A few days have passed since your triple-session with the Apple siblings. In those few days, you’ve eaten up the pie they had given you, and you haven’t heard a word from Twilight about any updates on her promise to present your idea to the ponies of the spa. It seems that she’s either been too busy to find time to present the idea, or she had, and the ponies of the spa have not yet made a decision. Either way, you try not to allow it to dominate your every thought. Worrying about it constantly is a surefire way to give you acne or make you lose sleep, and how ironic would it be for a therapist to need therapy himself?
Today, you find yourself reading in your favorite spot on the couch just after lunch. Rose is still not fully recovered, but is expected to be up and about again very soon. Lily had told you that poor Rose is very bored, cooped up in the house all day, and misses having her human friend around. You had promised to give her a good affection therapy session when she was well, but for now, all you can do is wait for something to crop up.
“Feeling bored, huh?”
You jump in your seat at the sudden voice, then look around. Hanging halfway through one of your smaller windows, and filling the whole space of it rather snugly, looking as though it were a spot she was accustomed to using as a place to loiter, is Pinkie Pie, smiling innocently at you. You simply stare at her, utterly perplexed.
“Hi,” she says, looking at you with those baby-blue eyes of hers.
“Er, hello, Pinkie Pie,” you say, your heart still thudding rather hard from the scare she’d given you. “Nice to see you.”
“Same to you,” says Pinkie. “Do you mind if I come in? I know half of me is already in, but I figured I ought to ask if all of me can come in.”
You can’t help but chuckle at this innocent question. There’s just something about Pinkie that makes it impossible not to smile when she’s around.
“Sure, Pinkie, come on in,” you say. “You don’t need any help, do you? That window looks a little tight for you.”
“I think I’m good,” said Pinkie. “I’ll let you know.”
So saying, and giving a little wriggle, she gives a push forward against the wall. At first, due to her puffed-up cheeks, scrunched muzzle, and redding countenance, you think she really might be stuck, which would be small wonder for a pony of her rounded figure. Then again, you have witnessed her popping out of places patently too small for even an average-sized pony.
However, by very slow degrees, she begins to slide through, so that her chubby middle gradually squeezes inside fully, and only her rump end remains outdoors. She stops to take a rest, wiping her forehead.
“Phew,” she breathes, patting her stomach. “My tummy was putting up a good fight, and I don’t think my tushy’s going to fit so easily.”
She glances back at her rump and gives it a little wiggle. You can only imagine how odd this might look for ponies passing by, if it wasn’t Pinkie doing it.
“Could you give me a little pull?” she asks, putting on her best beseeching look, complete with big, soulful eyes.
“Of course, Pinkie,” you say, offering your hands, into which she places her hooves.
You mentally count to three, then give a tug. You expect Pinkie’s curvy backside to put up a big resistance against fitting through the window. However, all it takes is two good tugs, and with a pop and a lurch, Pinkie slides completely through, landing with cat-like agility on all four hooves on the floor.
“Thanks,” she says. “I’m usually a lot better at that.”
“You’re welcome,” you say. “So, was there something you needed?”
Without even deigning to ask for permission this time, Pinkie hops up onto the couch beside you, looking very much at home.
“Oh, it’s not about what I need,” she says, casually, “but what you need.”
She compliments the word ‘you’ with a boop to the nose.
“And what do I need?” you ask.
“To go out and find more ponies who need affection therapy,” says Pinkie. “You can’t just sit around all day waiting for somepony to come to you. There might be ponies who can’t or don’t want to leave their houses. It’s why we sometimes do deliveries at Sugarcube Corner, and you should do the same! You’ve got to start making house calls, doc!”
“What, like peddle my therapy door-to-door?” you ask, not really sure how to feel about being called a doctor.
“Not peddle, silly,” says Pinkie. “You’re a therapist, not a salespony. And you don’t have to knock on everypony’s door asking ‘do you want an ear scratch’ or ‘do you want a belly rub’. Just take a look around and see if you can find ponies who look like they need it. You can usually tell. At least, I can.”
You muse over this for a little while. Honestly, what Pinkie said makes a good deal of sense. It would get you out of the house, and potentially find you more ponies in need of your brand of ‘magic’. You can’t even say why this never occurred to you before, and you feel a little foolish for not considering it before. Still, you’re grateful for the inspiration.
“That’s actually not a bad idea, Pinkie,” you say. “And it does beat sitting around all day doing nothing.”
“I knew you’d like it,” says Pinkie, beaming. “And I think I know just the pony to start with.”
“Oh really?” you ask. “Who?”
“Fluttershy!” says Pinkie, sounding triumphant.
“Fluttershy?” you repeat.
“Yeah! She works really hard taking care of her animal friends. I bet she’d love a good therapy session from you! Besides, the fans have been asking for her turn for a while!”
You blink.
“Fans? What fans?”
“The ones following the story, silly!” says Pinkie, as though the answer was obvious. “It’s only been a few days for you, but it’s been, like, months for them! They wanna see some affection therapy for their favorite ponies!”
You stare at Pinkie, bemused. You have no idea what she’s talking about. Then again, she did have a tendency to blurt out odd statements like this, and act like what she said was common knowledge that didn’t need explaining. She just looks at you with an innocent smile, as though what she said wasn’t strange at all, so what can you do but just let it pass?
“Err, right,” you say at last. “Well, thanks for the advice, Pinkie. The next time I’m in Fluttershy’s neighborhood, I’ll definitely see if she’d like a session. And how about you?”
“Hmm? What about me?” Pinkie asks, tilting her head curiously.
“You’re here,” you say. “Would you like a session?”
Pinkie thinks for a moment, then says, with a smile,
“Why not? I’m not really in a sour apple sour mood, but I wouldn’t mind seeing what you do!”
“Great!” you say. “Well, where would you like to start? Most ponies ask for an ear scratch first.”
“Ooh, then I wanna start with that!” says Pinkie, eagerly.
She scootches over so that she’s right beside you, beaming up at you. Smiling back, you first tap her nose in a friendly boop, making her giggle, then reach over and start rubbing the base of her ear. Unlike most ponies, her eyes don’t snap wide open at the sensation, but her smile does take on a more dreamy, lazy look to it, as her eyelids begin to droop.
“Mmmmmmmm,” she murmurs. “That feels soooooooo good. Your fingers are like...like magic…”
Chuckling, you use your other hand to stroke her mane. Now, you had observed her putting things away inside it, disappearing into its depths until it was out of sight. You half-expected it to make a lot of noise from all the things that must be in there, or else for it to feel variably rough or odd. However, such isn’t the case. Her mane is very soft and fluffy, like the cotton candy it smells like. It yields easily as well, shifting like putty wherever your hand touches it, then puffing back into shape after a few seconds.
Pinkie has soon nuzzled up against your torso, sighing contentedly, her hooves curled up in front of her chest. You stop petting her mane and loop your arm around her, whereupon she clasps it with her hooves, almost tenderly. You turn your hand over and start scratching her chin. Her ear twitches, and her eyes close completely.
“How do you feel?” you ask.
“Super-duper relaxed,” Pinkie sighs. “I feel like I’m lying down for a nap after wrapping up a big party. You really know your stuff.”
“Aw, shucks,” you say, modestly. “Is it so hard, putting parties together? You make it look easy.”
“It’s a good kind of hard,” Pinkie says. “It takes time, and it gets pretty exhausting. You have to plan for the right crowd and the right event, because not everypony likes the same parties.”
You could see her point. Some like loud and boisterous bashes, while some were more content with quiet, mild soirées. You felt more inclined towards the latter.
“But it’s worth it seeing how happy ponies are while the party’s going on,” says Pinkie. “Their smiles are my reward.”
That was one of the things you admired most about Pinkie. While she was undoubtedly paid well for her work as an apprentice baker and a party pony, all she really wanted was to see happy faces wherever she went. There weren’t enough ponies in the world who were so humbly sweet, at least not where you came from, and you wish every city or town had its own Pinkie Pie.
After a pause, Pinkie tilts her head to look up at you.
“Do you think,” she asks, innocently, “you could rub my tummy, too?”
“Of course,” you say. “It’s your session, after all.”
You take the hand that had been at Pinkie’s ear and start massaging her plump middle. As expected from the look of it, it’s soft and very doughy to the touch, more so than anypony’s belly you’ve rubbed so far. There are plenty of slender, skinny ponies in Ponyville, like Rose and Rarity, but their smoother stomachs were just as soft and warm to the touch. Pinkie’s feels like a generously-stuffed pillow, comfortably plump and full.
It amazes you how nimble and quick a pony like Pinkie can be despite her figure, yet you can’t help but feel, too, that she’s rather proud of being a little chubby. She eats sweets with remarkable voracity, after all, and you’ve never heard anypony judging her looks. Mrs. Cake, one of her employers, is rather plump as well, but seems perfectly content with it. You wouldn’t have found many ponies in Manehattan who could claim to be as comfortable, though you do remember once seeing a stout mare working as a popcorn vendor, despite having a coffee pot cutie mark. She had been rough around the edges, but a bit friendlier than most Manehattan strangers when you tried her wares.
Pinkie giggles and squirms a little bit at first, no doubt from ticklishness, but soon, you feel her relax. She practically melts against you as you rub her stomach. Her mane tickles your chin, and the smell of cotton candy’s stronger than ever.
“You like that?” you ask.
“Very much,” Pinkie murmurs. “I give tummy rubs to Gummy all the time, and I know he really likes them, but I never realized how good it’d feel.”
“You’ve never had a belly rub before?” you ask.
“Only when I was really sick,” says Pinkie. “My mom or Mrs. Cake would sit up with me, rubbing my tummy and singing lullabies. It feels good to have one when I’m not feeling all icky inside.”
“I can bet,” you say, smiling.
You both fall silent as you continue to rub. This, apart from seeing the smile and hearing the gratitude from ponies’ lips, was what you liked best about this: the silence that bespoke complete relaxation and contentment. It was proof positive of the effectiveness of your altruistic efforts, and the happiness of the ponies you hoped to benefit with them. To even instill calm and quiet in a hyperactive pony like Pinkie felt like an achievement.
At last, Pinkie gives an adorable, squeaky yawn as she stirs and stretches. You release your hold on her and remove your hand from her belly. She swivels around on her pudgy backside to face you, looking up at you.
“Feel good?” you ask.
“Really good,” says Pinkie, earnestly. “So good that I need a new word to describe it.”
She taps her chin thoughtfully, her lips pursed.
“How about...snugglerific!” she says at last, triumphantly.
“Snugglerific?” you repeat.
“Yeah,” says Pinkie, wrapping her forelegs around herself. “Terrifically snuggly, like being held by a big teddy bear.”
You blush slightly. You’re not exactly the skinniest of humans, but you never considered yourself that big. Even so, you’re sure Pinkie means it in the best way.
“Thanks,” she says, more seriously . “Even if I wasn’t having a bad day, that still felt really good. You’re one of the best kinds of friends, along with all my best besties.”
So saying, she rears up and, putting her hooves around you, gives you a hug nearly as warm and tender as the one Applejack had given you. It was surprising at first, because you were used to Pinkie giving tight, bone-tenderizing embraces, rather than more sedate ones. Still, you feel nice and warm inside, and reciprocate the hug as she affectionately nuzzles your cheek. You can actually feel the steady beat of her heart beside yours against your chest. Never before had you appreciated what it really means to have a friend like Pinkie Pie.
At last, you break away, and you walk Pinkie to the door. You don’t put much faith in her getting out the window easier than she came in, but she makes no mention of it.
“Can I ask you something?’ asks Pinkie.
“Of course.”
“Do they ever get boring or repetitive for you?”
“Do what?” you ask, curious.
“Your therapy sessions. Do you ever get bored just giving the same ear scratches and tummy rubs to ponies?”
You have your answer practically ready-made as you say, smiling,
“Not at all. If it works to make ponies relaxed and happy, I don’t mind having that kind of routine at all. Besides, not every pony wants the same techniques done every time. Some prefer a simple petting or a rub. Some just want a nice long hug. It might come down to the same thing, but it’s never simple, boring repetition.”
Pinkie beams, apparently satisfied with your answer.
“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” she says. “Now, don’t forget about what I said. Look around for ponies who could use a little scritching or rubbing, and drop by Fluttershy when you get the chance.”
“I will,” you say. “Thanks, Pinkie. I’ll see you around.”
“Yep-yep!” she says, brightly. “Buh-bye!”
And with that, she bounces away, humming more merrily than you can remember ever hearing her hum before. You simply stand there, watching her go until she’s out of sight. There’s something remarkable in the fact that you had made Pinkie Pie, already one of the happiest and cheeriest of ponies, even happier, if that was even possible. The idea fills you with warmth and, it must be confessed, a little pride.
“Well,” you say to yourself, “I can’t say today was uneventful now. There’s still plenty of daylight left today, so I might as well take Pinkie up on her idea and just take a wander, see if she’s right.”
So saying, you put on your shoes, lock up the house behind you, and set off.
***
In your exhilaration over your session with Pinkie, you let your feet carry you where they please. You pass by many ponies who greet you cheerfully, and whom you greet in return. It beats walking sullenly through the streets of Manehattan, hearing ponies shout at you to get out of the way, or shooting you filthy looks as though you’d kicked a puppy.
Soon, you leave the main hustle and bustle of Ponyville altogether, and make for the more rural parts, where peace and quiet reign supreme. This is an expanse of greenery that you have only previously seen depicted in art galleries, with rolling hills, flower-filled meadows, and a sky dotted with fluffy clouds. It was like paradise.
This was something above all, besides the kindness of its ponies, that made Ponyville far superior to Manehattan. It was nearly impossible to get a moment’s peace of mind with ponies and taxis bustling down the street, talking, shouting, and arguing. Not even its large park was much of a refuge from the noise. This, however, was exactly what the soul needed to get away from the hectic rush and noise of civilization.
There must have been some kind of serendipitous magic afoot, as, by pure chance, even though you hadn’t set a definite course in your steps, you soon find yourself heading in the direction of the Everfree Forest. It’s a foreboding mass of trees that most ponies steer clear of if they can avoid it. From what you had heard, it’s teeming with dangerous creatures, like timberwolves. However, they keep to the boundaries of the forest, so ponies aren’t in danger of a sudden wolf attack. You had also heard tales of a zebra who lived in the heart of the forest. That sounded like someone worth meeting.
Situated near the forest, not terribly close, but not too far off from it, either, there sits a cozy two-story cottage thatched with greenery, with a beautiful garden, a footbridge over a clear pond, a paddock with a chicken coop, a rabbit hutch, and quite a number of birdhouses. It’s the sort of house that seemed to be reserved for fairytales alone. It’s far out of the way of any other pony habitation, and seems the perfect place for quiet, comfort, and peace.
And there, sitting in the garden, all by herself, is Fluttershy.
Fluttershy is a pegasus with a pale-yellow coat, something like the color of fresh butter. Her mane and tail are a shade of pink similar to Pinkie Pie’s coat, and both very long. Her mane in particular is long enough to shield her face from view, like many shy persons are apt to do. Her eyes are a lovely shade of sea-green, full of warmth and gentleness. Her wings are a bit larger than those of most pegasi, but as fluffy and delicate-looking as a swan’s wings. She’s of an average build, neither as thin as Rarity nor as plump as Pinkie, but she moves with indescribably delicate grace and poise, like the most well-bred of young ladies.
Truth be told, you haven’t had much interaction with Fluttershy before. When you first met her, while you were helping Rose at her flower stall, she didn’t know what to make of you, and even seemed inclined to run away from you. However, Rose managed to convince her that you were harmless, and she seemed mollified. Even so, whenever you’d seen her since, she didn’t seem able to do more than give you a smile, small, but genuine, nonetheless. It was some progress, anyway.
Still, you do know some things about her, thanks to Rose. She's not one to mix much with crowds, and can be very shy, especially around strangers. She’s usually either by herself, accompanied by animals, or with her pony friends. Despite being a pegasus, she seems much more at home on the ground, and can only rarely be glimpsed flying. She can also be very apologetic, and sometimes awkward, but polite to a fault.
Still, she’s a very charming and good-looking pony, all the more so because, unlike Rarity, who’s very lovely in her own right, she doesn’t use products or makeup to accentuate her appearance. Her loveliness is all natural, though she doesn’t flaunt her looks, like you’ve seen Rarity do.
More than that, as Rose attests in glowing terms, she has a very kind, sweet, and loving heart, closely rivaling Pinkie’s. Nothing could make that plainer than the menagerie’s worth of animals she cares for. She has the remarkable talent of being able to communicate with them, and to understand their varied languages. All animals adore her, and she adores them: furry, feathered, scaly, slimy, winged, clawed, hooved, pawed, finned, herbivore, carnivore, and omnivore. She deems all worthy of love.
Something’s different this time, though. You notice that Fluttershy’s smooth brow is furrowed, her eyes closed. She’s taking deep breaths, and her mouth is rather thin. It’s clear that something is troubling her. Was this what Pinkie meant when she said Fluttershy could use some affection therapy? How could Pinkie have known? Then again, it was Pinkie Pie.
You approach cautiously, so as not to put a scare into her by blundering up like a clumsy bear. Once you’re near enough, you clear your throat gently, but distinctly. Fluttershy gives a start and looks around, her consternation giving way to surprise, which lessens a little at the sight of you.
“Oh!” she says. “Hello there. How are you?”
Her voice is very soft and demure, the sort of voice that seems to rarely exceed whisper-level. It’s the kind of voice that you expect to belong to a mother: soothing you in times of distress, reassuring you that everything will be all right, and sending you to peaceful sleep with a well-sung lullaby. The animals she looks after must never be in fear with her around.
“Hello, Fluttershy,” you say. “I’m fine. I was just taking a walk through here when I came upon your cottage. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
“Oh, no, no, not at all,” says Fluttershy, modestly. “I was just...thinking.”
“It looked like you were thinking about something troubling,” you say.
Fluttershy’s pale cheeks turn slightly pink, and she looks away.
“It’s...nothing,” she mutters. “It’s not something I’d want to trouble a friend with.”
Your heart gives a little swoop of excitement. She considers you a friend! Still, you don’t want to be tactless.
“Well,” you say, delicately, “I won’t pry if you don’t want to talk about it. I just want you to know that if anything is bothering you, I’d be happy to help if I can. I’m an affection therapist, after all.”
Fluttershy looks at you again, looking a little curious.
“Affection therapist,” she repeats, as though trying to work out the term. “Twilight mentioned that the last time I saw her. She said that was what you do now. I don’t really understand what it means, though. Can you explain?”
It’s funny how many ponies have heard of the phrase, but still need it explained. No matter. You don’t mind.
“Of course,” you say. “To put it as simply as I can, I help ponies relax and feel comfortable through little displays of platonic affection. They include nose boops, ear scratchings, pettings, tickles, belly rubs, and even hugs. They especially help for ponies who are feeling stressed or put-out. It’s worked wonders so far, if I can be allowed to toot my own horn,” you add, modestly.
Fluttershy looks surprised at this, her face lighting up eagerly.
“Pettings?” she asks. “Scratchings? Belly rubs? Those sound like the things I do for my animal friends! It always makes them feel better if they’ve been feeling grumpy or sad.”
Ah, good! So she has a frame of reference for this kind of thing! That’ll make it easier for her to understand!
“Well, this follows similar principles,” you say.
“And it really works on other ponies?” Fluttershy asks.
“That’s right,” you say. “Of course, it’s up to you whether you want to go through with it or not.”
Fluttershy falls silent, looking thoughtful. It seems like she’s seriously trying to make up her mind about it, though the fact that she can draw a similar parallel with your techniques is already a good sign. You stay silent during this, as it would be in poor form to further promote your trade, as though you were desperate for it and were trying to wheedle an assent out of her.
At last, Fluttershy says,
“Maybe I should give it a try. At the very least, I think I need to get this off my chest. Would you like to come inside? We can talk more in there.”
Your heart gives another bound. Fluttershy’s opening up! She trusts you!
“Lead the way,” you say, bowing politely.
Fluttershy giggles. Your heart nearly melts at how adorable it is. She stands up and starts walking back towards her cottage, whereupon you follow.
***
The inside of Fluttershy’s cottage is like nothing you’ve seen before. It’s both comfortable and cluttered. The floor is wood-paneled, with a red, rectangular rug in the middle of the floor of the den, immediately off the front door. A stone fireplace sits in one corner, as does a moderately-filled bookcase. The large windows look out upon the beautiful landscape surrounding the cottage. A staircase leads to the upper floor, while another door leads off to the kitchen. The den holds a comfortable-looking sofa and armchair, separated by a small table. Some small tables bare framed photographs, while others hang on the walls. Several more birdhouses hang from the ceiling, and the walls are dotted here and there with mouseholes. A sizeable pet bed, well-supplied with pillows, sits near the fireplace.
In other words, the cottage is well-suited both for the habitation of a home-lover like Fluttershy and for the comings and goings of animals.
“Very nice place you have here,” you say, turning your head this way and that.
“Thank you,” says Fluttershy. “I’m glad to let my animal friends use it to rest and be comfortable, but sometimes I wish it was a little bigger, or that I had a place more open for them.”
At that moment, you find yourself brought to a halt. A white rabbit has hopped up in front of you and is eyeing you beadily, a look of unmistakable mistrust on its face. You regard it warily, put-off by a creature so cute looking so aggressive.
“Angel,” says Fluttershy, firmly, “don’t be rude. He’s a guest.”
Angel? An ironic name if ever you’ve heard one, going solely by the stink-eye that bunny’s giving you. However, the rabbit does no more, and hops away.
“Don’t mind him,” says Fluttershy. “He doesn’t do well with strangers, but he’s really a good bunny.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” you say.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Fluttershy says. “I’ll go get some tea.”
She disappears into the kitchen, and you sit down on the sofa. You continue to look about at the decor of the cottage, and the accommodations made for visiting animals. You receive a small start when a bird peeks out of a birdhouse to gaze at you, tilting its head in polite curiosity, before going back inside. You receive another when two mice scurry past your feet, from one mousehole to the next. Fluttershy must obviously be used to these comings and goings. You’d probably never get used to it yourself.
Fluttershy soon returns with a tea tray balanced on her back, supported by her wings. She lays it down on the table, pours out the tea, and hands you a cup before sitting down with her own. You take a sniff at the tea, then take a sip.
“Orange tea?” you ask.
“Mm-hmm,” says Fluttershy. “It’s actually my first time making it, truth be told. How is it?”
“Very citrusy,” you say, approvingly, and Fluttershy smiles.
You both sit in silence for a little while, sipping your tea. One of you is going to have to break the ice eventually. Might as well be you.
“So, what’s on your mind?” you ask, gently, setting your cup down. “What’s been troubling you?”
Fluttershy takes a long sip, swallows, sets her cup down as well, then says,
“I’m feeling stressed about my brother.”
“Your brother?”
You didn’t know Fluttershy had a brother. Then again, there must still be much you don’t know about her.
“Yes,” says Fluttershy. “My younger brother, Zephyr Breeze. He’s a smart and talented pony...if only he’d let it show,” she adds, bitterly.
“What do you mean?” you ask.
Fluttershy sighs.
“He always sets his mind on something he wants to do, and makes a big deal out of it to my parents and me,” she says. “He says it's ‘what he’s meant to do.’”
“So he has job fads?” you ask.
“That’s a good way to put it,” says Fluttershy. “And since they’re nothing but fads to him, he always gives up on what he’s doing after only a few weeks, or even a few days. After that, he comes home to move back in with Mom and Dad. It wouldn’t be so bad if he actually did anything to help out around the house, but he doesn’t! He just lazes around and makes them do everything for him! It’s been going on for so long, and I just...I can’t…”
Fluttershy’s voice has been rising in heat and pitch as she goes on, and now, she seems at a loss for words to express her frustration. She breathes deeply, trying to compose herself, while you sit staring at her, amazed. You lay a hand on her shoulder, and you take it as a good sign that she doesn’t shrink away from it.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’ve never had siblings, but I can imagine how tough it must be for you. It sounds like your brother’s wasting his life and invading your parents’ lives. Have you ever tried talking to him?”
“More times than I can count,” Fluttershy says, regretfully. “I’ve tried being reasonable with him, but he just won’t listen. He keeps saying he has to be ‘free to make his own way’, to ‘find his own path’. He just won’t settle for anything he doesn’t immediately like.”
“I see,” you say. “What’s he going for now?”
“Mane therapy.”
“Mane therapy?” you echo, puzzled.
“He swore it was his calling,” says Fluttershy, rolling her eyes. “I just hope he’ll stick with it this time, with how earnestly he talked about it.”
“Wow,” you say. “No wonder you’re stressed.”
Fluttershy nods sadly.
“And it’s all I’ve been thinking about lately. I’ve tried to distract myself from it, but nothing works. My mind keeps wandering back to Zephyr sooner or later. I need something to take my mind off him, even for a little while. My spa day with Rarity isn’t for another few days, and Discord’s away until our next tea party. My critter friends have tried what they could, and I really appreciate it, but it’s just been too much.”
The name ‘Discord’ makes you start a little. You’d heard tales of the self-styled Lord of Chaos and the insanity caused by his magic. In fact, you remember hearing how he joined forces with the magic-stealing tyrant Tirek, but then betrayed him after Tirek double-crossed him. He had reportedly supplied the final component in bringing about his defeat. Everypony else seemed to have forgiven him, so you didn’t see much reason to make a fuss about it, especially if he was Fluttershy’s friend.
“Well, I’ll do my best to help you,” you say, kindly. “That is, if you do want a session.”
Fluttershy looks at you for a second or two, then says, with a smile that warms your heart,
“Yes. I think I’d like to give it a try. To be honest,” she adds, looking a little bashful, “I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like myself. To be the pet for once, instead of the petter.”
“Heh, I can imagine,” you say, grinning.
“So, um, how do we start?” Fluttershy asks.
“How would you like to start?” you ask. “What do you feel like you’ve wanted to experience the most?”
Fluttershy ponders for a moment, then says, with no small amount of blushing,
“I think I’d like to start with a belly rub, if that’s ok.”
Well, that’s a different start already. Most ponies want a belly rub as one of the last things in the session, unless that’s the only thing they want. Still, it’s Fluttershy’s session, and you’re not about to argue.
“All right, then,” you say. “Just lay yourself down on your back.”
Still looking a little bashful, Fluttershy drapes herself across your legs on her back. With her forelegs tucked up in front of her chest, and her innocent aquamarine eyes gazing up at you, you feel as if her cuteness might be lethal for your health, almost too much to bear. One of these days, these ponies may be the death of you, but it’d be worth it.
You place your hand on her stomach, and can’t resist giving her a little tickle as a preamble, making her giggle. Smiling, you start slowly rubbing up and down along her belly, watching as she closes her eyes in relaxation. Like Rarity, Fluttershy’s coat feels much softer and smoother than most ponies’. You can only equate it to her using a special kind of product to keep it nice and healthy, perhaps from the spa. Like Twilight, Fluttershy’s belly only has a fraction of doughiness to it, but it’s barely noticeable. She’s thin enough to keep her stomach from jiggling from contact, yet not to the point of being able to see or feel her ribs. She keeps her physique at a reasonable middle ground.
Fluttershy looks utterly at peace as she lies there, any trace of her previous vexation gone. You feel it’s safe to start with other techniques in conjunction. You reach over and start scratching her ear. Like with Pinkie, her eyes don’t pop open at the sensation, but her smile broadens, and she lets out a contented sigh. She doesn’t say anything, but that little sigh speaks volumes. You alternate between her ear and her chin, and the results are the same: pure happiness and serenity.
As you continue to rub and scratch, you start to hear little noises: scurrying, rustling, chirps, and squeaks. Looking up, you see that several animals have gathered to watch. Several birds are perched on the rafters: jays, finches, and even an owl. Squirrels, mice, ferrets, and rabbits, including the one called Angel, still eyeing you warily, are on the floor, hunkered down on the rug. And at the far back, to your great surprise, is a large brown bear.
All of their eyes are on you and Fluttershy, and you’re not quite sure what to make of it at first. Are they jealous of the attention Fluttershy’s getting? No, that can’t be it. She must already show them boundless care and devotion, a sweetheart like her. Are they, perhaps, making sure nothing bad happens to her? That could be possible, seeing as how she was something of a mother to them, and you were practically a stranger. Perhaps Angel had put them up to it somehow.
You wish you had Fluttershy’s power of speech with animals. You’d love to be able to help them understand that you were here to help their caregiver, not do her any harm. But just at that moment, Fluttershy lets off another sigh, and, like Applejack before her, snuggles her cheek into the palm of your hand as it’s scratching her ear. Looking back up at the animals, you see something that quite erases your trepidation.
You see unmistakable relief on their various faces. They’re all looking upon Fluttershy with tenderhearted smiles on their beaked and muzzled faces. The bear actually has its big paws clasped over its heart. Even Angel looks much less hostile as he smiles at his owner. And now you start to understand: they had been worried about Fluttershy’s continuing stress over her brother, and to see her finally relax was a relief for them. It was touching how devoted they were to her, as she no doubt was to them.
Separately, the animals depart to leave you two in peace: the birds back into their birdhouses or out the window, the mice to their holes, the squirrels, rabbits and ferrets off to different rooms, and the bear out the door. Angel himself has gone out, without so much as a backward look. You’ve won the critters’ approval, which feels in itself like some kind of victory.
After a while, Fluttershy yawns sleepily, half-opening her eyes. You feel her belly rise from the yawn beneath your hand, and remove it.
“How do you feel?” you ask, gently.
“Really relaxed,” she says. “Now I know what my forest friends feel when I give them belly rubs. It’s wonderful.”
“I’m glad you think so,” you say, smiling. “Anything else you’d like me to do?”
“Just one more thing, if you don’t mind,” says Fluttershy. “Do you think you could pet my mane for a little while?”
”Certainly,” you say.
Smiling, Fluttershy turns herself over onto her stomach, resting her chin on her hooves. She looks exactly like a contented dog. You can’t help but wonder if her time among her animals friends has rubbed off on her in some ways. Then again, you’ve seen several ponies act in ways that are more doggish than ponyish.
Very gently, and taking care to keep clear of her wings, you start stroking her pink locks. It astounds you how unbelievably soft and smooth her mane is. It hardly feels like hair at all, but the finest silk fabric in the world. Each and every hair is immaculate and in place, to create a uniform appearance and feeling. No doubt her tail must feel the same way. You knew Fluttershy had natural beauty, but you had never realized how much effort she must put into just looking like her usual self, without makeup or anything.
Fluttershy settles deeper into her relaxed pose, her chin slipping between her hooves and settling on your knee, her hooves pillowing her cheeks instead. Her ear twitches almost imperceptibly, and even her wings move a little. From her breathing, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had fallen asleep. That tends to happen often with these ponies, but, again, it’s merely a sign that the therapy is working.
You can never quite explain why you never check the time before you start, to gauge how long these sessions take. Somehow, it just never seems important. Whatever the case, it feels like at least an hour’s passed before Fluttershy at last stirs, and you stop petting. Very slowly and gradually, she sits up and stretches, in a very cat-like way, yawning. She then sits down beside you, wearing a very warm smile.
“Feel better?” you ask.
“Very much,” she says, glowingly. “That was just what I needed. I feel like a whole new pony. Thank you so much.”
She leans forward and nuzzles your cheek. You feel that cheek grow very hot, but in a pleased sort of way.
“You’re welcome, Fluttershy,” you say. “I’m happy to have helped.”
When Fluttershy pulls away, you see her smile falter a little, and she’s blushing a little as well.
“Is something wrong?” you ask.
“No,” she says. “I was just thinking...But I wouldn’t want to ask something you might find odd.”
What could she mean? You don’t understand.
“Go ahead,” you encourage gently. “Ask away.”
Fluttershy swallows.
“Well...would it be ok if...if I did the same for you?”
You blink at her.
“If you did what for me?” you ask.
“If I...pet your hair for a little,” Fluttershy mutters, her cheeks going crimson. “I just thought it’d be a nice way to repay you for helping me, and to give you a chance to relax after what you did. I don’t really know which of your techniques work for humans the way they do for ponies or animals, and I thought it was the most, well, reasonable.”
You stare at her for a second or two, surprised. This was the first time a pony’s asked to reciprocate an affection therapy technique on you. Yes, reciprocation was an option in your occupational contract, but nopony had really taken you up on it beyond a nose boop or a tickle. Granted, you don’t think you’d be much inclined to have your own stomach rubbed. Still, Fluttershy’s request is so innocent and genuine, that there’s no way you could simply refuse.
“Of course you can,” you say, smiling. “I’m flattered that you’d want to return the favor for my simple services.”
“Oh, it was far from simple,” says Fluttershy, earnestly. “You’ve taken a huge weight off my shoulders by letting me think about nothing for a while. It’s the least I can do.”
“Then I’d be honored,” you say, graciously. “Just tell me how I ought to position myself.”
In the end, Fluttershy settles herself in a sitting position, allowing you to lay your head across her lap. At first, you express worry that you might be too heavy, even with just your head, but she assures you that it’ll be nothing. So you lay the back of your head across her knees, gazing up into her gentle, smiling face.
She takes her hoof and starts running it gently through the tumbled mass of hair on your head. You’d only ever followed the most basic of hair arrangement: running a comb through it a few times, like Verne’s Passepartout. Seeing the different ways ponies wear their manes, you feel far from self-conscious about your own looks. You actually find it cute to see how many mares prefer a more boyish style to their locks.
At Fluttershy’s first touch, you immediately feel your muscles begin to relax. You’re a little surprised at this, since you don’t recall ever feeling stressed or uptight during the session. Nevertheless, you feel your body practically melt and unravel as Fluttershy strokes your hair. You look up at her, and she gazes down at you with a soft, motherly smile. She had looked absolutely precious as you gave her her therapy session. Now you were seeing her in a whole new, wonderful light. This was the Fluttershy her animals saw when she tended to them.
And then, as if it were the last thing needed to complete this cycle of serenity, she starts to sing, in a low and soothing voice.
“Sleep, my dear, it’s time for bed
The stars are shining bright
The day is done, so rest your head
Until the morning light
Sweet dreams to you, to you
Until the night has gone
Sweet dreams to you, to you
Peace until the dawn”
You feel your eyelids begin to droop. Fight as you might to keep them awake, you can’t resist. Finally, your eyes close altogether, and you drift off into slumber.
***
When you open your eyes at last, everything seems to be bathed in a golden-red glow. The sun must be setting. Your head is still resting in Fluttershy’s lap, and she’s still looking down at you, still smiling.
“Hello, sleepyhead,” she says, warmly. “How do you feel?”
You gradually sit up and stretch. How do you feel? How can you describe how you felt?
“Never better,” you say, smiling at her. “I can’t remember ever feeling so relaxed in all my life. I’ve helped several ponies relax by now, but that’s the first time a pony’s ever done the same for me. Thank you, Fluttershy.”
Though she blushes, Fluttershy still smiles.
“You’re very welcome,” she says. “It was the least I could do for you.”
“But is the sun setting already?” you ask, looking out the window. “I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. I should let you see to your animals, since I must’ve been keeping you from them for too long already.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” says Fluttershy. “You haven’t imposed at all.”
Here, her expression becomes much softer and more tender, and a quavering light appears in her eyes. All at once, she puts her forelegs around you, pulling you into a hug.
“Thank you so much,” she says. “It really means a lot that you would want to help me, even if I never took the time to get to know you before.”
It’s a miracle that your heart isn’t exploding from so much cuteness. Nevertheless, you return the hug, just as warmly.
“It was my pleasure, Fluttershy,” you say. “I’ll try to drop by every so often, if you’d like. Not for therapy, necessarily, but just to talk, maybe?”
“I’d like that,” says Fluttershy, nodding.
At last, you ease apart, and Fluttershy walks you to the door. As you approach it, the animals of the house peek out from their various places to watch you go, even Angel. It still feels gratifying that you’ve earned their trust for helping Fluttershy. You do receive a start, however, when the bear you had observed earlier suddenly pops up and clumsily pats your head with its big paw.
“Aww,” says Fluttershy, giggling. “That’s Harry’s way of saying he likes you.”
“Is it?” you say, grinning awkwardly from the rather rough patting. “I’m honored.”
Fluttershy watches you out as you make your way out the door and down the main path. You turn to look back at her, and see her give you one last warm smile before she closes the door. Turning your head forwards again, you let out a sigh.
“Maybe it’s not so surprising,” you say to yourself, “her wanting to give me therapy in return. She’s used to caring for animals, and humans aren’t too far off from monkeys, so it was probably no different than what she normally does for her critters. In any case, I think all animals need a Fluttershy in their lives, the same way everyone could use a Pinkie Pie in theirs.”