//------------------------------// // 24 // Story: Happiness Is What You Make Of It // by Nameless Narrator //------------------------------// My stomach rumbles, and a sharp spike of pain makes me open my eyes. I was sleeping, staving off the morning frost by being curled up around Stitches. My living box covered with a pizza box is a decent shelter, although I’m still cold everywhere that isn’t touching my plushie. Unfortunately, while I was able to deal with the frost and focus on the ball of warmth in my center, I can’t ignore the hunger, so I get up and greet the new day. It’s dark, with only the faintest glimmer from the grey sky heralding the dawn of the new day. My stomach is smart, waking me up early enough so that this time I don’t have to rush my morning soak. I pat my belly to show my appreciation, and open my storage pizza box. The crusts from yesterday are cold and hard, but food is food and I finish a third of my supplies. I’ll have to go scavenging again tomorrow unless I find either a job or something edible while I’m looking for one. Hoofsteps followed by a yawn come from the alley entrance, making me peek out from behind the dumpster. Tender Feather is stumbling through the thin layer of snow with a small saddlebag on her back, yawning over and over. She looks from side to side, then behind her, then she quietly slips out of street view, and with a burst of green fire transforms back to a changeling who yawns again, although with the teeth it’s much scarier now. He pats my side. “Morning, Greyscale.” “Helou, Fedder.” “Damn, I’m beat! Fridays are usually the worst, but this one was close. Six clients in one night, and all wanted a full package. I’m about ready to pass out.” “Yoo ken hev d boks for yorself. Ai need to wosh up end look for a job,” I hop out of the box, positioning Stitches into the corner. I want to take him with me for advice and protection, but I don’t want to get him wet. On the other hoof, when he’s on my back, he covers the back of my neck from the wind really well. I think the pluses outweigh the minuses here. Definitely. Grabbing Stitches again, I position him onto my back. “Hey, one thing before you go,” Feather looks up at me from inside the box, and opens his saddlebag, levitating a dark green towel towards me, “I asked for few bits as an advance payment for the month. I wasn’t really certain about pony prices, so I didn’t know how much I needed. It turned out they didn’t give me enough for a bedsheet, but I bought two towels. Considering in what shape I met you yesterday, I think it was a good buy. I’ll keep the one as a cover here.” I pluck the hovering towel from the air. “For mee?” my eyes mist over, “But wee just met. Yoo ar d best, Fedder,” I lean down and hug the sitting changeling. He breathes out very slowly. “This tastes… so much better than any of my clients.” I stay like this until I feel the strange creeping inside chill again. Can it be some side-effect of changeling eating hugs? Probably. “Tank yoo for d touel, Fedder,” I break the embrace, “Ail gou luk for a job again.” He smacks his hooves together. “Right, I almost forgot! I asked around and got an address for you. If you go there, you should be able to get a warm meal once a day. They called it a soup kitchen, or something.” “Ai dont nou hau to kook.” He shrugs. “Look, just check it out. I asked for a ‘friend without much work experience’ and one of the mares at the brothel told me about this. Maybe they’ll just need somepony to wash dishes or something. It’s supposed to be somewhere on Scatterdust street. Look for a smelly, dirty restaurant. Their words, not mine.” “Det meiks sense,” I nod, “Tank yoo very mush, Fedder.” “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do,” he yawns again and blinks, each eye out of sync, “Alright, I’m about to pass out. Have a nice day, Greyscale.” “Gud nite, Fedder,” I watch as he wraps his towel around himself as a blanket and levitates a pizza box as a lid for our living one. Well, I’ve got a ton of stuff to do, Stitches is on my back and ready. Let’s go! The street lights are off already, so the morning is gloomy and dim. During my trip to the fountain through majority of Canterlot, I pass by at most ten ponies, three of whom are guards. Thankfully, it seems like they aren’t looking for me so I don’t need to run or hide. The best thing is that it isn’t snowing, it’s only crackling cold. The early morning frost makes me a little paranoid about the fountain, but I gather my courage, sit Stitches onto an adjacent bench, and slooooowly get used to the icy water. It has some advantages over just jumping in, mainly in lessening the shock, but pretty soon I’m shaking and having trouble breathing as my barrel tightens up. Far too soon to be done washing, though. When the cold becomes too much to handle, which means when I can barely feel my fetlocks and my legs are numb as well, I unsteadily pull myself over the fountain rim and grab Feather’s gift towel. I must thank him again when I come back, the thing is a lifesaver in this weather. Frozen, wet lifesaver. Hmmm… After thoroughly squeezing all remaining water I can get out of it, I fold it into a neat square, put it onto my back right behind Stitches, and set out for the main objective for today - this “soup kitchen” place. By the time I finally find Scatterdust street the day is in full swing. Not too surprisingly, it is in the cheap part of upper Canterlot which lies by the mountainside. A bit more surprisingly, when I see it I realize I know the place, or at least I’ve passed by it multiple times when I worked at the barracks. As I said, I used to walk around Canterlot often just to pass time, I just never bothered to learn the street names. The soup kitchen occupies the ground floor of some apartment complex, although it has its own entrance. From the street it looks completely unmarked other than a small plaque right above the double door currently letting out two shabby looking ponies who smell like I did before I took my morning frosty bath. The plaque reads “Sunlight’s Mercy”. I knock on the door. Nothing. I knock again. “Move!” grunts somepony, pushes me aside, and simply opens the door while grumbling, “Damn newbies.” From his smell of trash and… something acrid, beard visible even through several scarves, and long, greasy mane peeking in patches from underneath his dirty woolen cap I have my doubts he’s an employee. So, all I do is just walk inside? I guess I’ll have to analyze the inner workings of this place as I go. The large open room with tables spread out evenly all over smells unpleasantly natural, but in the background there lies a scent which makes my stomach register its voting rights and immediately cast a ballot in favor of eating whatever smells that delicious. There is a line of homeless ponies standing by a counter, each carrying a small, papery-looking bowl with a spoon. For some reason, the ponies look agitated… ...no, most of them are patiently and quietly waiting, but about a third of the visitors are muttering complaints and tapping on the glass separating the counter’s contents from them. Step one - acquire one of those throwaway spoon and bowl sets. As I walk around in search for my disposable targets, finally spot several tall stacks of them, and take my first steps towards them, a mare wearing a white apron interrupts me. “Thanks stars, here you are! Go grab a ladle and start pouring, the troublemakers are getting restless.” “Ummm,” I stop myself and shrug. I guess I’ll just have to earn my keep before I can get my meal, “Olrait. Were ees eet?” The mare gives me a confused look. “I’ll give you a proper tour of the place later, but for now consider it a trial by fire,” she takes off her apron and tosses it over my neck. Then she waves at me and rushes off through a door leading probably to the kitchen. A second later her head peeks out again and points, “The ladle is by the vats, get serving, newbie! Only one bowl for each pony, chop chop!” My stomach protests, grumbling that it wants food now. Come on, you had few crusts only over two hours ago, don’t be greedy. I walk to the staff side of the counter and put Stitches down onto the floor where he won’t get in the way. Anyway, the sooner I’m done the sooner I can get my portion. Grabbing the ladle with my mouth, I shove it into the hot, delicious-smelling vat, take the first bowl from the pony in the queue, and fill it. It’s a little messy and a bit drips out, but the earthpony doesn’t complain, just takes his food, and from the corner of my eye I can see him sit down on a bench at one of the tables. Huh, come to think of it, most ponies here are earthponies. “Canterlot, the unicorn bastion, isn’t too kind to country ponies trying to make a new life here,” I hear a familiar voice I haven’t heard since the asylum, “We are a bunch of unapologetic racists, to be honest.” “Steeches?” I mutter. “Nothing. Keep serving.” ‘We’? But Stitches is a batpony, and a plushie. Could it be that plushy batponies are the real power behind unicorns? Probably not. No, definitely not. Well, he knows what he’s talking about, I just serve food. I’m also gaining precious work experience, which means now I can look for a job flopping stew into bowls as well as cleaning. That’s practically DOUBLING my future options. Hectic hours pass, interrupted only by a pair of stallions repeatedly walking out of the kitchen, carrying new vats of vegetable stew, some ponies thanking me, some ponies complaining they aren’t getting enough, and my growing hunger. Another bowl is shoved under the glass pane shielding the vats. When I look up, I notice the pony looks vaguely familiar. “Deednt Ai olredy geev yoo a boul?” I ask, examining the stallion. Everypony here looks similar in their rags and multiple layers of old clothes, but I could swear this guy was here less than an hour ago. “No.” “Reelee? Yoo look familier, ser.” “Shut up and give me the damn food, retard!” he raises his voice, “How the buck do you expect us to survive on only a bowl of this slop?” when I don’t move the ladle, he bangs at the glass again, “I know you can barely speak, moron, so grab the ladle with your useless mouth and SERVE!” The others take a few steps away from the increasingly angry pony. Now I wish I was a vat so that the glass would be protecting me too. “But Aim not aloud too geev moar den uan boul to a ponee.” “You have more than enough of that stuff, I’m STARVING! I don’t know who’s feeding you and wiping your braindead ass, but you don’t know how bad it is out there in the snow!” “Ai doo.” “NO, YOU DON’T!” he screams. Nopony seems to want to get involved and they shuffle further away, so I’m on my own in this one, “Now give me the damn food or I’ll smear your muzzle all over the glass.” If I learned something in the asylum, it’s that I definitely shouldn’t get into a hoof fight. “But odders need d fud too-” He slams his hoof into the glass, making it crack. “I’ve been on the streets all winter, idiot, shoving snow into my mouth so I had something to drink! I’ve slept under the bridges between wizard towers so that I had a small strip of road without snow for myself. I’ve eaten moldy bread from the trash just to survive, isn’t that enough for you?!” Oooh, he just needs some pointers. Maybe if I share my tips with him he’ll be less mad. “Umm, deres a fawnteen were yoo ken drink for free end eet pours ol d taim, yoo ken get a free boks een wich yoo ken sleep without snow boddering yoo too much, end deres a bunch of fuud shops wich throw leftovers away so det yoo ken get dem.” Unfortunately, he’s shaking now, and it doesn’t look like he’s about to gratefully hug me. “YOU PATHETIC-” His scream is interrupted by the kitchen door being kicked open, courtesy of a rather big blue and white pegasus mare with dark grey mane and tail I haven’t seen before. “What’s going on here?” she looks at me, “Who the hay are you and what are you doing behind the counter?” “Sum laydee told mee to greb a laydel end pour fuud tu d ponees. Only uan boul eech, end dees ponee wonts moar. Ken Ai geev him uan moar?” “Daisyyyyy!” she calls out, and the earthpony who instructed me rushes out of the kitchen, “Counter, now!” “Yes, Blizzard.” Blizzard looks at me, scowling. “You, kitchen. Corner table.” “Okey,” I put the big ladle into the nearest vat and leave. “And you,” I hear Blizzard’s voice deepen but somehow gain both volume and intensity, “Get in the seven layers of Tartarus OUT! If I ever hear you cause trouble here again I’ll personally make sure the only thing you ever get here is a kick in the plot, understood?!” I don’t hear the rest of the exchange, if there is any, because I enter the significantly louder kitchen filled with clanking of cooking utensils, hissing of boiling stew, and erratic rushing of the staff. Trying not to be in the way of anypony, I walk through the narrow corridors between ovens, some big barrels, and many more metal boxes I don’t recognize, and sit in the corner where there’s a small square table with two chairs. Aaah! I forgot Stitches and my towel out there. Oh well, I doubt anything bad is going to happen. Stitches can take care of himself, and he saved me from evil ponies, so he sure can guard a towel. Blizzard enters the kitchen within a minute, carrying Stitches as well as the towel under her wing. See? He even managed to get himself a ride here. Smartest plushie ever. Blizzard drops her cargo on the table, and sits on the other chair which creaks under her weight. She’s big, much larger than an average pegasus, and a bit chubby, but she definitely doesn’t look weak or slob-y, more like that she could carry me, the full vat, AND the two stallions carrying those on her back at the same time. She looks at me with eyes narrowed. “Name?” “Greyscale, mem.” “Are you the volunteer sent to help us as a replacement for Bristletail?” “Eeeh, nou? Ai meen wen d laydee told mee to greb a laydel end start pouring Ai did eet voluntereely, does dat count?” She furrows her brows. “I’ll take that as a… no. What are you doing here, then?” “Sitting end tolking to yoo.” “I mean, why did you come here?” “Mai frend Fedder told me Ai cud get sum fuud heer sou Ai deednt hev to eet frozen peeza krusts.” “This place serves the needy and the homeless, indeed. You don’t look like either, to be honest.” Well, I tried. “Oh, okey. Ai steel hev sum krusts left end en umbrella een mai boks,” I get up to leave. “Sit!” My legs react faster than my head, and I plop back on the chair. “Okey…?” “Tell me, why did you just grab a ladle and start helping?” “Ai tought det Ai hed too work sum taim to get fuud.” “Did you see any of the homeless out there even consider that idea?” “Umm, nou. Ai tought eet wos becuz Ai wos nyoo.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “Alright. One of our volunteers quit two days ago and we were supposed get a replacement volunteer, but he didn’t show up.” “Aim soree.” “What? No, it happens quite often that volunteers lose their heart when they get some more realistic stories about our working conditions.” “Ai ken help eef yoo need eet. Et leest eets worm heer.” “You understand that I can’t pay you, right? In bits, I mean.” “Eets steel better beeing heer den sleeping een mai boks wen eets snoweeng.” “Alright, you look like a nice fellow, albeit a bit strange. You can get one meal like everypony else, but if you work here for four hours in the morning every day, I can give you some leftovers. It’s not much, but we’re a charity organization. Everypony here is a volunteer.” “Sou… too worm meels a dey? Dats greit!” “If you need a place to stay, there’s a shelter working through the winter in lower Canterlot. It’s hopelessly overcrowded, but if you don’t mind the smell and can squeeze a bit, I’m sure they can fit you in every two or three nights.” “Eets fain. Ai hev a boks end a frend dere wit mee. Ai dont maind kold too much wen Aim not woshing maiself een d fawnteen.” “Oooh, so that’s why you’re clean-ish. That can’t be healthy, though.” “Ai kant feel mai huufs afterwards, but eets olrait wen Ai wolk eet off.” “Well, I can’t stop you from doing it, but it’s your health. Anyway, you’ve worked more than your fair share today, especially with it being your first day and having to deal with a troublemaker. Are you hungry?” “Very hungree, mem,” I admit. “Fine. Wait here and I’ll bring you something,” she shoves Stitches to the edge of the table, “This is yours, is it?” “Yes, mem. His neim ees Steeches end he ees a Nitegaard.” “And the towel?” “D touel eesnt a Nitegaard yet, but under Steeches’ trayneeng he ken meik eet.” She rolls her eyes, and walks off. I follow her progress through the kitchen, giving a tip here, setting somepony up with a new task there. All that finishes with her taking a whole small pot, pouring a fresh batch of vegetable stew into it, and putting it on the table in front of me. “Dets a lot,” I take a spoon she presents next. “Consider it an overtime pay for the first day and a compensation for the trouble out there.” “Hmmm… hau do Ai teik eet wit mee?” I mumble to myself, recalling her mention of leftovers, “Meybee eef Ai teik d fyoo peipr bouls, stack dem end-” A round plastic cylindrical thingy the size of my two hooves put next to each other and a hoof and a half high lands on the table as well. It has a wire handle which goes by its circumference, held on the opposite ends of the… holder? Oh, and it has a lid. “How about you borrow this?” says Blizzard, “That might work better than some makeshift contraption.” A gift as well? Well, work accessory more like. “Tank yoo very much.” “Eat your meal here in the warmth. Don’t lose the food carrier. Come here tomorrow at ten. That’s all.” “Yes, mem.” Just like that, she leaves. Nothing more needs saying… ...and I need eating. I mean to eat, of course. I doubt I’d be too tasty. *** It’s been over two weeks since I started helping out in the soup kitchen. I’m going there every day, and I even got to cook once. I think I would have burned something if Blizzard wasn’t hovering around me, but in the end it worked out alright. Stitches has been there as well, always on my back, and the homeless ponies got to recognize us. Other than that, I’ve been looking for some job for dummies which became a lot easier as I didn’t have to go through trash every day and walk around semi-smelly. However, it hasn’t worked out yet. Nopony seems to be hiring, and I guess ponies aren’t too keen to leave their current jobs during winter. Oh well, it’s not bad. I have a friend, nights in the alley are freezing but Feather got his first salary and bought us a real blanket, so while we get wet from time to time, it’s not horrible. Plus, Blizzard lets me dry it in the kitchen by the heaters when I bring it over. One final thing, the best one actually - Blizzard let me take a real wooden crate the soup kitchen gets vegetables and other supplies in. It was super heavy, but now our old living box is an insulation box and the new living box, sorry - crate, is big, comfy for both me and Feather, and with its high sides coupled with the umbrella it’s completely sheltered from the wind. We’ve gone up in the world. With Stitches on my back and the food carrier in my mouth, I enter my home alley. Strange, there are two ponies standing around, one earthpony and one unicorn. Both are rather big, and immediately look at me when I clear the corner. “There he is! Get him!” Get me what, a late Hearth’s Warming present? The earthpony rushes towards me. “Hel-ooof!” My chest suddenly hurts and I find myself on my back in the thin layer of snow. Wait, what happened? Stitches is lying on the ground within hoof’s reach. “Finally!” the earthpony growls as he straddles my barrel, “We almost believed you left Canterlot, but my instincts were right - a pathetic rat like you won’t leave the nest.” “Owww,” my chest hurts. He spreads my forelegs forcibly apart with his. What did I do? “Now, you did a good job with this disguise. A pathetic, groveling… earthpony. I almost feel insulted.” “Woo ar yoo-” *Crunch!* Owwww owwww owww my muzzle hurts so bad! “Cut the bullshit, Unfettered Curiosity!” the earthpony scowls, “Tracker, did you find anything?” “No,” answers the unicorn, “this is just an alley. No traces of magic and nowhere to hide it. If he still has the money, it’s somewhere else.” The earthpony looks at me, then grins and turns his head to Stitches. “How about inside that,” he nods. “Weit, dont teik Steeches-” *Crunch!* Now there are three rather wibbly wobbly ponies sitting on me. I wish I had more friends, but these guys aren’t. They must have mistaken me for somepony else. This must be a misunderstanding, I would never take anypony’s money- Wait! I got that bit from the lady when I was still a smelly pony. “Ai got a beet, but d laydee sed Ai cud hev eet-” I stop, turning my head to the side when the earthpony raises his huge hoof again, “Cut the act, we already know who you are, Unfettered.” “Mai neim ees Greyscale, not Unfettered Curiosity.” The earthpony sighs as the unicorn levitates Stitches up. “It looks like we’ll have to do it the hard way. Anything about the doll, Tracker?” Tracker examines it from all sides. “No, just a normal plushie. Well, let’s have a look inside.” “Eensaid?” The glowing magical grip around Stitches neck grows brighter- *Riiiiiiip!* -and the head comes off. “STEEEEECHEEEEES?!” I struggle against the earthpony’s weight on my barrel, “Steeches! WAI DEED YOO DOO DAT? WOT DEED HE DOO TO YOO? Dets mai best frend! Yoo ar… yoo ar… BED PONEES-” *Crunch!* Can’t… breathe… The earthpony stands up and kick me hard in the barrel. I roll over and cough out blood, which at least helps me clear my nose. My breathing situation becomes infinitely worse as I feel invisible force dragging me upwards by my neck. He digs through Stitches’ insides, tossing bits of cotton everywhere. “Hmm, empty. My colleague here,” growls Tracker, slamming my back against a wall, “told you to stop the act. We know EVERYTHING about you, Unfettered, and our clients don’t want you in prison, they want the money you owe back.” “Aim not- ack!?” the back of my head slams against the wall. Hehe, all the pain is growing dull and distant. At least some things are starting to look up. Tracker rubs his hoof on my forehead through my mane, then freezes. “You make me sick...” “Aim soree,” I mumble, “Ail go wosh maiself layter.” “Look, Strain,” my head jerks forwards on its own, “he actually sawed off his own horn.” Saw? I used to have a bonesaw. I’ve always wondered why. I guess it’s ash now, since I didn’t get it out of the barracks. Strain examines my head, and shrugs. “I’ve seen ponies cut off their limbs to avoid being caught.” “Horns are different, trust me. This is… a travesty,” Tracker shakes his head, “No matter,” his horn flares with green fire. “...grrgnngh...” I croak when pain shoots from all over my barrel, then again when I drop on the ground. “Flattened muzzle, and at most a broken rib,” says Tracker to Strain who kicks me again. It feels duller and duller, “And you, Unfettered… you better pay up before we find you again, or you won’t get away with just a warning next time. Also, don’t try hiding anymore, it just makes us irritated, and we might decide hunting you down is worth more bits then we’re getting. Unfortunately for you, our clients won’t pay us more, so we’ll have to sell some of your organs in that case, and neither of us is a good surgeon.” “Hey, what’s going on there!” I hear Feather’s voice come from the alley entrance. Tracker leans down to me. “You have a week. We don’t care where you get the money, but GET IT!” With a flash, both ponies disappear. “I don’t know what you- GREYSCALE?! Queens’s infinite holes, what happened, Greyscale?” “...mmngmh...” I don’t have the strength to talk anymore. Plus, the snow is so warm and comfy now. The creeping darkness also helps. I should get some sleep. “Greyscale, don’t pass out on me, Greyscale? Gr-” *** “So, it wasn’t you who did it,” asks a stallion’s voice seemingly coming from a distance. Maybe I’m just waking up? Yeah, that must be it. “NO!” answers a different, agitated voice - Feather’s. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’ve seen brothel clients get stabbed when they tried to mess with mares beyond what their bits allowed them to.” “I DIDN’T do it,” Feather defends herself, “I came back from my shift and saw him getting trashed by some two goons. They teleported away when they noticed me.” “D-mmgnh?” I try to say something, but find out that I can’t move my muzzle. It feels completely numb, but also held by something. “Huh, he’s waking up already?” the non-Feather pony sounds confused, “The dosage should last two more hours on a pony his size and weight. Did I mess up the...” he trails off, mumbling something. I can hear him walking around before returning to me, “No, I did it just right. Feather, your friend here is heavily… or I would even say unnaturally resistant to my anesthesia.” “Is that bad?” “Well, it’s up to you to convince him not to try to talk or he’ll hurt himself.” A wing pats my head. “Greyscale, don’t talk. The good doctor here fixed your broken muzzle with a ton of wires which might move if you open your mouth. Just relax and listen. Nod if you need to communicate.” I unglue my eyes. I’m lying on a table in a well-lit room with a bunch of steel instruments lining the walls and small tables with wheels around. I can’t identify most of the implements, but there are some saws, scalpels… and that’s about it. Oh, and some blobs of cotton now red with blood. After my last few brushes with danger, I judge this place to be very hospital-y. The good thing is, that after what I recall from the beatdown, I don’t feel too hurt, mostly numb. Speaking of the doctor himself, he’s chocolate brown from front to back, both hair and mane, and has green eyes, which is all I can get because he’s wearing a white cap and some sort of mask over his muzzle, and a short overcoat covering his cutie mark. Feather sees me sit up and look around, and continues: “I arrived just as you were passing out, and took you here to-” “No names,” hisses the doctor, cleaning something metal and doubtlessly surgical in nature. Feather rolls her eyes. “-to mister no names here. He’s a doctor who takes care about everything related to a group of brothels in upper Canterlot. Unwanted pregnancies, client ‘accidents’, hurt girls, everything.” “It’s a lot of work.” “Considering you charge a hoof and a leg, you don’t have the right to complain.” “Heh, maybe. Speaking of the price-” ”Mhmmm...” I wave my hoof to get their attention. Feather just pushes it down. “Put it on my tab, you know where I work.” “This must be a pretty good friend then. A client?” “No, just a friend.” The unnamed doctor leans to my forehead, levitating a small spotlight. “Alright, Feather. You know I normally don’t ask questions, but there’s something I need to know this time.” “I doubt there’ll be much I can add.” “No, this is for your friend. Yes, I am aware he won’t be able to answer, which is why I’ve got this,” a pencil and a sheet pad fly over to me. The problem becomes apparent immediately when I realize I can’t hold anything in my wired mouth. Maybe if I hold the pencil with my both hooves? Horrible, but it will have to do. The doctor nods when I write an experimental ‘Hello!’, takes a breath, and asks, “Why, and freaking how, did you saw off your own horn?” Again? What’s with everypony asking about my horn? I’m an earthpony... I think. I write “What horn?”. Feather reads it and says: “Huh, considering how you speak, I thought you’d write just some squiggly nonsense.” The doctor, on the other hoof, frowns. “Look, I’m not one to judge, I fix ponies for a lot of money, but-” he moves my mane away again and pushes his hoof around my forehead. There’s a spot which feels different from the rest of my head, sort of more numb but sensitive at the same time, “there used to be a bone growing here and there’s a spot doubtlessly burned with acid normally hidden by the rest of your mane where no hair grows.” I shrug and write “I remember… a bonesaw, but I’m not a unicorn. I can’t use magic..” “Look,” the doctor shakes his head, “I’ve seen ponies who cut their own leg off so that somepony else didn’t recognize them, but this is… crazy. No sane unicorn would ever do such thing. Anyway, I’m not going to pry, that’s not my job. Plus, I can easily recognize hoof marks all over you. Whoever you are hiding from found you before Feather here did. Just like with many of my clients, I recommend a change of visage before they get you again.” That’s great and all, but WHO am I hiding from and WHY? Wait, that’s a secondary question. First, I don’t want to get beaten up anymore, even on an accident or a case of mistaken identity. I nod. “Got any ideas, doc?” asks Feather. “Yeah, sure. I can give you an address. No questions asked, full body colour makeovers. They can’t hide cutie marks, but that doesn’t look like a problem in your case. Funny, a patient of this age, with no cutie mark and pretending not to be a unicorn after committing the harshest self-mutilation one possibly can. If I was a curious pony, I would be asking a lot more questions. On the other hoof, if I was a curious pony I would either be dead or in prison.” I give him a written “Thank you!” note. “Oh, and one last thing - keep the mesh around your muzzle on for a day or two before you eat something firm. Alchemy and magic can do wonders, but there are limits.” “I’ll be sure to make him a hay smoothie,” says Feather, poking my side. I get the hint and unsteadily drop down from the table I was sitting on, “Let’s go, Greyscale. We’ve taken too much of doc’s time already.” “Mhm,” I nod. “E-HM!” the doctor coughs, “The manedressers’ salon you’ll be looking for is on Starlit Road.” “Oh yeah, thanks!” Feather chuckles. “Mhmm phoo,” I contribute as much as I can too. When the door closes behind us, Feather’s wing pushes me forward. “I don’t know what you got into, but I’m not leaving my delicious dinner to get splattered.” I hug her. She takes a deep breath and slowly breathes out. “Thaaat’s the stuff,” she shoves me away and checks her saddlebag. I hear clinking of coins, “Good thing I don’t really use that much money. This should be enough for some lasting dyes and a professional applying them. Ready?” “Mhm.” Alright, time get into hiding and then back to- MORE IMPORTANT THING! “Mmhm mhmmh mhmm!” a thing which I can’t communicate right now. “What’s going on?” “Mmmhm!” I start making small pony silhouettes with my forelegs over and over. “Tiny pony, foal-” Feather takes a wild guess. I shake my head and try again, pointing on my back, “Oh, your plushie?” I point at the doctor’s door. “No,” Feather rolls her eyes, “I’m not paying his price for sowing together a destroyed plush toy.” “Mmmmm...” “Don’t give me the puppy eyes. We’ll find a seamstress or somepony, but not this guy.” Well, that counts. I nuzzle Feather’s neck. I wouldn’t normally bother a real pony by touching them, but Feather being a changeling seems to like it. She burps. “Whoa. Worth the bits, definitely worth the bits.”