The toilet flushes. Your body is draped pathetically over the porcelain throne like a shamefully ruined pair of underwear. Your head is still resting in the bowl, your lips just inches from the water as it pushes your guts out to the sewers.
"I SWEAR I DIDN'T KNOW THAT WOULD HAPPEN, ANON," Twilight shouts into the bathroom door. "I'M SO SORRY!"
"F%^$#@%$ bacon," you mutter under your breath. "Never again."
"Can I get you anything?" Twilight continues, raising her voice. "SPIKE COME HERE! ANON NEEDS SOMETHING!"
"I don't need anything," you moan back. However, just the act of speaking stirs your stomach enough to feel a burp coming up.
"HOW ABOUT A BATH? SPIKE GET ANON EVERYTHING! HE NEEDS IT TWO HOURS AGO!"
"I don't need-"
Oh wait. That's not a burp.
The toilet finishes flushing as you exit the bathroom, leaning your filly form against the door frame.
"I can't even eat bacon anymore," you mumble to Twilight. "What makes life worth living?"
Twilight stands quietly, her expression filled with concern as she holds out a rubber ducky in her hoof.
"Mr. Quackers says he's sorry," Twilight says. "And I'm sorry too."
You look up to Twilight, then down to the crystal floor.
"It's okay," you answer, trying to stand straight on all four hooves. "You wouldn't have known. And your heart was in the right place at least."
"Yeah?" she asks.
"Yeah. It just sucks."
Off down the hall, you hear a grinding against the floors. You look down the hall to find Spike lugging a huge bag behind him.
"Never mind, Spike! We're good," Twilight calls down at him.
"OH FOR THE LOVE OF-"
"You know," you cut off Spike. "I just realized something. How come you guys never finish your expletives?"
Twilight looks back to you as Spike turns around and begins dragging the bag in the opposite direction.
"What are you talking about?" Twilight says, stepping toward the lab. "And it's time for our experiment, your vomiting put us ten minutes behind schedule."
Twilight begins walking down the hall, and you follow along behind her.
"Well, you guys say things like 'What the--!!' or 'Oh my--!!' Right before you'd say Celestia or F@$!# or B$#@% or-"
"Okay, Anon. I get the point. Please. The language."
"And what?" you continue. "Does that sort of language hurt you ponies? I genuinely don't understand why you guys have all these weird things you do to stay PC."
"Well, first of all, that loud beep that comes out of your throat hurts our ears."
"Then why doesn't it hurt me?"
"Well, we're amounting that to... well. Uh."
"What?"
"You're kind of a bad pony. Person. Thing."
You stop, somewhat shocked by the answer. Then, nod and continue on.
"It checks out. So, does that mean there's pony gangs out there that say bad words and do bad things?"
"Well, I don't know about that," Twilight says, holding the door to her study open for you. "But I can definitely say that most ponies go through a rebellious phase where we say things we shouldn't."
Twilight's ears fold down and a blush comes over her face as you enter the room and sit on the victim chair. Er. Patient Zero Testing Area.
"Once, when I was a teen... I even once said... Crap... to my mom!"
You stare at Twilight as she looks around, as if she just stole a book from the library.
"Wow," you answer blankly.
"Yeah, I was a bit of a-"
"That is the most prude thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth."
Twilight glares at you. You shrug back at her.
"Alright. Are you ready for testing some more spells?"
"Yeah, sure. Maybe we'll move from feeling funny to throwing up more."
"Well, I hope not," Twilight says, moving to her big book o' spells. "Because after this, you need to see Mayor Mare."
"Why?" you ask.
"Oh, nothing big," she says. Her horn lighting up. "Just taxes."
"Wait, wha-"
You sit in a chair that is way too big for you, your head resting on your hoof. City hall smells like old ponies. Old ponies and rat traps. Your eyes move from the receptionist, some overweight mare that you've seen eating at Sugarcube Corner nearly every time you've gone there. You kind of half wonder what her story is. Like, who is she? What's her name? Why does she always eat a blueberry muffin?
Most importantly, why are you so bored that you're making up backstories for random ponies that you see in real life.
You look then to the waiting room table in front of you, where there's a few magazines that at least a year old. That is, unless Photo Finish is still in the hospital. Celebrity gossip is not your thing. Like, at all.
Then you look outside. There's another older pony sitting on a park bench, watching the birds.
Okay then, receptionist story time. So, let's make her name Sonya Weatherwood. She's an older mare who used to live in Canterlot. Used to come from money. Loves food. She does that thing where she exercises and works out a lot, loses a lot of weight, then gets caught up in life and gains a bunch back. She has two dogs named-
Mayor Mare opens the door at the far end of the room and pokes her head out.
"Anonymous the Human?"
"Oh thank F$@#" you say, leaping out of your chair. "I was worried there would be a full chapter."
"What?"
"Nothing," you say, stepping into Mayor Mare's office. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, you see, Anon," Mayor Mare says, closing the door behind you. "This whole transformation has completely bungled our tax system. So, we need to figure out how we're going to handle this situation and file a lot of the paperwork for the Equestrian Revenue Service."
"A lot of paperwork?" you ask, sitting across from her desk in one of her guest chairs. "Like, how much paperwork."
"Well, the good news is that we've filled out your adoption forms. And luckily, we found a precedent for princess adoption that applies to your case. Some Mr. S. Blade from nearly a thousand years ago. That stallion was quite a peculiar case and a princess too, but never mind that. We need to work out how you've gone from paying adult to a dependent and file all the applicable forms."
"Uhm," you start. "How technical is this going to get? I'm going to be honest here, I'm the kind of guy. Er. Pony. Whatever. Who likes just being told where to sign and how much to pay."
A look of disgust flutters across Mayor Mare's face.
"That's horrifying," she says. "All of these matters must be litigated and documented properly. It's your adult duty."
You raise your hooves in anger and point at yourself.
"Hi. I'm a kid now."
"Oh, well," Mayor Mare sits down. "I'll tell you where to sign and then we should find out how many bits you owe in a few weeks."
"Wait, so you brought me down here just to sign things?" you ask angrily. "I was working with Twilight to, you know, be a human again, and fix all of this. That's kind of important to me. Couldn't you just mail me something to sign and call it good?"
"Not at all!" Mayor says. "I had to do research on this. See, since you're an adult mind in a child's body, we cannot trust your signature in your physical form alone for legal purposes. Your body may want and sign one thing, or refuse to sign something that your mind wants you to sign. It's all in 'Curses and Artifacts, a Litigation Process: Volume 3'.
Oh my F$#@!$# Celestia.
"Okay, then how about this," you interject, this old horse testing your last nerve. "Since you know so much about law and paperwork and adulting, how about I ask you a question?"
"Sure," she says. "Then we really better get started."
"So, like, if I masturbate, is that sexual assault against a minor?"
A silence fills the room.
"And then she just told me she would handle everything for me," you reply, sipping a glass of orange juice. "Can't I have just one cup of coffee?"
"No," Twilight shoots back. "And just for that, there will be no dessert tonight."
"OH, COME ON!" you and Spike yell back in unison.
"It was FUNNY!" you shout out.
"It was NOT funny," she shoots back. "Now it's bed time. Go to your room."
You jump off your chair at the kitchen table and stomp away.
"It was pretty funny," Spike whispers to you.
"F$#@!$ THANK you," you hush back.
"BED. NOW. YOU TOO, SPIKE!" Twilight calls from the kitchen.
At least you don't have to pay taxes. Probably. Maybe.