chuckled wryly and shook my head. “Thanks.”

“No worries, buddy.” He stood up and put his hat on. “I gotta get to HQ and see if I can talk the captain out of reversing my medical leave so I can get back to work. Enjoy your breakfast!”

“Will do,” I said, nodding. “Take care,” I added, waving as the sergeant left the diner.

My next plate was a little more on the generous side. Three adult-sized pancakes, slathered with butter and doused with syrup, a side of hash browns and two slices of wheat toast with jam and butter. I ate until I felt ready to burst and still had food left over.

As full as my stomach was, that wasn’t what was making me feel contented. It was the way Pinwheel had talked to me. It wasn’t like he’d been talking to a filly, it was as if he were talking to an adult. An equal. It reinforced what Persimmon had told me, that it was up to me to define who I was. Not what the poison joke had done to me, not my new cutie mark.

That feeling alone was worth more than all the pancakes in the world. Not that I hadn’t been trying to cram in every bite that I could, of course.

I left the diner a while later, my digestion working overtime and my stomach purring like a kitten. Sparrow had been kind enough to put the rest of the food into a to-go box that was almost too big to fit into my saddlebag. I had food enough to last me the rest of the day, if I didn’t mind eating it cold.

The day had warmed up considerably, the morning’s freeze a forgotten memory as the sun climbed joyfully overhead. I was surprised to note that it was nearly ten in the morning. I’d been out and about a lot longer than I’d realized.

Still, it looked like it was going to be a good day. I felt a smile growing on my face as I trotted out into the nearly empty streets of Hoofington, pondering my next move. I still didn’t want to go home, but I had no idea what to do next.

My enthusiasm dampened a little bit as I realized that I still owed Mulberry a full explanation. And, assuming she was ready for it, I was going to give it to her. I turned down the street and made my way back to the Pudding residence, my breakfast heavy in my gut and my heart lurching unsteadily.

I was so busy working over what I was planning to say that I arrived at the Pudding house almost before I knew it. Whatever I’d been planning to say evaporated out of my head when I noticed the ambulance parked in front of the house.

My heart twisted as I galloped forward. The front door of the Pudding house was wide open, the interior dark. I ran through the doorway, already drawing in a lungful of air to begin calling for Plum or Mulberry. I hesitated when I heard the sound of voices speaking. I listened for a moment, trying to gauge the mood, but by the tone it was just a casual discussion. I trotted down the hallway until I reached the master bedroom.

Inside the room, two EMT ponies were helping Tapioca up to his hooves. All three of them were stopped mid-motion, and I realized that I’d just barged in on them.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, adrenaline making my voice louder than intended.

“Oh, Cinnamon.” Tapioca said, blinking. “Yes, everything is fine. These fine stallions were just helping me out to the ambulance. I’m going to be staying in the hospital for the next few days.”

“Oh,” I said, the tension draining away and leaving nothing but an overwhelming sense of foolishness. “I’d worried… Well, after everything that happened, that something had happened to Mulberry or Plum.”

A look of pain crossed Tapioca’s face at the mention of his wife and daughter.

“They’re fine,” he said. “I… There’s no easy way to say this, Cinnamon, but Mulberry left for a few days to stay with her sister.”

“Oh.” I was rocked back on my hooves by the statement. My thoughts flashed back to what Mulberry had said the night before, how she might collapse if anything else went wrong.

“She’ll be back,” Tapioca said, though his confidence rang hollow. “She told me she just needed to clear her head.” He grimaced, adding, “Finding out that I’d been hiding all of this from her was a pretty big shock, on top of everything else she’s been through.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

The EMTs had been waiting patiently all this time, but now one of them interrupted.

“We really should get going, sir,” the pony said.

Tapioca nodded, forcing himself to his hooves with a grunt of effort. I got out of the way as the three of them made their way to the door. Just before stepping outside, Tapioca hesitated before pulling a set of keys down off of a hook next to the door. He gave them a toss, and I managed to catch them with my forehooves.

“Could you lock up for me, Cinnamon?”

“Sure thing,” I said, my voice steady and not letting on how lost I felt.

Tapioca smiled wearily before allowing himself to be led into the back of the ambulance. By the time I got done locking the door, they were gone.

I stood there in silence for a few minutes before I realized I had nowhere else to go. With a sigh, I turned my hooves towards home and started walking.

Author's Notes:

As always, I would like to thank my wonderful team of editors, listed in no particular order:
Coandco
Brilliant Point
Ekevoo
Merlos the Mad
And prereader: Ludicrous Lycan

Thanks for everything, guys!

The things that matter most

Sunday morning found me awake and lying on my back, staring at the ridiculous frilly canopy over my bed as the sun made its way up over the horizon. Time inched forward relentlessly, and I ignored it. There was nothing worth getting out of bed for. Since Tuesday, the days had crawled by with a drudging sameness that underscored the futility of my existence, and I didn’t see today being any different.

Still, I could only lie in bed staring at nothing for so long before my bladder made its presence known. With a sigh, I rolled out of bed and dragged my hooves to the bathroom. When finished, I went through my morning routine in a sort of autopilot, brushing my teeth and mane, and washing my face. During all of this, I caught my reflection in the mirror more than once. There was barely even a flutter of existential terror when I saw my new cutie mark, which I decided to accept as a definite sign of improvement.

It took me a few minutes to work up the resolve to head downstairs, especially when I smelled the intoxicating smell of freshly baked bread wafting up from the kitchen. It had been the same pattern every day since I’d gone home on Tuesday. Mom had suddenly decided to start cooking again, and now all of my old favorites were being trotted out. For breakfast, scrambled eggs and hash browns, or pancakes, or waffles. Lunch would get me grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, or any of a dozen other favorites. Dinner started turning into a parade of rich and savory dishes, each better than the last, and as much as I could eat.

I couldn’t deny that the change in menu was welcome, though I had my suspicions about her motivations. I gritted my teeth and went downstairs.

“Good morning, Cinnamon!” Mom’s cheerful greeting and brittle smile were a new addition, as well.

I grunted in reply as I sat down, digging into my breakfast of scrambled eggs and freshly baked bread without a word. I was being an ass, I knew. But being honest felt like it would cost too much, and playing along was too much of a lie.

“Weather is getting colder,” Mom said as her opening conversational gambit.

I grunted again in reply. The bread was thick, warm from the oven and loaded with butter. I spread raspberry jam over the top of it and ate it while the silence stretched out between us. Eventually, Mom tried again.

“You’re going out again, today?”

I grunted again, refusing to talk. Her eyes flickered with hurt, a small and spiteful part of me noted with satisfaction as I chewed in silence.

“Where do you go all day?” she finally asked me with a pleading note in her voice.

I scowled down at my plate. I suppose I could give her that much.

“The Pudding house,” I said.

She pulled her head back, frowning. “Why?”

“To check their mail,” I said, not mentioning that I was hoping for a package from Ponyville sometime soon. “To water their plants. To keep an eye on the place.”

To get out of this insane asylum. To get away from my mother, who was trying to buy my love with food and a sort of desperate kindness.

“I miss you,” she said, her voice soft.

And there it was. The guilt trip I’d been expecting since Tuesday night’s surprising dinner of spaghetti and homemade marinara, one of my absolute favorite dishes.

“I gotta go,” I said, hopping down off of my chair.

“You haven’t finished—”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I said as I trotted to the door.

“Cinnamon!”

Mom got up from the table to come after me. I kept going, keeping my face a solid and expressionless mask. That is, until she scooped me up from behind and hugged me to her chest.

“I miss you so, so much,” she whispered into my mane.

“Put me down.”

She sobbed once against my neck, and I knew she wasn’t acting. She’s not that good of an actor. Didn’t make it any less of a guilt trip, though. And knowing it was a guilt trip didn’t make it any less effective. Anger rose to swamp the guilt I felt, the two emotions mixing and twisting in my gut before I mashed it down into the dull ache I was more used to.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Mom asked me.

It was a struggle to keep my voice even. “Let me go.”

“I just want to keep you safe, keep you with me. I love you so much, Cin—”

“I know you do, Mom.” I felt her legs tighten on either side of me. “But you know you’re being selfish.”

“I need you!” Warm, wet drops fell onto the nape of my neck, and I shuddered. “I’m cooped up in this house all the time, all alone! Cinnamon, please… I need you.”

My breath was coming in quick, short blasts, now. I clenched my jaw, refusing to get caught up in her emotions.

“You have five other sons,” I pointed out.

“None of them ever come to see me.” Her voice was dull and leaden. “I send letters, sometimes, but I almost never get replies back.”

“Then why not go visit one of them?”

“What?”

Her grip slackened and I wriggled out of it, turning to face her once I hit the floor. Mom’s face was puffy, her eyes red and watery. Guilt and resentment surged up, and once again I stomped the emotions back down.

“Leave this house,” I said, forcing my voice into a calm I didn’t feel. “Go visit your sons. Fudge only lives about thirty miles away. You could make a weekend trip out of it, or take the local train and make it a day trip.” I scowled as I looked around the cluttered house, boxes stacked on boxes, looming in the shadows like giants and threatening to topple over at the slightest pressure. “Getting out of this damned house for a while would do you some good.”

“I-I can’t…” Mom laid her ears back and shook her head, frowning. “Anyway, this is the family home. They should want to come and see me!”

I snorted, pawing at the dusty floor with a hoof.

“Why?” I asked, unable to keep the scorn out of my voice. “Why would anypony want to come to a place like this?”

Mom stood up, scowling, and once again she towered over me. I had to bend my neck just to keep eye contact.

“What does that mean?” she asked, and I could hear her own anger rising to meet mine.

“What do you think?” I waved a hoof around, taking in the entire room.

“It’s a little cluttered, sure,” Mom started, breaking off with narrowed eyes as I barked with laughter.

“‘Cluttered’ doesn’t cover it, Mom,” I said. “You’ve let this place fall apart. You don’t care enough to maintain it, but you’re too damned stubborn to let it go!”

Mom’s nostrils were flaring in time to her own rushed breathing. “Don’t care?” she repeated, voice harsh. “Don’t you dare say I don’t care! You have no idea what I’ve been through!”

“What, like losing someone you love?” I snorted mirthlessly. “I have some idea.”

“You lost your father, and that’s sad,” she grated as her eyes narrowed. “But I lost so much more—”

“I lost a mother, too!” I shouted back. “You’re not the mare I remember!”

“Ponies change!”

“You didn’t change, Mom. You shut down! There’s a difference!”

“You don’t have the right—”

I stomped my hoof and ran right over her. “You want to know why your sons don’t visit? Why I never visited? Because I hate seeing you like this! And so do the others!”

“What do you mean, ‘like this’?” Her face was a mask of hurt and fury.

“A broken shell of a mare in a run-down house. You think Dad would have wanted this for you?”

Even as angry as I was, I knew that bringing up Dad like that had been cruel. But I felt it was necessary. There was also an oddly calm part of me that wondered how hard I’d have to push her before she snapped, and whether or not I wanted to push that hard.

“Don’t you bring your father into this!” Her ears were laid flat back against her head and her tail was lashing in agitation.

“Why not? I loved him too, you know.”

“You think you know what love is?” Mom laughed bitterly. “You’ve never been married. You’ve never lost a child!”

“I’m not her, Mom,” I snapped. “I can’t replace her!”

“I never said I wanted you to!”

“Then why?” Even through the distorting haze of anger, this was a question I was desperately hoping would get an answer. “Why use me as a surrogate? You have me in frills and bows. You decorated my damned room like a wedding cake! Was this what you had planned for Strawberry?”

“Don’t you say that name!” Mom shrieked. Tears were flooding down her face, but there was pure fury in her eyes.

“I’m sorry you never had a daughter for real, Mom,” I said, my own righteous fury putting a vicious twist on the statement. “But I can’t be her! You can’t have a stillborn foal and then expect me—”

“SHUT UP!” Mom screamed loudly enough to rattle the teeth in my head. I stepped back, my eyes widening in shock at the sight of her. My mother was sitting down, her eyes clenched shut and her forehooves slapped over her ears. “Shut up! Shut up!”

A skim of guilt floated up on top of my anger, and I realized I’d gone too far. It didn’t make me any less angry, though.

“I’m going,” I said. Only the hitching of her breath answered me.

I opened the door, and my jaw clenched as I heard Mom sobbing behind me. I slammed the door shut hard enough to rattle the frame before fleeing the scene, feeling like a criminal.

~~*~~

I took the long way to Plum’s house. By which I mean I went by way of the park, which was in the completely wrong direction. I lay on my back on a hillside, making sure I was a good distance away from the playground.

I didn’t think I could stand the laughter of children right then.

The day was cloudy and grey without being too cold. I watched as some of the local pegasi led huge flocks of birds towards the south, and for a moment I wondered what it would be like to have a job like that. I’d always been a homebody, preferring to make a place for myself to call home and never ranging too far away. But as I watched the pegasi flying free through the sky, I couldn’t help but let my mind fly with them.

Great wedges of geese honked their way along with a single pegasi at the front of their formation, leading the way to warmer climes. Less organized flocks of smaller birds did the best they could, colorful teeming masses twittering and chirping their silly heads off with anywhere up to a half-dozen pegasi per flock acting as guides.

Plum would know each and every type of bird up there. I could identify maybe seven different kinds of them.

My nest on the hillside no longer felt comfortable. I ignored the aching I felt and rolled back onto my hooves. Even though there’d be no mail to check on a Sunday, I could still water the Puddings’ plants. And it was better to be on the move than sitting still, wallowing in my own thoughts.

I kept my head down as I walked the familiar streets towards the Pudding residence, avoiding being trampled by the larger traffic through a combination of sixth sense and sheer luck. When I arrived at the Pudding residence, some alarm went off in my head, causing me to stop.

Something was different. Something was wrong. It took a minute for the thoughts whirling around in my head to calm enough for me to figure out what it was, and then it was obvious.

There was a light on in the living room window that faced the street. I was positive that I’d left them all off when I’d left on Saturday, which meant that somepony was in the Pudding house. My heart surged at the thought that Mulberry and Plum might be back, my initial reluctance to explain my situation to the mare long gone. By this point, I’d be glad just to get it over with.

Then again, considering the events of the last week, I couldn’t deny a very real chance that some bad ponies were inside, up to no good. I set my muzzle into a thin line and moved swiftly to the window.

I had to rear up onto my back legs to see inside. Mulberry was there, sitting on her sofa with a look of wary surprise on her face. Across from her sat a figure that froze my heart for a few seconds. Dark grey and white striped, with piercing blue eyes. I stared at the zebra, my heart racing and my lips pulling back from my teeth in a feral snarl.

The illusion was broken when the zebra in question reached out a delicate hoof and picked up a teacup, and I saw the gold rings around the striped leg. I took a second look and noted that this zebra was not only younger than Mister Sunshine, but also a mare. The primal fury I’d felt earlier shattered and spun off in a wave of confusion.

And then darkness blotted out my sight as something was pressed over my eyes. I felt a presence behind me, and I froze in place as a chill spiked my heart. They had taken me unaware. I’d never even known they were there.

Whoever it was leaned down, their breath tickling my ear. The hair raised on the back of my neck all the way down to my withers.

“Guess who?” the mystery pony said softly.

Terror tapdanced its way all down my spine and back up again. I knew that voice. I had been having nightmares about it for weeks. My mouth opened, then closed so I could swallow against the sudden dryness on my tongue.

When I finally did speak, my voice came out as a hollow croak. “Pinkie Pie?”

The light came back to the world as she pulled her hooves away. I turned to find a grinning cloud of blinding pink sitting right behind me.

“You guessed it!” Pinkie squealed, grinning so widely I was faintly surprised that the top of her head was still attached.

I was extremely grateful that the resulting wave of dizziness didn’t make me faint again. Once a week was plenty, thanks. The gears in my head started clicking, and soon enough I was adding two and two together.

“You got my letter,” I said, not really allowing myself to hope.

“Yup!”

“And you came here, after you got that letter,” I added.

“You got it!”

“And you brought your zebra friend,” I continued, licking my suddenly dry lips. “The one who knows the cure.”

“Three for three, CS!” Pinkie beamed at me as if I’d just solved the riddle of the sphinx or something.

“You brought the cure?” I said, finally allowing myself to feel a glimmer of hope.

“Nope!” The bottom dropped out of my stomach as Pinkie shook her head. “Zecora did!”

My heart, which had started crashing at the first part of Pinkie’s answer, jumped up into my throat. I couldn’t have stopped the grin that spread across my face even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t want to.

My ears actually started ringing, and I found myself laughing. Pinkie, never one to let somepony laugh alone, joined me, giggling along merrily. That only made me laugh harder, euphoria bubbling up and crowding out every other thought, including my Mom.

“Cinnamon!”

I looked back over my shoulder towards the Pudding residence’s front door. Plum was standing there, staring at me with wide, shocked eyes. Her face split into a wide smile, and the next thing I knew I was on my back with a bundle of purple filly latched around my barrel in a vice-like hug.

“I missed you!” she mumbled into my chest.

“I missed you too, Plum,” I gasped. “But I’d like to breathe now?”

Plum squeaked and blushed before loosening her grip, smiling sheepishly at me as she did so. But she didn’t let go. Not that it was much of an option for her, since I was hugging her back.

“Awww….” I glanced over at the sound and saw Pinkie Pie staring at us hopefully with those big, blue eyes. “Can I get in on this hugging action, too?”

“You bet!” Plum said at the exact same moment that I shouted, “Hell, no!”

Pinkie Pie pouted while Plum frowned at me.

“You know she came all the way from Ponyville, right?” Plum asked archly. “She didn’t have to do that!”

“Well, yeah, but…” I looked over. Pinkie’s pout had actually increased in intensity, and she’d added in the woeful puppy-dog eyes to boot.

“Come on, Cinnamon,” Plum said, poking me in the ribs. “Don’t be a grump.”

“But… Ah, geeze, fine,” I grumbled. “Just knock it off with the soulful eyes routine.”

“Yay!” Pinkie bounded over to us and gathered us both into a big hug. “See? Isn’t this nice?”

Plum giggled. I counted to five.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said. I waited a few more seconds. “I said that’s enough. Pinkie? Pinkie!”

“Sooo… cuddly…” Pinkie crooned.

“Pinkie Pie!” I barked.

“Oh, fine!” Pinkie said with a pout, releasing us so suddenly that I stumbled and fell on my rump. She was unfazed by my death glare as I picked myself back up. “Still a grouch, huh?”

“And damned proud of it,” I said, dusting myself off.

“Come on, Cinnamon!” Plum said urgently. I glanced over to see that she was practically dancing in place. “You have to come in and talk to Zecora. She’s so cool! And she talks in rhymes!”

“In rhymes. Really?”

“Yupperoonie!” Pinkie said while bouncing in place. “It’s, like, a zebra thing, or something.”

I snorted as the three of us walked—or in Pinkie’s case, bounced—towards the front door.

“The last zebra I talked to didn’t rhyme all that much,” I said dryly.

“Well, Zecora sure does!” Pinkie chirped. Two minutes, and she was already getting on my nerves, but I could forgive a lot for the pony who had brought me the poison joke cure. “I keep trying to get her to end a sentence with ‘orange’ or ‘purple’, but she never falls for it.”

I grunted, the monosyllabic response temporarily silencing conversation until Plum sighed.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cinnamon,” she said softly. “I was so worried when you fainted after you got your cutie mark, but Mom packed me up and brought me home before I could make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah,” I said with a grimace. “Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit…”

“Oh my gosh,” Pinkie said. I glanced back to see her staring wide-eyed at me. “You just got your cutie mark?!”

Plum and I exchanged a confused look.

“Uh, maybe not the one I was expecting, but yeah,” I replied.

“But that’s… I didn’t…” Pinkie gaped at me for a second before blurting, “I gotta go!”

Plum and I watched in disbelief as the pink pony ran off in the distance.

“What was that?” Plum asked.

I shrugged. “That was Pinkie Pie, I guess.”

We started walking again, making our way through Plum’s still open front door. I heard Zecora’s voice well before I saw her, a smooth and melodic voice that practically radiated self-confidence and tranquility. She was saying something to Mulberry that I couldn’t quite pick up, though I did hear Tapioca’s name.

The zebra broke off and looked over at us when we came in, a gentle smile on her exotic features. I gave her a respectful nod, but most of my attention was on Mulberry. Zecora hopefully had the cure, but I had made myself sick with guilt for the last few days thinking of what I’d say to Mulberry when I saw her next. She was looking at me, her face neutral and unreadable, and my mouth dried out as I started trying to talk to her.

“Mulberry,” I started saying, “I have a lot to explain—”

Mulberry held up a hoof. “I’ve heard most of the rest of it from Plum over the last few days,” she said. “So, I know about the poison joke, and I know you’re actually a police stallion from Ponyville.”

Even though her tone was perfectly level, I still flinched. Guilt can do that to a pony.

“That’s right,” I said.

“So, I just want to know why,” Mulberry said, a frown flickering across her muzzle. “Why pretend to be Plum’s friend? Why hide it all from me? What did you expect to get out of it?”

The fact that she sounded more curious than hurt or angry was a small comfort to me. I dredged the words up and forced them out as best I could.

“I wasn’t pretending to be her friend,” I said carefully. My stomach was churning like a hurricane and I felt like I was going to be sick. “And it wasn’t my intention to lie to you. It’s just… everypony treated me like I was crazy whenever I told them. I got tired of it.”

“I guess I can understand that,” she said, offering me a wan smile.

I sighed. “There’s more than just that.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve seen how my mother is,” I said, struggling to drag the right words out. “You’ve seen how she treats me.”

“Yes, I have,” she said, frowning. “I’m just realizing how weird it is that she was treating you like a little kid this whole time. She actually made you go to school?”

“She has… issues,” I hedged. “And… please, don’t think I’m crazy, but it was nice coming over here and…” This was even harder than I thought it would be. “And, it was nice pretending like I could be part of a normal family,” I finally admitted. “I haven’t had that since my dad died.”

“Not sure I’d consider us ‘normal’ after everything that just happened, but I suppose that makes sense.” Her shoulders relaxed visibly and she smiled with a little more life this time. “And you did risk your tail to try and get me out of that place. I guess I can forgive a lot for that.”

Relief washed over me in a rolling wave. I found myself smiling back at her.

“So, what now?” I asked.

Mulberry titled her head and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m hoping to turn back into a stallion soon,” I said. I couldn’t stop myself from fidgeting with my front hooves. “Will you still allow me to stop by? I’d like to consider all of you my friends.”

I waited, heart pounding, while Mulberry gave me a long and measuring look. Next to me, Plum was holding her breath, which she let out explosively when her mother gave a quick, sharp nod.

“After all you’ve done for us? Of course you’re a friend of this family!”

I sagged with relief. The last few days had made me realize how much I’d come to count on little Plum’s constant twittering to lift my spirits. Without her around, I didn’t know what I’d do. Fortunately, it seemed like I wouldn’t need to find out.

“Thank you,” I said softly as Plum hugged me. I couldn’t keep the stupid grin off of my face.

“I believe it is time I was introduced to you,” the zebra said from her chair. Mulberry blushed, probably realizing she’d never introduced us. “I am Zecora, maker of many a potion and brew.”

I turned and braced myself. This was it, the moment I had waited so long for.

“Hello, Zecora,” I said, trying to keep my eager impatience under control. “I understand that you’ve brought me something?”

Zecora smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Indeed I have, Cinnamon Swirl, the stallion with the body of a girl. An herbal brew, lovely to behold. It will soon return you to the pony of old.”

My breath caught in my throat as she pulled something out of the saddlebags next to her chair. It was a small cloth bag, a delicate shade of purple with a familiar blue flower embroidered on the front. Zecora pulled it out by the drawstring and held it out to me.

I reached out with trembling hooves and took the bag away from her, crushing it to my chest. As I did, a whiff of floral scent puffed out into my nostrils. It was spicy, sweet and exotic. It smelled of fresh rain on a spring day. It smelled wonderful.

“The cure is quite the simple recipe to prepare, when all is told,” Zecora said, nodding at the pouch in my trembling hooves. “I’ve also made copies of the recipe for your spas, library and hospitals to hold. Simply upend the pouch into a bath of hot water, and soon you will no longer be your mother’s daughter.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I caught Plum’s look out of the corner of my eye. “What? I thought you’d be happy for me!”

“I am,” she said, wiping away a tear. “I’m happy for you, I am! But I’m kind of sad for me. I’m going to miss playing with you, Cinnamon.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Me too. But I have to do this. I have to fix my life!”

“I am afraid that is something the cure cannot provide,” Zecora said. I blinked and looked back at her. “Only the poison joke will be reversed once it is applied.”

I was at a loss. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“The cure will return you to a stallion, it is true. But are there not other things that trouble you?”

My jaw clenched as my mind worked. Things that trouble me? Oh, my life is full of them. My mom immediately came to mind, banging around in that dusty and cluttered old house, driving away everyone she loved. I didn’t want to let that happen, but I was powerless to fix it. Then there was Vanilla Sweet and Ivy at school. If I were gone, what would happen to Plum?

And then there was the way my heart ached when I’d realized that I would never hang out with Plum again, at least not like we had been. That was a surprise.

“I can only fix what I can,” I said. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Only you can decide, my friend. But by using that brew, some options will end.”

“What, am I supposed to use being a filly to fix my mom, somehow?” To say I was skeptical would be an understatement. But even as I said it, an idea began to form. I held up a hoof to forestall any interruptions while I thought for a minute.

Finally, I turned to Mulberry, took a deep breath, and said, “Mulberry, I know you’ve been through a rough time lately, but would it be alright if I asked you for some advice?”

Mulberry’s initial startled look melted away into a smile.

“Of course,” she said.

And then I began laying out the foundations of my plan.

~~*~~

The house was eerily silent upon my return. The darker corners of my mind taunted me, replaying the earlier confrontation, taking special care to beat me over the head with the memories of Mom sobbing and crying like a heartbroken little filly. The house was so quiet, it was as if nopony was home. Nopony alive, at least.

I found Mom in her sewing room, her head down on the folding table she used as a workspace. She was incredibly still, and a spike of fear froze my heart before I saw an ear twitch. I sighed in relief and stepped inside.

“Mom?” I said. “We need to talk.”

Silence at first, drawing out between us and filling the room.

“Nothing to talk about,” she mumbled eventually.

“Sure there is,” I said. “I’ve got the cure to the poison joke.”

Silence again as she lifted her head to look down at me.

“Why are you still a filly?”

Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I had heard a voice like that before, back when I’d been a police officer. It had been a case that had haunted me for years. A mare with bruises on her face had said, in that same tone, “He promises he’ll stop drinking, this time.” He had lied.

I shook my head, trying to clear that image out of my mind, reminding myself that it was a different time, a different mare, and a completely different situation.

“Because there’s something I need from you.”

I took the drawstring in my teeth and pulled the pouch out of my saddlebags. Mom’s eyes followed it as I dropped it to the floor.

“I hereby declare our old Deal null and void,” I said. I gave it a few seconds to sink in. “In its place, I suggest a new Deal.”

Mom straightened out in her seat as confusion washed over her features.

“What? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple,” I said. “A bargain. I have something you want. But in order to get it, you have to do something for me.”

She frowned, not in anger but in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m offering to stay this way for a while. For a while,” I said, holding up a hoof as her eyes widened and her mouth opened. “Until I can’t deal with it anymore, at least. I’ll play your daughter, in public and even at home, but on my terms, not yours.”

She ran a shaking hoof through her mane. “Why would you do that? I thought you hated being a filly.”

I shrugged. “I hated not having a choice. I hated not having control over my life. I hated the loss of identity I felt. I hated… well, a lot of things, including being a filly. But I have this, now,” I said, pointing a hoof at the pouch with the cure. “Not only that, but Zecora, the zebra who gave me the cure, left another pouch over at the Pudding house. She also delivered a copy of the recipe to the hospital, the library, and several local spas. I can change back whenever I want.” I grinned at her. “That gives me the control I’ve been missing. It gives me a choice. And, while I’ve got that choice, it’s easier to deal with the rest.”

Almost a full minute went by while she parsed that, staring at the lavender pouch with its blue flower the whole time.

“And what do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I want my mom back,” I said. I held up a hoof again when she started talking. “No. Don’t say anything yet, just listen. You’ve spent almost two decades doing nothing but withdrawing from everypony who cared about you.”

And here was the part where everything could fall apart. It all came down to one question: Was having a little strawberry-colored filly in the house worth what I was going to ask of her? Would she pay my price?

“Mulberry gave me this,” I said before pulling a small card out of my saddlebags. “I think it might help you.”

I passed the card to Mom, who took it with a doubtful look that turned immediately hostile when she read what was printed on it.

“Therapy?!” The stool clattered across the floor as Mom shot to her hooves. “I don’t need therapy! That’s for crazy ponies! I’m not…” Her chest heaved, pushing a whimper out of her muzzle. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Crazy, no,” I said, shaking my head. “But you’re obviously not happy. I think you put off dealing with Dad dying, because you were focused on the foal you were carrying. And when you lost the foal—”

“If you have to talk about her, you can at least call her by her name!” Mom shouted, stomping a hoof. “Her name was Strawberry, not ‘the foal’.” Her face twisted, too many emotions to count flashing across her features. “She was your sister.”

“I know, Mom. I know.” I sighed. “And I can’t imagine how much that hurt, losing her.”

“No, you can’t!”

She was getting shrill, now. And I was amazed to note that I felt nothing but calm and in control.

“And that’s why I’m saying to go to therapy. This is something that nopony should have to deal with alone. There are support groups, too. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“And if I say no?”

I smiled sadly. The challenge in her voice told me that saying no was her current favored option.

“Then I go,” I say. “I give myself a bath, change back to the old me, and stay in the guest room at the Pudding house until I get a job and my own apartment again. And maybe I’ll stop by every now and then to visit you, but probably not very often, because seeing you like this hurts me, Mom. It hurts everyone who loves you.”

Her mouth worked silently for a few seconds, and I knew she was teetering.

“How about this,” I said, by way of nudging her. “Small steps. Don’t agree to the whole thing right now. Give it… let’s say, five sessions. If you can’t stand it, I won’t make you go back.”

She considered this for a moment. “But you’ll change back if I don’t go,” she said, following the train of thought to its logical conclusion.

“That’s right.”

Mom scowled at the card in her upturned hoof, and I gave her a minute to think.

“Can we even afford this?” she asked.

“Dad’s survivor benefits will cover it.” I managed to keep my face still while I wondered if I actually had managed to convinced her.

She grunted and went back to studying the card in her hoof. I gave her a few seconds, then decided I could give her some more time to think on it.

“I don’t need an answer right now,” I said eventually. “I’ll give you the rest of the day to think about it. Let me know by the end of today, so I know whether or not I have to get up for school in the morning.”

She blinked at me in surprise and I shrugged.

“One session,” she said finally. “I’ll agree to one.”

“Four,” I said, hiding the sudden burst of elation I felt by exercising a colossal amount of willpower. “You’ll most likely hate your first one. You’re gonna need to get used to it.”

“Two,” she said. “The first one to get my hooves wet, and the second one to see if I can stand going.”

I shook my head. “I’m reluctantly willing to go down to three, but no less.”

Mom took in a deep breath and then released it in a long, shuddering exhale.

“Alright,” she said. “I agree to this new Deal.”

I let out a shaky sigh of my own.

“Alright,” I replied with a nod. “In that case, there are a few things I need to take care of.”

“Such as?” Mom asked.

“Such as heading back to the Plum’s house for a little while.” I grinned up at her. “Mulberry promised to take care of something for me.”

~~*~~

The bell rang, and dozens of students flooded the playground in a swirling, chaotic cacophony of youthful exuberance. Not me, though. I’d been asked to stay behind during recess.

“I don’t get it,” Persimmon said by way of an opening statement. “Why are you even here?”

“Am I not welcome?” I asked, putting on a hurt expression.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Persimmon’s reply was curt, and I couldn’t help chuckling.

Persimmon had trotted into class that morning with her mane tied back up in its usual bun. She hadn’t noticed me sitting there, at first. The stunned look on her face when she looked up and saw me grinning back at her first thing in the morning would be a treasured memory for the rest of my life.

“It’s something I worked out with my mom,” I said. “She gets professional help getting her life back together, and I stay like this to provide moral support.”

“What are you going to do when you get the cure, though?” she asked.

“Already got it,” I said, causing her to flick her tail in surprise. “I’ll use it when I’m ready. There’s no rush.”

Persimmon shook her head in blank astonishment.

“That’s a lot more caring and giving than I expected of you,” she admitted.

“I can be a pretty cool guy, when I want to be,” I said with a shrug.

“Alright, alright,” she said, laughing. “I guess you’re the one in charge of this situation, not me.”

“You’re damned right I am,” I said, grinning. “Mind if I head out? I promised Plum some playtime after what happened yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

I grimaced. “There was… kind of a disastrous attempt at a surprise cute-ceañera for me at the Pudding residence yesterday afternoon.”

Persimmon stared at me for a few seconds before breaking out laughing. “A cute-ceañera? Oh, boy, I bet that went over well!”

“Don’t blame me!” I said, waving my forehooves in protest. “That was all Pinkie Pie’s doing! Things got a little… interesting. It took Plum almost an hour to get the frosting out of her hair.”

“Who is Pinkie Pie?” Persimmon asked while tilting her head. .

“You don’t want to know,” I said with a shudder. “She came here from Ponyville with her friend, a zebra named Zecora, to give me the cure, and to see if Zecora could help Plum’s dad.”

“Oh!” Persimmon’s ears perked up at that. “How is he doing?”

“He’s not out of the woods, yet,” I said, “but he’s doing better already. Zecora said it could take weeks for him to be back on his hooves, but if he follows his rehab schedule, he should have a full recovery.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, I’m going to go hang out with Plum, and make sure Vanilla doesn’t mess with her.”

Persimmon shook her head. “Not much chance of that. Our staff has been told to make sure those two stay far apart.”

“Good to hear.”

I started walking to the door, stopping when I heard Persimmon call out my name.

“Cinnamon? One last thing.”

“Yes?” I said, looking back over my shoulder.

“I really like your new manestyle,” she said.

I grinned and ran a hoof through my newly cropped mane. It wasn’t exactly like what I’d had as a stallion, but it was good enough for now.

“Thanks,” I said. “Mulberry cut it for me. I think it suits me a lot better than ribbons.”

Persimmon smiled and nodded, and I went outside into what was surely one of the last nice days of autumn to join my friend.

Author's Notes:

Stay tuned, there's more coming up tomorrow (a bonus chapter, epilogue and author's/editor's notes, which are still being tweaked).

Many thanks to my editing team, listed in no particular order
Ekevoo
Merlos the Mad
Brilliant Point
Coandco
And thanks to Ludicrous Lycan for his thoughts and suggestions while pre-reading.

Bonus chapter: Cutie-pocalypse Now

“In that case, there are a few things I need to take care of,” I said.

“Such as?” Mom asked.

“Such as heading back to the Plum’s house for a little while.” I grinned up at her. “Mulberry promised to take care of something for me.”

A hurt look flashed across Mom’s face. “You’re leaving already?”

“Just for a little while,” I said.

The look on her face was tearing at my heart. I walked over to her, reared up on my back hooves and gave her a hug.

“I’ll be back,” I said into the fur of her chest. I felt her foreleg wrap around my back. “I just need to go take care of a few things.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice soft.

We held that way for a few seconds before breaking. I let myself back down on all four hooves and studied the floor for a few seconds. Some dust must have gotten in my eyes.

When I felt ready, I looked up at her just in time to see her smile. I smiled back.

“See ya soon,” I said as I walked to the front door.

“See you soon,” she replied.

I closed the door gently behind me and finally felt able to breathe again. Things had turned out far better than I’d expected. Mom had agreed to therapy, I wasn’t restricted by the Deal anymore, and above and beyond anything else, I now had the poison joke cure.

The little lavender pouch with the blue flower embroidered on it was hanging from its drawstring, which was looped around my neck. I reached up a hoof to touch it, as if to reassure myself that it was actually there.

I couldn’t help breaking into a wide grin. For the first time in weeks, my heart felt like it was beating freely. The world was stretched out before me, and I could take whatever path I wanted. I was free.

But first, there was a little matter I needed to take care of at the Pudding house. Mulberry had asked me to let her know if I’d need the guest room tonight. She had also promised to give me a manecut if things worked out right, and dammit if I wasn’t going to take advantage of that just as soon as I could.

I was nearly skipping as I trotted down the road, my hooves feeling light as a feather as I moved through the light Sunday crowd. The wide smile on my face felt like a permanent part of my features. That is, until I saw a suspicious flash of pink out of the corner of my eye.

Suddenly, I was wary and on edge again. I walked quickly towards where I’d seen that pink, and sure enough I saw a familiar pony walking down the street. She was wearing a pensive frown and staring at the cobblestones as she walked, an expression I wasn’t used to seeing on her face.

“Pinkie Pie,” I said, not loudly. She jumped anyway, as if I’d blown a trumpet in her ears.

“Cinnamon!” she yelped. “Ah! Hah! Hi! Er… Hi. How are ya?”

My eyes narrowed as a wide and slightly plastic grin stretched its way across Pinkie’s face. Definitely not suspicious at all.

“So, what are you up to?” I asked the pink pony.

“Uh, nothing,” she replied.

I scowled at her. If this pony had looked any more shifty, she would have been arrested just on general principle.

“What’s in the bags?” I asked.

Pinkie blinked her big blue eyes. “What bags?” she asked.

“The ones hanging off your back,” I said deadpan as I pointed at her saddlebags. “The ones that look like they’re about to explode, they’re packed so full. Those bags.”

“Oh,” Pinkie said, looking back at the bags as if she’d never seen them before. “These bags?”

“Yes.”

“You’re saying you want to know what’s in these bags,” Pinkie said. “Only, I wanted to be sure that’s what you were asking, and you weren’t asking about those bags back there.”

Pinkie pointed a hoof back over my shoulder and I was cursing myself even as I started looking. It was the oldest trick in the book. I snapped my head back around… to see Pinkie Pie still standing in front of me with a stunned expression on her face.

“You’re still here,” I said, surprised.

“I wasn’t expecting that you’d actually fall for that,” she admitted sheepishly.

“So, the bags?”

“Well, just a few odds and ends,” Pinkie said. Her plastic grin widened. “I’m taking some souvenirs back to Ponyville!”

“Right,” I said. She wilted slightly under my glare, but the smile stayed put. “So, you don’t have any weird plans?”

“Weird plans? I don’t know what you oh, my gosh, what’s that?!” Pinkie shrieked, pointing a trembling hoof behind me.

“Like I’m gonna fall for—hey!”

Pinkie just took off running. Credit where it’s due, that pony is fast. I stared after her until she vanished around a corner. Then I shrugged and continued on my way. The sooner I got to the Pudding house, the better.

Mulberry looked surprised to see me when she opened the door. “Back already? And not a stallion, I see.”

I shook my head. “Nope. It actually went better than I’d hoped it would. She’s agreed to go to therapy, I agreed to stay a filly on my terms while she works some stuff out.”

“Oh, Cinnamon, I’m so happy for you!”

“Yeah… it’s a huge weight off my withers, I can tell you,” I replied. “So, anyway… you mentioned you might be willing to..?”

I flipped my heavy braid with a hoof. Mulberry’s look of understanding was almost immediately eclipsed by one of worry. When she laughed, there was a nervous edge to it. “Well, um. Sure, I guess. Come on in!”

I frowned. Mulberry was acting a little strangely, but the why of it was escaping me. Still, it wasn’t like it made sense to stand out on the doorstep until I figured it out. I went inside the house, wondering what was up.

“Why don’t we, uh…” Mulberry trailed off, looking around with a hopeless expression on her face.

I was immediately pierced by a sense of guilt. The mare and her family had been through hell this last week, and here I was demanding a manecut out of nowhere. It was pretty clear she wasn’t comfortable with doing this right that moment. I decided to get out of the situation as gracefully as I could.

“You know, it doesn’t have to be right now,” I said. “It could be tomorrow after school. Or I could just grab some scissors and do it myself.”

“What? No! Don’t you dare try to cut your own mane!” Mulberry shuddered. “That never turns out well. Wait, did you say school?”

“Yeah. May as well go back. Not like I’ve got a lot else to do. Maybe Persimmon will let me read books during the more boring lessons.”

“Oh, I… um. I see.” Mulberry fidgeted on her front hooves for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I’ll do the manecut. I’ll do it tonight, even! I just need to figure out where…”

Mulberry trailed off as her daughter wandered out of the kitchen with a case of juice boxes balanced on her back. Plum stopped, then stared at me with something that looked disturbingly like panic.

“Cinnamon?!” she blurted. “You’re not supposed to—”

“Plum!” Mulberry’s voice was loud enough to make the filly jump. “Can you, uh… Oh! Can we use your room? I was going to give Cinnamon a quick manecut.”

“Are you sure, Mom?” Plum asked before shooting me an aside glance. “But what about the..?”

“Nevermind!” Mulberry replied hastily. “We can worry about that later! The important thing is to get her... oh, sorry, him up to your room right now and out of the living room.”

Something in that bizarrely accented statement must have clicked in Plum’s head, because a look of sudden comprehension came over her.

“Ohhhh, right! My room!” Plum smiled weakly. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m, uh… I’m going to just wait down here. For… um… very good reasons.”

“Right,” I said, forcing my face to remain straight.

“So, um… have a good time getting your mane cut!”

“Up we go, then,” I said. “See you later, Plum.”

Plum sagged with relief, which meant that she had to reach back quickly to steady the case of juice boxes as it started to slide off of her back.

“And I got all this juice out because I’m very, very thirsty,” Plum said desperately.

“Of course,” I said, as Mulberry groaned and facehoofed next to me.

“Uh, later, Cinnamon!” Plum said.

“Later, Plum.”

I bounded my way up to Plum’s room. Mulberry trailed behind me after making a detour to grab a chair, a large bath towel and a pair of mane shears. She smiled awkwardly at me as I climbed up into the chair. Then she draped the towel around me to catch any stray clippings.

“So, how do you want it?” she asked, then flinched at the sound of somepony knocking on the front door.

“Short,” I said. “I want it easy to wash. Oh, and you can take all the time you want.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I grinned at up at her. “After all, we wouldn’t want to wrap this up while they’re still setting up the party, right?”

Mulberry sighed. “You figured it out, huh?”

“Subtlety isn’t exactly Plum’s strong suit,” I said with a shrug. “I assume it’s all Pinkie’s idea?”

“Yeah, she came back shortly after you left…” Mulberry trailed off thoughtfully. “I’m not sure how much I should tell you about it.”

“Ah. It’s a surprise party, then?”

“Damn,” Mulberry whispered. Then she flushed a deep red. “I mean, um… Yes. Well, it was supposed to be.”

I sighed. “I hate surprise parties,” I admitted.

“Oh. Should I tell them to call it off?”

“What, are you kidding?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “I would rather cut off my tail than disappoint Plum like that!”

Mulberry’s look of surprise melted away into a warm smile. “You're a good friend, Cinnamon.”

Now it was my turn to blush. “I just can’t break a little kid’s heart, that’s all,” I muttered.

Mulberry’s smile was a little too knowing for comfort. “Well, let’s get started, then,” she said.

The next half an hour passed faster than I would have expected. Great huge hunks of my mane were clipped away to fall in a golden pile on the floor. Meanwhile, Mulberry and I talked about nothing much in particular. I talked about my past, mostly anecdotes about my brothers being immature jerks, and Mulberry mentioned her sister and some of the good and bad times they had growing up together.

All the while, we both did our best to ignore the sounds coming from the first floor as guests arrived and furniture was rearranged. I wondered vaguely who all was here. Aside from Plum, there weren’t many ponies I could think of who would come to a surprise party for me. Hopefully Pinkie hadn’t done something too crazy, like invite my entire class from school.

“All done,” Mulberry said eventually. She went over to Plum’s dresser and nabbed a small hoof-mirror, which she brought over and held up in front of me.

The difference was amazing. I’d asked for short, and that’s what I’d gotten. The ridiculous braid was gone and my mane was now a coltish few inches in length. I turned from side to side to get a better look, noticing right away how much lighter my head felt.

“It looks good,” I said finally, rubbing a hoof along my head and enjoying how it felt. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Mulberry said with a smile. “Well, I guess I’ll go down and see how your party is going.”

I nodded. “I’ll wait up here. Let me know when it’s time to come down and be surprised.”

Mulberry snickered as she walked out of the room. I spent a while poking around Plum’s room, looking at the pictures on her wall and desk and reading the spines of the books she had in her little bookcase. During that time, I heard the front door open a couple more times, and the occasional burst of voices downstairs.

Even with the great relief I’d felt when my mom had agreed to therapy, even with getting the cure, I was worn out. I wasn’t in the mood for a party.

“Hey, Cinnamon!” Plum’s voice called from downstairs. “Stop messing around in my room and come down here!”

I sighed. For Plum’s sake, I would act surprised. I would act happy. I would pretend to enjoy this party, no matter how desperately I just wanted it to be over.

I braced myself before I walked down the stairs. I had expected them to jump out at me the minute my first hoof hit the ground floor, but nothing happened. Nopony was there. I looked around as I tried to figure out where the heck everypony was and then made my way to the living room.

Somepony, a filly by the sounds of it, giggled as I walked into the living room. So, this is where it was going to happen. I put on my best confused face and called out, “Plum?”

It came from my blind spot. I had barely sensed the movement of something dropping from the ceiling and landing behind me before that same something shrieked “Surprise!” directly into my ear.

I didn’t exactly need to pretend being surprised. I jumped halfway out of my skin, heart hammering as I jumped and stumbled sideways. Somewhere in the distance, a little filly screamed. I could only hope that it wasn’t me.

“I gotcha!” Pinkie Pie said, grinning hugely.

I could only stare at her for a long moment, my hoof clasped to my chest while I waited for my heart to explode or my lungs to collapse.

“You pink maniac!” I eventually managed.

“Surprise!” came from behind me, though I wasn’t startled this time. I turned to see several fillies pop out from behind random bits of furniture. Except for Plum, none of them were from my class, but I recognized them all. Plum’s friends from the slumber party, all of them with huge grins on their faces.

Pinkie chose that moment to turn on the light switch for the Pudding’s living room, and my jaw dropped at the changes I saw. The furniture had been pushed back against the walls to clear out a central space. Streamers in every color were strewn around the room, along with balloons tied anywhere there was space. The balloons also came in an eye-watering variety of colors, and more shapes than I could easily register. There were even some twisted into balloon animal shapes, bobbing festively at the ends of their strings.

The table was laden with a gigantic punchbowl, and the juice boxes from earlier were stacked in a pyramid next to the bowl, giving ponies an option for drinks. But I barely noticed that, because dominating the table was a multi-tiered construction of pastel colored confection, easily the largest cake I’d ever seen. I swear, the heavy oak table was bowed and groaning beneath the weight of it.

To put a topper on the decorations, a huge banner was tacked on the wall above the cake. It read “Happy Cute-ceañera Cinnamon Sugar Swirl!”

I blanched as I read my full name, exposed on the rippling cloth. Pointing a trembling hoof at the sign, I turned to Pinkie and demanded to know, “How did you know my full name?!”

“I told her,” a familiar voice said. Mom stepped into the living room, a look of horror on her face. “What did you do to your mane?!”

“Cut it,” I said. “It suits me better like this.”

“You could have asked me!” She stomped a hoof and laid her ears back. “You look like a boy!”

Red flashed before my eyes. I opened my mouth, a stinging reply loaded. Plum cut me off, which probably spared everypony in the room from having to listen to the two of us arguing.

“Yeah, it looks awesome!” Plum said as she trotted forward. “Hey, did we surprise you?”

I looked into her hopeful, grinning face and gave her the only answer I could. “You could definitely say I’m surprised, Plum.”

“Success!” Pinkie crowed, clapping her forehooves together.

“Where the heck did you get that cake?” I asked Pinkie Pie.

“Oh! That was super easy,” she said. “I went to the local bakery to see what they had, and it turned out that some ponies who were going to get married today canceled at the last minute. Something about the groom being arrested for corruption and conspiracy regarding some sort of smuggling operation. So I got it for cheap!”

“Ah,” I said, trying to process exactly how I felt about that and failing.

“And I even got them to put your cutie mark on it!” Pinkie said excitedly before scooping me up. She reared up on her hind hooves and held me up towards the ceiling, ignoring my reflexive bleat of protest. “See?”

“Put me down, you lunatic!” I shouted.

“Look at the cutie mark!” Pinkie demanded. “Look at it!”

I looked at the top of the cake. The frosting on the very top, where the figures for the bride and groom would have been, had obviously been replaced. Into the new frosting was etched a green police shield with a magnifying glass.

“It’s the wrong color,” I said flatly.

“What?!” Pinkie lowered me to her eye-level and stared at my flank. “Oooh!” she said, stamping a rear hoof. “If they hadn’t done that for free, I’d ask for my money back!”

“It’s fine!” I said, in a voice distressingly close to a panicked squeal. “We’re just going to eat it anyway, right?”

“But… I wanted this to be perfect.”

I looked over at the mare and was startled to see her lower lip wobbling and tears welling up in her eyes. Guilt stabbed at me.

“Pinkie, it is perfect,” I said quickly. “So the design is a little off. It’s still going to taste good, right?”

“Yeah!” Plum said, adding in her two bits. “It’s going to be great, Pinkie! Nopony else could have put together a party like this in such a short time. It’s fantastic!”

“Really?” Pinkie said, squeezing me to her chest in a hug and ignoring my attempts to wriggle out of it.

“Really,” I grated, no longer feeling guilty at all. “Could you put me down?”

“Oh, sure,” she said.

And then that crazy mare dropped me. I fell on my backside and glared up at her, but she was too busy being oblivious to notice. While Plum helped me back up on my hooves, I glanced around the room, taking in everypony. Peachy Keen, Lilac and Windy were all talking in a group. Mom was off sulking in a corner, probably upset about my mane, and Mulberry was standing next to her and talking softly.

Lemon Squeeze was standing by herself in the middle of the room. The little yellow unicorn’s wide eyes suddenly narrowed with determination as she stared at the gigantic cake on the table.

“When are we eating?” the filly demanded of the room at large.

“Whenever Cinnamon says we can,” Pinkie Pie chirped.

I shrank back as Lemon turned her megawatt stare onto me, comprised of equal parts eagerness, pleading and demand. And she wasn’t the only one. All of the fillies in the room locked their eyes onto me, staring as if I was the last hope they had before starving to death.

“Any time is fine with me,” I said with a shrug. “Let’s cut the cake.”

A general cheer went up, and I waved off Pinkie’s attempt to pass me a cake knife. That cake was too huge. I’d just end up making a mess out of the thing if I tried to cut it.

Soon enough, everypony but Pinkie Pie had a piece of repurposed and very expensive wedding cake. Pinkie was too busy passing out plates and napkins, getting drinks, and putting on the music. I groaned internally when I recognized Sapphire Shores belting out some homogenized pop song from the record player. But, hey, at least the cake was good.

Plum waved down Pinkie Pie after a few minutes and whispered something in her ear. Pinkie grinned, nodded, and zipped off. A few seconds later, Sapphire’s voice disappeared with the sound of a scratching needle. Moments later, a familiar tune came from the corner where the record player sat.

“Now this is music,” I said, as Days and Night’s third and best album began to play.

“If you say so, grandpa,” Plum said, grinning while she nudged me in the ribs.

“I ain’t that old, kid,” I said with a snort. She stuck her tongue out at me, and I couldn’t help laughing.

And, you know, it turns out that the party wasn’t as bad as I had expected. Not that I was enjoying myself, of course. I mean, playing pin the tail on the pony was a little juvenile, and it’s not like I had any fun when we played beanbag tic-tac-toe, especially since Pinkie Pie went undefeated. I only smiled a few times when we played charades. Whacking that piñata with a stick may have been satisfying, but that was just because it let me work out some of my frustrations. And when we went out back to play a long and chaotic game of freeze tag, I barely laughed at all, and…

Fine. I had fun, dammit, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

From time to time, I would see Mom as she watched us play. The look on her face was… complicated. She was smiling and looked about to burst out crying at the same time. It wasn’t a sour note, not exactly, but I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, I didn’t. I kept my mind on the games as the day flew by.

Sugar filled us to the brim as we went back for seconds, thirds, and even (in Lemon Squeeze’s case) fifths of that deliciously rich cake with its buttery frosting. As the sun went down and the party moved back indoors, we found the little yellow filly on the floor, groaning and lying on her back. She started to lever herself up, her head rising over her distended belly like a tiny yellow sun.

“C’n I have more cake?” she whispered plaintively, the pain evident in her voice.

“Sweetie, I think you’ve had enough,” Mulberry said. “You’re going to be sick if you keep that up.”

“You did good, though, kid,” Pinkie Pie said after she downed her eighth slice of cake. “Almost kept up with me!”

Lemon scowled and rocked back and forth until she had enough momentum to roll back up onto her hooves. When she glared at the cake, I followed her gaze. Even with as much as we’d eaten, we’d barely dented the thing. There must have been enough cake there for a couple hundred ponies and, even with the top two layers gone, the thing still stood taller than I did.

I saw trouble in the filly’s eyes as she marched her way slowly towards the table. Her face was set into a mask of pained determination, and I knew in an instant that this filly wasn’t going to let any mere cake beat her.

It was when she reared up on her hind hooves and tried to climb up onto the table that I realized that I’d underestimated her resolve. I shouted and started moving forward, but it was too late. The table, already overloaded, began to tip forward.

Lemon, her eyes wide and panicked, let go and started scrambling away. The other fillies shrieked in dismay as the table began to topple. The cake started moving forward, at first with a deceptively glacial slowness that gave way to a rapid but inexorable slide off of the table.

Time slowed down. Everypony was out of the way except for Plum, who was staring wide-eyed at the confectionary avalanche about to fall on her. I rushed forward, intending to knock her out of the way, but she chose that exact moment to try and bolt... in my direction.

My hooves skidded across the floor as I tried to stop myself. Plum and I ended up colliding, knocking the wind out of both of us as an enormous shadow loomed over the two of us. Plum grabbed hold of me, panic making her grip me like a vice, and started inhaling for what would have no doubt been an ear-splitting scream if only she’d had a chance to utter it.

And then the cake hit us. It was like being hit with a very heavy pillow, knocking the two of us to the floor with Plum still holding onto me. I pushed up with my hooves and my head popped out of the cake like a jack-in-the-box, and then I heaved, pulling Plum out of the cake and frosting that was now heaped on the floor.

Plum looked around with a stunned expression on her face. I waited and worried, hoping she wouldn’t be too upset that her party had just been ruined. Finally, her eyes made it around to me, and she just stared for a few seconds.

“Cinnamon,” she said gravely, “I think you have some cake in your hair.”

I smiled uncertainly as Plum burst out into hysterical giggles. The others in the room started laughing too, as if they’d been waiting on Plum’s reaction to tell if this situation were funny or not. Mulberry clucked her tongue and pulled her daughter out of the sticky mess, and my mom did the same for me while ignoring my protests that I could get myself out.

“Well,” Pinkie Pie said, “so much for sending home a few slices of cake with everypony!”

Lilac groaned at that. “Nice going, Lemon… hey!”

I glanced around to see Lemon Squeeze, an expression of pained satisfaction on her face, muzzle-deep into the collapsed cake and chewing with a relentless determination.

“No, sweetie,” Mulberry said as she pulled the filly away from the floor cake. “We don’t eat food off of the floor.”

Lemon made mumbling protests around the cake in her mouth as she flailed her hooves. Mulberry glanced at a window and heaved what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief.

“It’s getting late, and it’s a school night,” the mare said. “Maybe we should wrap this up. Lilac, can you keep your sister away from the cake?”

“Yes, Missus Pudding,” Lilac said, then immediately had to bite on her younger sister’s tail to keep her from running back to the crime scene.

“You know,” Plum said as I tried in vain to get the frosting out of my mane, “I was totally getting out of the way until you tried to ‘rescue’ me.”

“Yeah...” I said slowly. “Sorry about that, Plum.”

“So, I think it’s only fair to say you owe me for all of this.”

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “What is it that you want? I don’t have any money. You want some of the plushes out of my bedroom? I’m planning on getting rid of them.”

“No, though I’ll definitely take a few if you don’t want them.”

“Okay, then what?”

“You. Me. Playground, tomorrow. We do whatever I want the whole recess.”

I snorted and looked around. The fillies were already gathering by the door. Lemon was looking back at the cake with a forlorn longing in her eyes. I hoped the kid wasn’t going to be too scarred by this.

Much to my surprise, my own mother was coming out of the kitchen, hauling a broom, dustpan and garbage can. She set to, cleaning up the cake with a relentless efficiency while ignoring Lemon’s distressed squeaks from the doorway.

“Fine by me,” I said. “I owe you that much for throwing me the party.”

“Hey!” Pinkie Pie protested. “I helped!”

“You sure did, Pinkie,” I said with a solemn nod. “Thanks.”

Pinkie Pie beamed at me. It sure didn’t take much to make that mare happy.

“Almond?” Mulberry called from the doorway. My mom dropped the broom into the crook of her foreleg and looked up at her. “I’m going to walk the girls home. I can clean the cake up when I get back, but those two are going to need a bath.”

“Oh, I’ll clean up the cake,” Pinkie said. “Why don’t you get the girls into the bathtub?”

“I’m not a—” I started saying.

“Sounds good to me!” Mom said over me. I scowled up at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Alright, then,” Mulberry said, looking relieved. “Say goodnight, girls!”

“‘Night, all!” Plum said cheerfully. “Thanks for coming!”

She elbowed me in the ribs, prompting me to add, “Yeah, thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting us!” Peachy Keen said, and Windy nodded next to her.

“Sorry about Lemon,” Lilac said. “But we had fun! Didn’t we, Lemon?”

Lemon opened her mouth to say something, went a little cross-eyed, and then vomited noisily. Mulberry sighed and pressed a hoof to her forehead as the rest of the girls all shrieked in dismay and backed away from the mess.

“Rookie mistake,” Pinkie Pie said sadly from behind me. “The kid has potential, but she should have stopped half a slice earlier.” After a few seconds she added, “Wow, look at her go!”

It was pretty impressive, in an extremely horrifying way.

“Fantastic,” Mulberry said sourly once the filly was done.

“Sorry,” Lemon Squeeze mumbled.

Something about the shamed and miserable expression on Lemon Squeeze’s face moved me a little.

“Hey, it’s okay, kid,” I said. “I had fun, and you helped me have fun. So, I mean it when I say ‘Thank you’.”

The little filly looked at me for a moment, still looking a little green. But then she smiled. “I had fun, too,” she said.

“And on that note, I think it’s time to get you girls home,” Mulberry said as she stepped carefully around the mess in her foyer. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, then closed the front door behind her.

“Did you really have fun?” Plum asked me, a note of hope in her voice.

I hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. What was the point of hiding it? “Yeah, I had fun,” I said with a smile. “Thanks, Plum. For everything.”

We exchanged an extremely sticky hug, which my mother decided to interrupt.

“Bath time!” Mom said cheerfully. Ignoring my protests, she began herding us towards the stairs and, after asking Plum for directions, into the bathroom.

“Wait, wait, we’re going to take a bath at the same time?” I asked as my mom began filling the tub with steaming hot water.

“Why waste water?” Mom asked.

“Don’t worry, Cinnamon,” Plum said chipperly beside me. “I’ll let you play with the rubber duck.”

I opened my mouth intending to object. What came out instead was an unexpected laugh.

“Fine, you all win,” I said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

In the end, we were in the bathroom for over an hour. It could have been longer, but I’d had my mane cut nice and short earlier that day and was cleared of frosting in a matter of twenty minutes or so.

Plum took a bit more work, her wild mane holding onto the cake as if it were trying to absorb it. It took no less than five shampoos and rinses to get it all out, and even then she still smelled of vanilla. Mom helped her dry off as I cleaned out the tub, rinsing down the last crumbs of cake.

Mulberry had returned during Plum’s second rinse, poking her head into the bathroom just long enough to see that Mom had everything under control. She smiled and tipped me a wink before she withdrew. I don’t think either Mom or Plum noticed her.

I stopped mid-yawn when I got downstairs and looked around in wonder. The cake had been cleaned, as well as Lemon’s little “accident” by the front door. The furniture had been moved back to where it belonged, and all evidence of the party was gone.

“Wow,” I said, truly impressed. Apparently, Pinkie can clean quickly when she wants to.

“I know,” Mulberry said as she came out of the living room. “Oh, before she left, Pinkie wanted me to give you this.”

I took the little envelope from her, opened it and read it. Then I read it again.

“Huh,” I said. “Well, I guess she has a point.”

“What does it say?” Mom asked as she came down the stairs, a still-damp Plum trailing behind her.

I read the card out loud:

Dear Cinnamon, I hope you had a fun time! And I know things have been hard on you, because I know what it’s like to feel like you’re in the wrong body! But always remember, you are who you think you are. So, try to think of yourself as somepony wonderful, because you are!

Love and smooches,

Pinkie Pie

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” Plum said, giving me a slightly soggy hug.

“Yeah,” I said. “I feel bad, now.”

“Why is that?” Plum asked.

“I always blamed her for what happened to me. And it wasn’t really even her fault, when you get right down to it.” I frowned. “And I completely forgot about her going through the same thing, only worse.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the whole story,” Plum said.

“I admit, I’m interested too,” Mulberry added.

I glanced at my mom, who just shrugged.

“Alright, I guess I can tell you all about it,” I said. When Plum yawned, I chuckled and added, “Maybe not tonight, though.”

“Maybe not,” Mulberry said wryly.

We said our goodbyes, which included another hug from Plum and, surprisingly, Mulberry. Mom got a pair of hugs as well, which apparently shocked her down to her hooves. She didn’t stop smiling all the way home.

My mother and I stood awkwardly in our front hallway for a while, neither of us knowing what to say. I found my eyes drawn to the damaged wall between the hallway and the living room. The hole was ragged and ugly, but I knew it could be patched. Maybe I’d always think of the hole that was there even after it had been filled in. But then, maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe we would be able to move on…

I cut myself off when I realized I was thinking in metaphors.

“Mom,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “I know things between us have been… well, broken, I guess. But we can fix it. It will take a lot of work, but we can fix it.”

“Yeah,” Mom said. Then she added impishly, “I was looking at the hole in the wall, too.”

I couldn’t help it, I just started laughing. I didn’t even protest when she pulled me into a tight hug. Instead, I hugged her back. I didn’t have my mom back, not yet, but I could definitely feel her there in that embrace.

“I’m going to bed,” I said when we broke off the hug. “I have a lot I want to get done tomorrow.”

“Good night, Cinnamon,” she said.

I trotted up to my room and looked around. Pink and white filled my vision, along with a plush softness that still irked me. Still, I took some comfort in the knowledge that change was inevitable. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start making those changes.

I clambered into bed, and ended up having the best night of sleep I’d had in weeks.

Author's Notes:

I didn't feel comfortable putting this in the middle of the last chapter. I felt like it didn't fit, like it broke the flow of that chapter. I think it works better as a bonus chapter, and I hope that you do, too.

As always, many thanks to my editing team, listed in no particular order:
Merlos the Mad
Brilliant Point
Coandco
Ekevoo
(I should write it that way all the time, from now on. I like the slope their names make!)
With a special guest appearance by Ludicrous Lycan, providing thoughts and insights of a pre-readery nature.

Also, a quick "Thanks that she'll never see" to Allie Brosh of "Hyperbole and a Half" for her "God of Cake" blog post, which was part the inspiration for Lemon Squeeze in this chapter. The rest of the inspiration was, well, I really like cake.

Epilogue

“And that’s more or less what happened,” I said.

Soothing Voice peered at me over the top of the notepad he was holding in his forehooves. His horn glowed as he set his quill aside before pressing his hooves together and regarding me for a long and silent moment.

“That’s quite a story, Cinnamon,” he said eventually.

“That’s the truth,” I replied with a snort.

“And your mother… Almond, was it? Did she stay in therapy?”

“For almost a year, now,” I said, nodding.

“How are things at home?”

“Better,” I said. Then I grimaced, adding, “Well, usually. She’s digging up a lot of pain. She has her good days and her bad days.”

Soothing Voice nodded while making another note on his notepad.

“So, things are getting better, generally speaking. That’s good.” Another long stare came my way from the therapist before he said, “I’ll be frank, Mister Swirl, I’m having a hard time believing most of this story.”

“You don’t say,” I replied flatly.

“Yes. I mean, some weird plant turning you into a filly? I know there’s some weird magic out there, but—”

“Hold on,” I said, holding up a hoof.

I grunted as I heaved myself off of the couch I’d been laying on for the last forty minutes or so before walking over to where my saddlebags were hung up on the wall. It only took me a moment to find my battered thermos, which I placed on the floor. While I was at it, I also pulled out a small spray bottle, which I put next down next to my thermos.

“What’s that?” Soothing Voice asked me as I picked the thermos back up.

“Zecora, the zebra I told you about, sent me a special concoction. Apparently, she recently discovered a potion that will let a pony who was once affected by poison joke experience the same results again almost instantly.”

“You’re saying that potion will turn you into a filly,” the therapist said, his voice flat with disbelief.

“Since I was changed into a filly before, yeah,” I said while screwing off the top of the thermos. I held it out to him with a wicked smile on my face. “Want to give it a try?”

“No, thanks,” the therapist said.

“A good thing, because I have no idea what it would do to you,” I said. “Anyway, I’ll need to go get the cure later on, but that’s not a problem these days.”

That was especially true since I took over the gardening at home. Every plant needed for the cure was, by absolutely no coincidence, now growing in great abundance in our flower beds.

Soothing Voice had a mirror in his office attached to the back of his door, either because he was a little bit vain or because it served some weird therapy purpose. I took one last look at myself before taking the potion. When I had first changed back to a stallion, the fact that I had kept the new police shield cutie mark had been something of a surprise. The grey-blue shield still looked odd to me, forming a striking contrast to my rust-colored coat and black tail.

I had always considered myself to be an ugly stallion. After my jaunt into fillyhood, I found myself not caring so much about that anymore. Yeah, my ears were a bit on the large side, my teeth were a little crooked and my muzzle was too blunt to be considered handsome, but I was fit and healthy, broad across the barrel and well-muscled. Not only that, but it was amazing what a decent manecut could do to improve a stallion’s looks.

I grinned at my reflection and said goodbye to my stallionhood once again as I took just the barest sip of the poison joke potion in the thermos, grimacing as it ran over my tongue. It had an earthy taste, meaning that it tasted almost exactly like dirt. A familiar warmth in my belly began to spread out to the rest of my body while I hurriedly screwed the cap back onto the thermos. I didn’t have a whole ton of the poison joke potion, and I didn’t want to spill any.

“So, you wanna see something cool, Doc?” I said with a grin. “Watch this!”

“I told you, I’m a therapist but not a doc— oh, my sweet stars!”

My grin only grew at the look on his face. My head swirled with vertigo as the walls of the room shot up around me, and the floor was suddenly much, much closer to me.

“So, whaddaya think?” I asked once the change was complete.

“Ohh, aaaah…. Um.” Soothing Voice shook his head. “Your voice didn’t change,” he said weakly.

“Yeah,” I said with a grimace. “That’s part of the ‘joke’, I guess. I keep the same voice. After a day or two, it’ll change into a filly’s voice. No idea why. Or I could just use this stuff, also from Zecora.”

I picked up the spray bottle, aimed it towards my open mouth, and spritzed the bitter-tasting contents into my throat. After a grimace, I smacked my lips and cleared my throat.

“Testing,” I said, my voice already starting to rise in pitch. “Testing, one, two… ah, there we go. Perfect little filly voice, courtesy of zebra alchemy.”

We stared at each other for a minute or two before I scowled up at him.

“Hey, I paid for a full hour, so let’s not waste it. Alright?”

“What? Oh, right.” He shook himself. “So. From this, I guess I can believe your story. So, what were you hoping to get from our sessions? Clearly you don’t have issues with your masculinity if you’re willing to just change like that to make a point.”

I offered up a wry smile. “Being changed back and forth like this really makes you realize that identity comes from inside, not outside.”

I must have triggered something there, because the therapist rallied at that. “But what’s outside influences what’s inside,” Soothing Voice said, losing some of the fogginess from his voice now that he was back on familiar ground. “Our bodies help inform our self-image.”

“True. But what’s in the heart doesn’t have to change just because the body does.” I rolled my eyes at his skeptical look. “Trust me on this, Doc.”

“I’m not a doctor, I don’t have a doctorate,” he pointed out once again. “I have a masters in psychology and sociology, that’s all.”

“I know, but it’s fun to call you ‘Doc’, Doc,” I said with a grin.

He stared back at me for a few seconds. “Look, I’m having a hard time with this. Could you change back?”

“Not without taking a bath in the cure,” I said. “I’m stuck like this for the rest of the session. Sorry if it bugs you.”

“I guess I can deal with it.” Soothing Voice raised a shaky hoof to massage his temple. “But you never answered my question. What was your goal with these sessions?”

I grimaced. “This wasn’t my idea. My mom pulled a massive guilt trip on me,” I said. I clambered back up onto the couch and laid back down. “She finally told me she didn’t want me to stay as a filly nearly three weeks ago, but she wanted me to go to therapy too.”

“And, why did she suggest that?”

“Apparently I have ‘anger issues’,” I said with a snort as I drew the air-quotes with my hooves. “Anyway, she made me promise to at least give it a try. So, here I am.”

“Well, I can help with that, but only if you’re here willingly,” Soothing Voice said with a small frown. “I can’t help you if you don’t meet me halfway.”

I shook my head at that. “You don’t know me, Doc,” I said, grinning a little when he flinched at the title. “When I make a promise, I do everything I can to keep it. It’s the way I am. I’m in this for real, for at least five sessions. If it seems to work, I’ll keep coming back.”

“Right.” He grimaced and cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m just… I guess I have to accept that what you told me is true. It’s just a little unbelievable, is all.”

“I know. And I haven’t even told you everything,” I said. “I left a lot of details out.”

“Oh, really?”

Like my involvement in the Mister Sunshine case, something I wasn’t about to bring up without an okay from Captain Iron Bear. He’d taken great pains to keep my name out of the papers, and I wasn’t going to spill the beans to somepony I’d just met, patient confidentiality or no.

“Yeah. Had to make sure it all fit in under an hour, after all. Besides, I haven’t even started on what the last year has been like.” I chuckled wryly. “You think what I told you today is hard to believe, then you’ll never believe what happened over the summer.”

“What do you mean?” the therapist asked. “What happened this summer?”

I failed to repress a shudder as I thought back over the events that had started a few weeks after school had let out.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t think we have time to cover it all.”

After a glance at the nearby clock, he nodded. “Yes, it looks like our time is almost up, Cinnamon. Do you want to schedule another appointment? I have next week at this same time open, if that works.”

I mentally reviewed my schedule with the Hoofington PD for a moment before nodding. “That’s fine. I’m on the evening shift that day.”

“Doesn’t it make it harder to be a police officer if you’re a filly?” Soothing Voice asked.

“I’ll have changed back by then,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Hey, can you help me with my bags? They’re a little big for me, now.”

“What? Oh! Sure, of course.” Soothing’s horn lit up and lifted the bags off of their hook, helping to cinch the strap tight around my barrel. The strap was long enough to wrap around me almost five times, now. “Hmm… your cutie mark is gone,” he noted.

“It’ll come back once I take the cure,” I said. “That poison joke potion restores me to exactly the way I was when I was first changed, and it turned me into a blank flank that first time.”

I noticed that he hadn’t mentioned the ribbon that had magically appeared in my mane, which was once again long and braided. I had no idea where that came from, but I’d decided to just accept it as another example of the general weirdness that surrounded that damned plant.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a week,” I said, once the bags were in place.

“Alright,” Soothing Voice said. “You take care, er, Mister Swirl.”

I grinned back at him, waved at the confused receptionist in the waiting area, and trotted outside into the crisp fall air.

It was hard for me to believe that it had been over a year since I’d first been dragged back into town. So much had changed, not the least of which was me.

I couldn’t help a smile when my house came into view. The fence had been straightened out, and the fresh white paint gleamed in the sun. The trim on the house had been repainted a dark green, a nice compliment to the rest of the house’s new coat of light brown. The yard was full of thick, lush grass and carefully maintained flower gardens.

The new gate in our fence swung open easily and silently as I made my way to the front door. As I entered my house, my smile faltered slightly. Not everything that needed changing had changed, yet. The house was still cluttered with boxes and debris, though only about half of what had been here before. It was painful for Mom, having to give up the things she’d bought or collected over the years since Dad and Strawberry had died. Still, she was making progress, and at least the house didn’t smell quite as much of dust and mildew.

I found my mom in her sewing room. Her face was fixed in a stern scowl as she concentrated on the fabric in front of her, a dress she was repairing for one of the other mares in her support group. When I cleared my throat to get her attention, she jumped slightly before looking over at me.

“Heya,” I said.

Mom goggled at me for a few seconds before rolling her eyes.

“I see you changed back again,” she said archly. “I’m starting to wonder if you actually might prefer being this way.”

“Hey, now,” I said, my brow knitting as I scowled at her. “I’m only like this right now because my therapist needed proof.”

“Oh, I see. I guess that makes sense. You going to change back before dinner?”

“Nah,” I said, waving a hoof. “I figured I’d go over and surprise Plum. She really likes being so much taller than me.”

Which was another side effect of the poison joke potion. Plum had kept on growing this whole last year, and my filly body had grown as well. But then I had finally cured myself, turning back into a stallion. When I took the potion to turn back into a filly, I had lost that year of growth, reverting to how I was back when all of this started.

“Well, dinner will be ready in about two hours,” Mom said, returning her attention to the dress on the table in front of her. “And I’ve got a pie baking, so make sure you’re not late.”

“Right,” I said. “See ya later, then.”

Mom waved a hoof vaguely in my direction. I stopped by my room, which was now thoroughly de-frilled, in order to take off my saddlebags. There was no need to carry them around with me. And, besides, adult-sized bags looked ridiculous on me while I was changed.

When I reached the Pudding residence, I was greeted at the door by Mulberry. This wasn’t the first time since I’d initially changed back that she’d seen me as a filly, though this was the first time that Plum hadn’t begged me into it.

“Plum is upstairs, doing her homework,” Mulberry said before I had a chance to ask.

“Thanks,” I said, making my way towards the stairway.

“Oh, Cinnamon? Are you and Persimmon still meeting us for dinner this weekend?”

I nodded. The teacher and I had been officially dating for over two weeks, now. I’d asked her out as soon as I’d turned back into a stallion. The fact that she’d said yes was still the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me, poison joke included.

“She said she wanted to. I’ll make sure to remind her when I see her tomorrow,” I said.

“Thanks!”

I nodded and went on upstairs, knocking when I reached Plum’s door.

“Come in!” the filly called.

“Hey, Plum,” I said as I went inside.

“Cinnamon!” Plum hopped down from her stool and ran over to hug me. I hugged back. “You changed into a filly again!”

“I had to,” I replied dryly. “A certain therapist decided he didn’t believe me when I told him about it.”

“Oh, that was today?” Plum glanced at her wall calendar, flinched, and then looked back at me. “Sorry, I forgot all about it. We’ve got a big test tomorrow, and I’ve been studying for it all week.”

“No big deal, Plum. Am I interrupting your studying?” I asked, guilt welling up. “I can come back later.”

Plum snorted. “Nah, I’m going cross-eyed with my nose in this book. I think I can afford to take a break.”

“Right,” I said.

As Plum packed away her papers and books, I couldn’t help but notice how much she’d changed. Physically, at least, though she was still the same light-hearted filly I’d met last year. It was much more obvious now that I was close to being on the same scale as her. She’d gained a few extra inches of height, and she’d lost some of the foal pudge she had when I first met her. She was on the verge of exploding into that gawky awkward stage that colts and fillies hit when they reach puberty, though she wasn’t quite there yet. On her hips, her new cutie mark shone out like a beacon.

I’d been right to assume her mark would be bird-themed. Two golden-yellow birds viewed from above were facing each other with their wingtips touching, forming a rough circle. She’d gotten the mark in the early spring, when she’d found an injured bird returning from the south. Plum had spent two weeks painstakingly nursing the bird back to health, and when it had finally flown off, she’d been too happy watching it fly to notice that she’d gained her mark. I was fortunate enough to be there to see it happen.

“So, what do you want to do?” Plum asked, breaking me out of my reverie.

I thought about it for a little while before shrugging.

“Plum, I’m in your hooves. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

Plum’s eyes glinting were all the warning I needed. “Whatever I want? You promise?”

“No makeup,” I said firmly, recalling Plum’s latest obsession. It’s funny how gaining a cutie mark can change a filly.

“Aww…”

I grinned at her. “How about we just go play in the park?”

“Sure, sounds fun,” she said.

A few minutes later, and we were heading out the door. Plum promised her mother that she’d be back for dinner and we waved goodbye to Tapioca, who was sitting in the living room reading a paper.

As Plum closed the door, I looked around the street with a proprietary sense of satisfaction. This was Hoofington. This was my town and my home. And, as I ran after Plum towards the park in order to play some childish games before dinner, I realized that there was nowhere in the world that I would rather be.

Author's and editor's notes

Before I really get going on this author’s notes, I have some thanks I need to pass around. First, to Brilliant Point, Coandco, Ekevoo and Merlos the Mad, thanks for being wonderful editors, keeping my writing honest, and catching my many, many mistakes! Ludicrous Lycan, thanks for pre-reading and being an ideal audience surrogate!

And, of course, a huge thanks to everyone who read the story. It’s you guys that I write for, after all. There would be no Cinnamon Swirl without all of you!

And now for some notes on this story. Oh, this story. This extremely problematic story.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed writing it. But I had intended from the start for this to be a slightly gritty but still lighthearted comedy with an underlying core of drama than anything else. Big tough guy gets turned into a little filly? Hilarity is bound to ensue! I learned that from Ranma ½, and anime has never lied to me, not even once!

That’s when I noticed the comments about how horrible it was what Cinnamon was going through, and how messed up his relationship was with his mom.

My thoughts upon reading those comments went a little something like this:

“What? But it’s just a fun comedy! Sure, his mom is messed up, and she basically kidnapped her own child after he’d been rendered nearly helpless by a magical plant that robbed him of his identity, and dragged him back to his badly neglected childhood home, after which she forced him to go to school and pretend to be a little filly, causing him nothing but humiliation after humiliation while being eaten alive by frustration and self-identity issues… Hmm… You know what? I think I’ll add a ‘Dark’ tag to this.”

So, yeah. This ended up getting darker than I’d intended by a fair amount. I realized that, while I could have backed off and written this as a goofball comedy with some drama and action thrown in, it would have felt very fake. Cinnamon’s situation just felt like it deserved better treatment than to make a flat-out comedy out of it.

As for the other dramatic elements, believe it or not that was all planned out from the beginning. Tapioca’s illness, the smugglers, Almond having basically lost herself after both her husband and daughter died within weeks of each other, that was all planned from the get-go in my “lighthearted comedy”.

Yeah… sometimes I really don’t think things through all the way.

There is one thing I did change, and that was a little tweak to the ending, after Filli Vanilli came out. I hadn’t thought of Zecora being able to make a potion that could re-inflict the poison joke effects on a pony, and I thought it really applied well to Cinnamon’s situation. Being able to disguise himself as a small child might come in handy as a police officer, after all. Other than that, though, the ending was pretty much the same as what I’d planned when I started this story. Cinnamon had changed back to a stallion after about a year as a filly, at his mother’s insistence. And, while things aren’t perfect, they’re sure a lot better than they were.

The best thing about this story, for me, is how it stretched me as a writer. While my other stories have occasional moments of drama and emotional tension in them, they pale in comparison to this one. I’d never written a story anything like this before, and it was equal parts frustrating and satisfying the whole way through.

School of Hard Knocks is also where I started really relying on editors, at first Brilliantpoint by himself, but bringing in Ekevoo and Coandco later on, and finally Merlos. There was a marked improvement in how polished each chapter was once I started getting editors. Not only that, but our comment strings would sometimes go wildly and hilariously off-tangent, causing no end of fun.

So, that’s it for this story. And you might ask, “what next?” Do I have any plans for Cinnamon and Plum after this story? And the answer is yes, but not for a while. I’m planning on working on my other stories for a while and letting this particular cast of characters rest for a bit. But, if I have my way, Cinnamon and company will be back in glorious style!

And now some notes from the editors:

~~Ekevoo~~

I keep telling myself I should write more, but truth be told, editing is what I actually love doing. All I have to do is get to other people stories before publishing, conceitedly declare all my likes and dislikes and watch them struggle and squirm to accommodate my yellow highlights! BWA HA HA HA!!

*ahem*

This isn’t technically my first story I edited for Hoopy; Daring Didn’t happened in the meantime, and there’s an unpublished thing (which was okay, but not nearly as good as everything else that Hoopy has published, and really dated by now) before it all. School of Hard Knocks, however, was the first story that had more than one chapter, and I actually could watch something great being built, and how it feels working with the rest of the team.

I work with many authors by now, and Hoopy is one of the authors that takes his editors’ opinions in most equal measure, which invites me both to be bold and to be careful (as they say in the other wiki). The result of that is incredibly prolonged debates that actually do result sometimes in entire sections being rebuilt into something better; something that makes more sense, and that (we hope) ultimately entertains you all more. Something that’s worth the wait. Not that it wasn’t already fantastic, awesome, radical, and brilliant when it was only Hoopy and Point Brilliant in the team.

Battling Brilliant Point in comment threads has been a load of fun. Frustrating at times, but it’s the good kind of frustrating, the kind that made me learn; and I appreciated being called up on my mistakes so that I don’t make them again. That privilege is normally reserved only to the author. I also battled a bit with Coandco and Merlos, but not as often as I’d have liked. Yes, that’s a nudge. ;)

For your amusement (because Hoopy teased), here’s a recent HEA tangent that’s a favorite of mine:
Brilliant: Zecora! Oh wait, rhymes.. Fuck my life as an editor… (I suck at those)
Hoopy: When I write Zecora scenes, I feel like a dope. A rhyming dictionary is my only hope.
Ekevoo: Don't worry, it's working out fine. You can always iterate your next line.
Hoopy: Unfortunately, I'm inclined to whine when I trot out these rhymes of mine :)
Ekevoo: Whine your frustrations away. Rid yourself of their weight.

~Ekevoo, the banana hat editor.

~~Brilliant Point~~

Becoming the editor for School of Hard Knocks was never one of my goals. I was quite happy with being Hoopy's editor for his stories taking place in the Sunflower Universe. But alas, life has a tendency to throw a wrench into the plans you have. This one was called Hoopy McGee and was armed with puppy-dog eyes. Who can say no when he asks like that if you want to edit other stories?

Anyhoo, this led to me checking out the other stories he was working on. The first one I picked for reading was School of Hard Knocks. An easy choice as I already was familiar with Why am I Pinkie Pie?, so a spin-off is easy to evaluate if you want to edit for (I always do this to see if I'm a good match as an editor).

Why am I Pinkie Pie wasn't one of his stories that I truly enjoyed (sorry Hoopy...). It was a well written story and quite entertaining, just a tad too slapstick like for my tastes. It just wasn't my cup of tea. So I expected something similar with School of Hard Knocks.

But what I encountered wasn't that. Instead of seeing Cinnamon the side gag I found a fully fleshed out snarky stallion in a fillies body. Who faced all kinds of interesting issues because of it. The story also explored the less savoury parts of Equestrian society. Now this was a story that was unique, well written, and I knew would take me and the readers on an interesting journey. I was sold.

Looking back I never regretted the choice of editing for this story. One factor was of course the exceptional story I had the honour of editing for. The other factor was Hoopy himself as he's a joy to work with. He can take a joke and isn't afraid to butt heads with his editor.

But no matter how silly we got we never lost focus on the story. Polishing it where necessary and enjoying the tale of the stallion Cinnamon Swirl turned filly. Which now sadly has reached its end. I'm going to miss editing for this story.

Brilliant Point

PS,
With all the teasing Hoopy did about our editing shenanigans it’s only fair to share one of my favourites. So without further ado another Hoopy’s Editing Adventure:

I told you, I’m not a therapist but not a doc— oh my sweet stars!

Brilliant Point: So he's a completely unqualified quack?
Hoopy McGee: Not sure dual masters counts as "unqualified", but only time will tell if he's a quack or not :D
Brilliant Point: Looks like I was a tad too subtle. ;) You're saying here that he's not a therapist and also not a doctor. I think you meant to say that he's a therapist, but not a doctor.
Hoopy McGee: Oh, whoops. Heh, now I see it. Will remove that "not" and mark this resolved.

~~coandco~~

I was brought on as an editor for the story fairly late in the cycle, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed proofing for Hoopy. My approach to editing is slightly different than that of Ekevoo or BrilliantPoint; while they thrive on making structural observations, I’m mostly putting a mild case of OCD to good use and catching all the details, only commenting on the overarching story when something particularly egregious is going down.

...so between the two of us, you see, we lick the platter clean.

I started reading Hoopy’s stories just after Why Am I Pinkie Pie was published, and have loved every minute of them since. I tend to view writing style as the key component that draws me in, and Hoopy’s got the magic touch: his stories consistently display a refreshing level of genre/trope-awareness without constantly pushing it in your face. In School of Hard Knocks, this is mostly accomplished through the vehicle of Cinnamon’s policing instincts; either way, I greatly appreciate just how adroitly Hoopy avoids the use of the Idiot Ball (warning: TV Tropes link).

Thanks again to Hoopy for creating such an amazing story, and thanks to my fellow editors for livening up the proofreading environment!

-- coandco

~~Merlos the Mad~~

Well then, hello other story pokers, I’m Merlos.

Honestly, other than Brilliant, I wasn’t aware much that Hoopy even had other helpers. If I had been I might have attempted conversation on some small scale. Well, my apologies for that, but nevermind.

Editing for Hoopy was great, and I think I’ve discovered I mostly prefer editing to writing. This, however, comes with the clause that the writer isn’t infuriating. Hoopy definitely fits the bill there. He’s a very open-ended sort of writer. By that I mean his work is easy to sort of… see the big picture, and work things in your head around. I don’t want to say simple, but maybe that’s a fitting word, too, but in a good way. Ekevoo said use the word ‘clear’, lol, so I’ll go with that.

So, helping with his stories was a lot of fun, certainly, though I wonder how much he actually needs our help when he says that his writing has improved because of us all mucking about. :P

Heh, still I owe writing anything at all to Hoopy’s stuff, so I’ll be happy to lend a hand in his work in future days, even if I’m not really working on my own stuff much at the moment. I think that says a lot about his writing. (at least for me) Thanks to both him and the other editors for being great!

Oh.

I just learned that this is actually getting posted, too. Well, hello fimfiction! And from an avenue I don’t usually get to speak from, ie Hoopy’s account! Hah. Man, I’m like the closing statements or something. Ah geez, what should I say? I could write anything here at all and no one could stop-

~~Ludicrous Lycan~~

My turn! Hi everyone, I’m Lycan, and I’m the mediocre writer that got really freaking lucky.

I really haven’t been around here long at all. I think I become a Brony sometime late last August. And then a writer late October. Most of October was spent on Fim Fiction, just reading and enjoying everyone's writing.

That changed sometime after I sent a fan letter to Hoopy. I read his Fic “Why am I Pinkie Pie!?” and had sort of a fan spaz attack. The length of said letter shall lie in the darkest reaches of Fim Fic’s mail software. Moving right along, Hoopy responded to me faster then I would have guessed, let alone expected. He even carried a conversation or two over the course of a couple weeks.

At some point, I got the gumption to try my hand at writing for myself. Bet it’s no surprise my first fic idea ever was a self insert HIE. That was canned for obvious reasons, but made way for several other fic ideas. Some I have yet to start, and others that have started and need a total redo before I even consider letting them loose.

Anyway, Hoopy’s support and his stories are what got me into the idea of writing my own fics. In that regard, I suppose me and Merlos have a bit in common. Speaking of, I also owe a great deal to what I have accomplished to Merlos. He helped me get started. He introduced me to several really cool people that showed me the do’s and don'ts of a good fic, as well as gave me a chance to practice my writing and instruct me on how to go about it.

A week before Halloween, he actually let me co-write his story Once Upon a Fright. I was uber excited and stoked throughout the whole thing… even if it didn’t do as good as we hoped. Sorry, Merlos. I’ve been helping with his stuff long enough now that he’s called me a “co-writer”, though I don’t feel I deserve that credit. Working with Merlos has gained me a lot in regards to the people I’ve met on this site and the skill in which I can write my own stories, although I’m still nowhere near as good as anyone else here.

Actually... Hoopy called me something in one of his recent School of Hard Knock’s chapters that I thought hilariously appropriate. What was it…? ...It seems he changed it when I wasn’t looking… No matter, he wrote something similar in this very document! “Being an ideal audience surrogate.” As that may imply, I love to pre read and comment on Hoopy’s work. While I‘m a pretty cruddy editor, I guess I make up for it in the comments I leave. Story inconsistencies, character flaws, or just random ideas and jokes apparently merit a pass on this ride. Not that I’m complaining mind you. If you think reading his stories when their finished is great, then you have no idea what you're missing behind the scenes.

Hoopy’s fic’s are the ones I’m always waiting for more of. Unfinished or not, they’re always a blast. Unfortunately, Hoopy will clam up fast if you ask him anything that falls under the spoiler department. That isn’t to say I’ll ever stop trying, his new stuff is gonna drive everyone crazy with anticipation.

It sometimes feels that helping in other peoples work is more fun than working on my own, but finishing your own chapter is pretty great too. I finished a story a while back and felt fantastic afterwards… But I think the high messed with my motivation. Now if only I could do something else besides pre read and edit! All well. I have plenty of ideas, I just have to get them down.

But this is supposed to be about Hoopy and his story. Both of which are awesome. This story might be over, but he still has several other projects I’m excited to see. Some he’s already revealed, others still in the wings that he’s proving stubborn to talk about. Yes... From the looks of things, he has a lot more to show us, and I’m sure everyone is looking forward to it.

On an out note, this is the part where I would love to share something silly or funny involving my time spent with Hoopy, Merlos, Brilliant Point, and everyone else. Unfortunately, I don’t have any such thing on hand at the moment. Well, nothing relevant to Hoopy or isn’t outright embarrassing for certain people… So very tempting… N-no, I will resist. Umm… Heavy is a magic pink horse? No wait, I wasn’t supposed to talk about that either… I think I’m done here.

Author's Notes:

Thanks, one and all, for your readership and support!