The market square was as quiet as it ever was, which wasn’t very quiet at all. Ponies milled about, chatting with friends and neighbors, buying apples from Applejack or caramels from Caramel or any of the dozens of things for sale around the agora.
Suddenly, a mare stopped in mid-sentence, ears pricked. A vast wave of silence swept across the market, slow but stifling. Head after head turned inexorably in a single direction. A faint plume of dust rose off the horizon. Conversations were abruptly cut short, coins were shoved over the counter with urgent orders to keep the change, and ponies all but streamed out of the market.
And so it was that the Cutie Mark Crusaders entered an almost-empty square, Apple Bloom dragging a sullen Rumble along by the tail. “Guys, I’m telling you, this is not going to work,” the grey colt grumbled.
“Sure it will!” Sweetie chirped. “My parents always talk about how they met in high school and fell in love! I bet you anything that we'll run into a whole bunch of ponies tripping over themselves to tell us about love!”
A cricket chirped. A very lost tumbleweed rolled across the agora. Scootaloo stifled a cough. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Sweetie frowned. “They’re probably all arguing over who gets to talk first,” she decided after a moment’s consideration.
“Uh-huh, arguing someplace else,” Dinky said, casting an eye over the marketplace. Overturned tables and fallen canopies seemed to be the business aesthetic of modern times. “Come on. There has to be somepony around that hasn’t run away.”
The foals trotted along through empty streets, glancing this way and that for signs of life. The tumbleweed rolled back out again, still unsure of where it was, but unshakably certain that this was the right direction to pursue. In the distance, a dog barked. As the Crusaders passed the fabric stall, a single pin slipped out of position and clattered to the table. All in all, it wasn’t altogether encouraging. The barking dog grew louder and louder still. Sweetie’s ears perked up when she heard paw pads pattering over the ground, and she turned to look down a side alley. “Oh! Hi, Missus Octavia! Hi, Missus Scratch!”
A graceful grey earth pony turned her head to face the enthusiastic filly. Her unicorn companion glanced over, but quickly returned her attention to the very loud and feisty beagle at the end of the leash she held. “Knew there must be a reason the market was abandoned,” Vinyl muttered.
Octavia, meanwhile, grinned broadly at the filly. “Well, good morning, Sweetie Belle!” she called, her cultured voice carrying along the street as she abruptly changed directions to trot up the alley. The beagle quickly changed direction to follow his mistress, jerking Vinyl along behind. “How are you sweet little things doing this fine day?”
“Great, thanks!” Sweetie chirped. “How are you?”
Octavia pounded a hoof against her chest. “Fitter than a fiddle,” she said, grinning.
Vinyl smiled, or at least turned up her mouth in something vaguely resembling one. “Eh. Been better. Out all night at the club.”
“And exactly whose fault was that?” Octavia asked, lightly bumping flanks with her wife.
“Uh, yours,” Vinyl said. “Seeing as you’re the one that signed me on for back-to-back shifts.”
The classy cellist sniffed. “And I suppose it’s also my fault that your signature is so easy to copy?”
“Uh, maybe these guys aren’t the best ones to ask,” Dinky muttered.
Vinyl blinked. “Ask what?”
“We’re doing a Love Survey!” Sweetie said enthusiastically. “To figure out what makes ponies fall in love.”
Octavia lit up like a Hearth’s Warming candle. “Really? And what sort of questions are on this survey, exactly?”
There was a long moment. Sweetie glanced at Dinky, who shrugged. “I don’t wanna say ‘I told you so’…” Rumble began.
“Yes you do,” Scootaloo said.
Rumble acknowledged this with a nod of the head. Vinyl scuffed a hoof in the ground, uncomfortable. “Uh, you could ask if we… believe in love at first sight.”
The six exchanged glances among themselves. Dinky produced a quill and scroll. “Well, do you?”
“Not really,” Vinyl said.
“A bit,” Octavia said.
Vinyl looked at her wife oddly. “Really?”
“Well, not for us specifically, I mean,” the cellist expounded. “But I’ve known it to happen. Why, Harpo goes through it every month!”
“And right there, you have the reason why I don’t believe in it.”
Dinky paused. “So… is that a yes or a no?”
“One of each, I think,” Octavia said.
The unicorn frowned. “But you’re married.”
The married musicians glanced at each other, perhaps remembering that of the six Crusaders, only Sweetie Belle both a) had two parents and b) lived with them even some of the time. “Ah,” said Vinyl. “Well, yeah. But that doesn’t mean we have to agree on everything. Like, uh, country music. I can’t stand the stuff, but ‘Tavi likes it, so we keep a couple records around the house so she can listen to them while I’m not home. Or when I am home and she specifically wants to make me slam my head into a desk.”
Octavia sniffed. “Whenever have I done that?”
“Twenty-seven times at last count, and I can show you the horn-holes in the furniture to prove it.”
“Regardless,” Octavia said with a wave of her hoof. “Love does not mean that two minds fuse together into a single sapience, a self-cestuous stagnant stalemate. How tedious that would be, if I were exactly like Vinyl!" She paused. “Less tedious if she were like me, but I digress.”
“Thanks, babe,” Vinyl said drily. “Anyway. You guys are taking a ‘love survey’, so I guess you want to hear how we fell in love, right?”
“Yes, please!” Sweetie, Bloom, and Button chorused.
Scootaloo glanced at Dinky. “Sure.”
Rumble crossed his forehooves and huffed. “Fine,” he grumbled.
“Well,” Octavia began, “It all started in the club, didn’t it Vinyl? My bandmates and I were all out having a pint after a gig at the Gala. The one where Fluttershy led an army of animals and Pinkie had us all play the Pony Pokey.” She grinned. “Fantastic night, I must say, never had such a laugh at that dull party in all my chuff.
“Anyway, there I was, right in the middle of the club, listening to all the techno-synth fart music, when suddenly, it stops. They’re changing out dee-jays. Last guy steps off, Vinyl steps on. Beauty says she’s quite pretty, the others agree. I liked her mane well enough, but I’ve never fallen for a pretty face. But her music…” Octavia closed her eyes and sucked in her cheeks. “Gorgeous. Loved it. Three melodies, all winding around one another, chasing each others’ tails, it was almost hypnotic. I knew I needed to meet this mare who made the music.”
“And?” Sweetie asked, entranced. “What did you do then?”
Octavia shrugged. “I got Harpo to bet me five bits I wouldn’t sneak backstage and snog her. An’ let’s just say, by the end of the evening, I was down a smear of lipstick, but up five bits and a postal address.”
Vinyl went red. “Wha— How did you get that there? I had you kicked out of the club!”
“You need to work on hiding your fanmail better,” Octavia said, rubbing her beagle behind the ears. “Anyhow, I respected her need to take it slow, and I wrote her love letters. Love songs, actually.”
“Sheet music. You sent me sheet music,” Vinyl said, frowning. “Good sheet music, I don’t deny…”
“And she put them all together to use in a song at our wedding,” Octavia sighed, hoof to her heart.
“You skipped over literally all of the dates, meeting my parents, meeting your parents, the breakup, the makeup, and the time you got an entire symphony orchestra arrested for creating a breach of the peace because you were trying to serenade me at three in the morning,” Vinyl listed off, glaring up at the sky.
“Details,” Octavia said. “The important thing is this, kids; if you’re in love, and I mean properly in love, then you’ll do about anything to make whoever it is you’re in love with feel the same. Even if it’s illegal, phenomenally stupid, or both. Usually it’s both, in my experience.”
Vinyl facehooved. “Please don’t get arrested,” she muttered.
Scootaloo finished transcribing. “Okay, I think we’re probably good,” she said, flipping back through the pages of shorthoof she’d taken. “Thanks, Octavia! Thanks, Vinyl!”
The blue-maned unicorn smiled. “It was our pleasure, wasn’t it, Octavia?”
“Hm? Oh, yes. Certainly. And talking of love,” Octavia said, leaning in close. “I heard something rather interesting at the flower shop about our Miss Glimmer.”
Vinyl sighed. “Octy, they don’t wanna hear it.”
“Oh, Vinyl, don’t be a perpetually confused walrus,” Octavia said dismissively. “Why wouldn’t they? This might be relevant to their, their… what was it now?”
“Love survey,” Bloom said.
“That’s it,” Octavia said cheerfully. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, right? But I heard it from Lyra, who heard it from Caramel, who heard it from Davenport, who heard it from Rarity, who heard it from Rose, who heard it from Lily, that Starlight Glimmer has got it for Spike!”
Button furrowed his brow. “Wait. So, if we didn’t hear it from you, which one did we hear it from?”
“Doesn’t matter, thanks Octavia, you’ve been very helpful,” Dinky said quickly. “Bye!” She turned, shepherding the others along in front of her.
“Hey!” Sweetie Belle said. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal,” Dinky growled, “is that Spike is apparently seeing Starlight Glimmer and Applejack.”
Bloom frowned. “Hey, yeah! That dang dragon’s two-timin’ mah sis!”
“Well, we can’t be completely sure of that,” Scootaloo said. “It’s entirely possible that the three of them are developing an agéli, a herd. It was actually a pretty common practice in a lot of early civilizations, not just pegasi ones.”
There was a long moment where everypony present stared at the orange filly. “What? My house is literally full of Pegasopolitan history books! Eventually, you just start absorbing it!”
“I suppose that a polyamorous relationship isn’t completely out of the question,” Dinky conceded.
Button blinked. “I have no idea what either of you just said.”
“It’s like a relationship, but with more than two ponies in it,” Rumble explained.
Button brightened. “Oh, that! Mom tried that a couple of times, but it didn’t really work out. Which is kind of too bad. Having three moms was great, except whenever I wanted to do anything I got stuck in this infinite loop of “go ask your mother”.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” Apple Bloom said. “He oughta have ta choose one or th’ other.”
“I don’t know, Apple Bloom,” Sweetie said. “I’m really starting to think that this might not be any of our business.”
“Like hay it ain’t!” Bloom said, puffing herself up. “This is mah sister we’re talkin’ about! Ah’m worried about her safety an’ all.”
Dinky shook her head. “Well, regardless, this does throw a spanner into our plans,” she said. “The relationship dynamic is much different than any of us anticipated. We’ll have to work Starlight into this scheme to make sure that all of them reveal their relationship at the same time.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Bloom said, still brooding. He’s gonna have ta choose, she thought darkly. One way or another…
***
Spike leaned back against the fence, setting the feed bucket at his side, and wiped his brow. “I never realized how much Fluttershy actually has to do for all her animals,” he muttered.
He felt something warm and velvety rub up against him. He smiled and patted the little rabbit on the head. “But I guess I can see why she does,” he chuckled, pulling out the checklist. “Alright, let’s see. I just finished feeding the chickens… check! Nice, I’m almost done. Next, I need to… feed the otters their fish.” He glanced around. Beside him, the rabbit gazed at the checklist in the dragon’s hand and snapped its toe beans. The bottom of the paper shimmered slightly, then creased. As Spike moved on to look for a bucket of fish, the rabbit hopped back into the bushes. All that could be seen were its little red-irised eyes. It glanced to the side. “Get your popcorn ready, folks. This is gonna be good.”
***
Chore 14: Feed the Otters their Fish.
Spike held the bucket as far away from his face as possible with one claw and held his nose with the other. As soon as he reached the spot on the bank where a raft of otters waited, he kicked the bucket into the river, letting fish guts spill everywhere. “Enjoy your meal, guys,” he said, still holding his nose as the otters leapt into the river one by one. “Better you than me.”
He pulled out the checklist again and frowned. “Huh. I thought there was one more… oh, it folded up.” He straightened out the list and his eyes bulged. It had nearly doubled in length!
“Well, fine then,” he said, stuffing the list back in his pocket. “If Fluttershy can do this every day before lunch, I can, too.”
He failed to notice the faint giggling coming from the reeds, where a pair of red eyes peered out.
***
Chore 17: Fix any Bird Nests which have Fallen from the Trees.
Spike chewed at his upper lip as he sat cross-legged under the weeping willow. “Okay… under, over, under, over,” he muttered, weaving a wickerwork web of twine and twigs. It formed a shape not unlike a pizza with a slice removed.
“Now, if I just tug up on here…” the web popped into a bowl-like shape, and the dragon sighed, satisfied. He tied off the last ends so that it wouldn’t come undone again, then turned to his watching audience. “Did you all get that?” he asked.
A chorus of tweets, chirps, and coos answered him, and Spike smiled encouragingly. “Great. Now let’s see you all try it!”
A few minutes later, the drake was smiling, arms crossed, as he watched each and every one of Fluttershy’s birds making wickerwork nests. That smile faded when a robin fluttered up next to his face and let out an aggravated cheep. “Uh, no, sorry, I wouldn’t know anything about adding a patio,” Spike admitted.
The robin cheeped again. “Why would a bird even want a balcony? Your house is already a balcony!”
***
Chore 22: Check the Beaver Dam for Health Code Violations.
Spike landed with a splash in the brook, and his notebook followed close behind. He pulled himself up on all fours and shouted, “I don’t care about the architectural style, you need a sprinkler system! Your home is literally made of rotten sticks, it’s a major fire hazard!”
The colony of beavers chittered angrily and shook their paws at him before diving back into the water to head into their home. “Hey. HEY! Get a second entrance in there before next week, or I’ll be back with a demolition note from the mayor!”
***
Chore 27: Give the Monkey a Shower.
“I don’t care if you are rewriting Hamlet, you smell like a zoo. How long has it been since you slept? That long? Okay, shower first, then it’s bedtime for you, Bonzo."
***
Chore 32: Give Discord a Foot Rub.
“And Fluttershy does this every day,” Spike said suspiciously.
“Oh, yes,” Discord said with a nod. “Sometimes even more than once.” They sat back and sipped on their snozzberry smoothie. “Hm. I’m not sure how I feel about you as a replacement, to be honest. Here, try this.”
There was a snap and a flash, and the next thing Spike saw was a wave of strawberry pink mane in front of his face. He glanced down and felt a rush of both vertigo and nausea. Ruffles of butter-yellow fur and a pair of hooves faced him. “Discord,” he growled— attempted to growl, at least. Fluttershy’s voice did not lend itself well to such things. “Turn me back. Now.” He squirmed. “This is really, really uncomfortable.”
“Oh, go on,” Discord wheedled. “Just until after the massage?”
“Not a chance. I am really not digging being a mare. Anyway, I can do a better job with hands than with hooves.”
The draconequus rolled their eyes. “Fine,” they grumbled, snapping their fingers. “But you’d better do a good job.”
“Please,” Spike snorted. “I am a profession— oh YUCK! How do you get them that smelly? You don’t even need to walk anywhere!”
“Well, I like to,” Discord retorted. “Now, get rubbing, Mr. Professional.”
Spike grimaced. The draconequus sighed, and snapped up a gas mask. “Fussy, fussy,” they grumbled.
***
Chore 42: Serve Lunch to Harry the Bear.
Spike walked into the bear’s den and immediately felt underdressed. Harry was sitting patiently at a table, wearing a tuxedo. Violin music played gently in the background. The bear was holding a menu, for pity’s sake!
The dragon glanced around and quickly grabbed a white towel from off the wall before trotting up to the bear. “Good morning, sir,” he said. “Have you decided on a meal, or shall I fetch some water while you peruse our menu?”
The bear pointed at the menu, and Spike craned his neck to look. “Ah, of course, les larves avec du baies select. A fine choice indeed. May I take your menu?”
The bear inclined his head, offering the sheet to the small drake, who took it with grace. He then turned and walked into the adjoining cavern, picked up a covered silver platter and returned to the table. “Bon appetit,” he said, lifting the lid to reveal an assortment of berries and grubs.
The bear selected a fork and knife and began to daintily eat his meal. Spike walked out of the cave, shaking his head. “Fluttershy definitely spoils these guys,” he sighed. “Still, at least I’m done now.” He checked off the last box on the list. Then, he noticed something odd. There was a little arrow at the bottom of the page. He turned the sheet over and groaned, slumping back against a nearby tree. The list written on the back stared up at him, the paper fluttering in the breeze.
***
Fluttershy looked out at the backyard again, brow creased and mouth tight. “He should be done by now, shouldn’t he?” she asked, glancing at Discord.
The draconequus shrugged, a complicated motion considering that their right paw was on the kitchen table, while their left claw lounged on the couch. “Who can say? He is, after all, only a baby dragon.”
If anything, Fluttershy looked even more worried. “Yes, and I sent him out to do my morning routine while I lounge around in here.”
Discord blinked. “Flutterbutt, you’ve cleaned your cottage from bottom to top, made half a dozen bird houses, and helped repair all the spiderwebs you accidentally broke while sweeping. It isn’t as though you’ve abandoned your duties (much though I’d like it) to actually, chaos forbid, relax.”
“But I have,” Fluttershy said, pacing the floor. “I’ve left almost all of my animal friends outside, and I’ve hardly even spoken to most of them all day.”
“So what?” Discord said, their wings flapping from their positions in the rafters. “They’ll survive without you for one morning. I’ve certainly done it often enough.”
Fluttershy smiled. “But you don’t need me to watch you, Dizzy.”
“Don’t I just?” Discord muttered.
The pegasus frowned. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” she said, leaning closer to the wall against which Discord’s head was leaned.
“I said, you need to pull yourself together,” Discord said, doing just that. “If Spike is going to think he’s some kind of great big powerful future Dragonlord or whatever, he can’t have you fussing over him as soon as he walks in the door.”
Fluttershy smiled up at the chaos spirit. “I suppose you have a point. I’ll do my best to stay reserved and impersonal,” she said, a note of determination in her voice.
“That’s the spirit,” Discord said. They perked up an ear. “And speak of the devil, here he comes now.”
The door swung open and Fluttershy turned around. “Oh, Spike, are you— DEAR SWEET CHAOS, WHAT’S HAPPENED TO YOU?”
Discord grinned. “That’s my pony.” Then they turned around to look at Spike, too. They winced.
The dragon looked like he’d fallen into the sewer, and he didn’t smell much better. “S-sorry,” he rasped, holding up a sheet. “Didn’t finish. So… hungry…”
Fluttershy rushed over. “Oh, Spike, how much did you do?”
Instead of answering, the dragon held up a muddy, stained checklist. Fluttershy scanned it and her eyes went wide. She glared at Discord for a moment. “Don’t. Move,” she mouthed, her eyes slits.
Then she turned back to Spike, all smiles and sympathy. “Oh, my, Spike, it looks like I accidentally gave you my to-do list for all week. I only wanted you to go up to number fifteen, not…” she checked the list again. “Seventy-nine?” she squeaked. “Oh, my! And you did all of that before lunch? That, that’s incredible! I don’t think anypony’s ever done all these chores as quickly as you have!”
Spike managed a smile. “Did… good?” he slurred.
“Very,” Fluttershy said, tapping him on the nose. “Go up and have a nice warm bath and get all that gunk off. I’ll be down here, fixing you an extra-special lunch.”
Spike grinned vaguely, then stumbled off to the bathroom. Fluttershy stared after him, smiling gently. The second he was upstairs, though, she whipped around, her eyes red with fury. “Discord!” she snarled. “I can’t believe you would do something like that!”
They raised a brow. “Really? Not even a little bit? Because this seems pretty in-character for me, honestly.”
“What did you make him do?” Fluttershy demanded, glowering at the list. “Sprinkle black bear urine around the perimeter? Collect anal musk from civet cat, oh DISCORD!” Her eyes went wide. “Give Discord a FOOT RUB?” she shouted, throwing down the list in fury.
Discord glanced at the paper, slightly concerned. “Perhaps I went a tad far…” they admitted.
Fluttershy began to Stare at the draconequus. “A tad far?” she demanded. “A tad—”
Then she stopped. Closed her eyes. “A tad far,” she said neutrally. It was as though all the energy had left her. “Yes. You did.” She opened her eyes again. The red was gone from them, leaving only a placid lake-blue. “Discord, I need you to leave now,” she said calmly.
They opened their mouth to object, but the words stuck in their throat. “Okay,” they said. “When can I come back?”
Fluttershy shook her head. “I don’t know, Discord,” she said. “I really don’t.”
“Oh,” said Discord.
“I see,” said Discord.
They slunk out the back door into the garden. They could still feel Fluttershy’s sad blue gaze on their back. They set their jaw. “I can see I’ll need to speed up my plans.”
They snapped their fingers and a number of things happened at once. Firstly, Discord vanished.
Secondly, the letter R which had been signed on the note which had arrived with the violets wiggled and shifted into an E.
Thirdly, a chocolate-brown being with yellow spots and a deep red mane appeared outside Carousel Boutique. The form seemed to flicker for a moment, shape fluctuating, wings and horn flickering in and out of existence. At last, it seemed to settle in as a gorgeous and slender peryton doe with rich flecks of blue and violet in her red feathers.
The final thing that happened was the sudden appearance of a pair of sunglasses on the doe’s nose, efficiently hiding her yellow-red eyes from view. She twitched her nose once, then knocked firmly on the door. “‘Ello?” she shouted, a thick accent from somewhere in the vicinity of Trottingham modifying her voice. “Oi'm Eris! Me friend Disc’rd sent Oi ter get a suit fittin’? Oi’m in a right Bob Murray, Oi got a blind date tomorrer!”