//------------------------------// // The Initial Assumption Was That She Was Purely Decorative // Story: Anchor Foal: A Romantic Cringe Comedy // by Estee //------------------------------// She had some time, and so much of it was time alone. There had been a minor argument, one where the other party had only participated because his shock had been too deep to acknowledge the need for a simple surrender. Fleur had felt that somepony had to take Zipporwhill home, and she'd also believed it had to be Snowflake: even after her introductory party, she was still a relative stranger in town, somepony whom the majority populace didn't really know. The filly's parents might not be personally familiar with Snowflake, but they would recognize him: as with Fleur, permanently registering an impression of that form on first sight was just about automatic and in his case, they would have had a much longer time to connect it with the actual pony. He'd (rather shakily) believed that she shouldn't be left to hold down the cottage by herself, she'd quietly asked what it had to deliver which was worse than that, and he'd lost. (It was only some time after he'd taken Zipporwhill off the grounds (trotting slowly at her side, giving the filly all the time she needed, time which might never be enough) that Fleur realized she'd never checked his puzzle. She didn't know if it had been safe. It almost sent her out the door after them, to make sure, even feeling that it wouldn't be in the stallion, it couldn't be him -- but until she assembled the image, she could never be certain. It was already what might have been the worst day of Zipporwhill's life, and she'd just... let them go.) It left her alone within the cottage, or nearly so. Alone when it came to anything which could think, at least on the pony level. There were always animals, and with her as the lone occupant... they had been suspicious, during her original visit. Cautious. She suspected it happened with everypony, and that it was one of the reasons some might be reluctant to approach the cottage: weaker minds would be unnerved by the potential scrutiny of so many little eyes. In this case, they were watching her again. A few chipmunks followed her from room to room, and there was always a vole within viewing distance of her tail. The residents were maintaining their scrutiny, perhaps making sure she didn't go anywhere which was solely the domain of their mistress -- and it occurred to her that they just might be capable of reporting her movements, presuming Fluttershy managed to ask the right questions. It was another reason that bedroom was currently off-limits. They watched her -- but it didn't seem to be with the same intensity as Fleur's first day on the grounds. Perhaps they were just getting used to her. And at any rate, they had very little to worry about. Fleur had time alone, and in so many homes (there had been so many homes, so many now-sleeping clients with their puzzles solved, a chance to look for the physical evidence) she would have used that. But her current time within the cottage had been dedicated to another purpose. She had mixed the poison for the third time, and that meant her mind, something which knew thought was pain, was ready to spend most of her waking hours (and all of the sleeping ones) bringing back the first two. Things had happened at the cottage, things which made her remember, and she didn't want to remember. She couldn't prevent the inevitable reliving of events within the nightscape: she didn't have to deal with the same thing under Sun. So she worked. Steadily, carefully, almost mindlessly. Complex thought temporarily suffocated in the fog of menial labor. And there was so much labor to be done at the cottage, always one more task to accomplish: that was what you got when you lived around animals. A lifetime of pure busywork. One more stain to clean. Potential combatants to separate. Arguments over food which needed defusing, and the cottage residents weren't any more used to being ambushed by a field than the recently-groomed dog had been. There were times when she was interrupted -- but that was just more work. Additional appointments manifesting from the book as fur, flesh and feathers. Ponies brought their companions in, and those ponies were rather naturally surprised to see Fleur -- but it felt as if some of them could have been more surprised. They were used to Fluttershy. Those who'd been out to the cottage at the right times accepted Snowflake's presence. Fleur taking care of everything should have been an outright shock, and one did react that way -- but another, perhaps late to the news while sleepwalking her way through the rumor mill, was only surprised that Fluttershy was on a mission. That Fleur was there in her place... didn't generate the same reaction. It didn't seem to create much of a reaction at all. She took care of another pony's clients and in doing so, discovered that Fluttershy didn't seem to have a blacklist. There was, however, a cabinet drawer filled with unpaid bills, and one earth pony discovered that the current occupant had an insistence on payment for past visits prior to new services being rendered, especially when the last three were still awaiting settlement. (She'd held the documents in front of his face until he was effectively dominated into reading them. Getting the actual bits had required literally keeping the medicine over his head, with the field bubble bobbing just out of jumping hoof-press reach.) The groundhog's remains had to be dealt with, and there was a procedure for that. You ate prey -- well, she didn't. She couldn't. She'd... not now ...followed that, as far as she could. Prey which had been honorably defeated was consumed: that was the right of the victor. And there were those among Fluttershy's charges who needed meat to live. The groundhog was still capable of providing that, at least if the serving party waited at least five minutes beyond death. She'd been told that such meat was safe to consume, but... there was an aftertaste. Something which lingered. A reminder. Prey which had won... there was another option available, an honorable one, and she'd left the cottage with the little corpse floating within the field bubble. Left via the back door for the first time, because she'd realized that there was something else Fluttershy would have regularly had to do. Fleur had never scouted that part of the grounds, and so there was a sensible place to begin looking. It also turned out to be the only place she needed to look. Several of the resident animals followed her, continuing to watch. It surprised her, that there were herbivores willing to stay so close to the smell of death. (Air didn't move well through a field, but it did move. Enough for the surrounded to breathe, enough for scents to escape.) But perhaps they were simply used to it. She did what was necessary, at the border of the marker stones. And when she was finished, she stood still and quiet under Sun, counting the little graves. The first thing she did when Snowflake came back (during a quiet moment, with the most recent client departed and her going to work on that one, now slightly-burnt stain) was the silent ignition of her talent. There were still too many animals close by, something which would discomfort her in this kind of bulk: she couldn't use her deepest magic for long. But she didn't have to solve his puzzle: she just had to look for specific pieces, she had to know if she'd just -- --you're safe. I thought you were. But it was easy for somepony to believe that. Fleur was the only pony in the world who could know. And she'd let him leave the grounds... ...it's all right. I didn't make a mistake. He's safe. She's safe. The full solution would have to wait for later: she had just enough time to see that she'd been worried over nothing (at least when it came to him), to pick up on what she considered to be a rather natural fondness for physical power, and to detect that some of the shades felt as if they'd recently brightened. And then she shut down her talent again, because she really didn't need to know what several dozen squirrels looked for in the way of strongly-shading tails. She'd worked, and she'd used that as a way to avoid thought. But now it was time to think. It might have even been time for some degree of pain, because pain had many uses, once you'd learned how to forge it. Her nightscapes would contain memory, memory was pain, and with so much pain available... "How is she?" He took a slow, deep breath. "With her mother. She's still shaken, but... she's with her mother. That's the important thing." Assuming the parent was competent. I might have to go by that house... "I'm sorry I was gone so long," he continued. "They're all the way on the other side of the settled zone, and Zipporwhill... I couldn't try to hurry her." A more awkward pause. "I also stopped to pick up Genova. She's already scampering around the living room." "It's all right." She'd expected him to. He managed to make eye contact, something which was done on a more-or-less direct line. He was huge -- but so much of that was bulk: in height, he was just on the tall side, and so was she. He made eye contact -- but he didn't manage to hold it for long. Softly, "She told me to never kill." His head dipped. The single earring seemed to sag. "That if it looked fatal, I just had to -- send them to Canterlot. I think she knew there was always a chance for something like today, where there wasn't time. I guess she was just hoping I'd be lucky. Stay lucky. So she didn't teach me about..." Powerful legs bent under unbearable weight. "To Canterlot," Fleur steadily repeated. He managed a nod. You're going to ask me about how I knew how to mix it, if I give you long enough. But I think I can put you off for a while, because you're not used to talking. And you're not the worst thing... but you're also not a killer. Not for something like this. I watched you work: you're not the worst substitute. But you could never be a real vet. You don't want to talk about death. Think about death. Deal with death. And Fluttershy does that every day. When I was a filly -- --no. She could push him off indefinitely, if it came down to that, and Fluttershy -- didn't ask many questions. For now, there was something she wanted to know. Something which suddenly seemed rather overdue. "To Canterlot," Fleur said again, keeping her tones steady. "But not to Ponyville." And carefully, artfully, she lowered her own body, all the way to the floor, making sure to avoid stains and blackened patches. Looked up at the damp red eyes, giving the stallion the illusion of control. That he was gazing down at a mare who was confused, helpless, and only wanting answers. The first aspect had something true within it, even if that was rapidly being frayed by the force of rising suspicion. The second was purest lie. The third was for now, and whether he registered what was happening or not, it made her next words into an order. One which he obeyed. "Tell me about Sweetbark." and then the sound stopped She was still in front of the bathroom mirror. It had been hours before she'd left the cottage: long enough that when she finally reached the one place she'd needed to go, it had rather predictably been closed. And then when she'd gotten to her rented bedroom, tried to collapse under the blankets after navigating the treacherous ramp, tried to sleep... she hadn't. Which had eventually been followed by something worse: she had. It meant she was still in front of the mirror, with the mug of wake-up juice (just about empty) balanced on the edge of the sink. Still applying cosmetics as Sun began to think about coming over the horizon, carefully elevating herself to a position which didn't quite approach its orbit, but felt free to soar a little higher at any time. She'd told Snowflake that she wouldn't be arriving quite so early: she had somewhere to go first. She had to be at her best mentally, and thus the wake-up juice: as a substitute for sleep, it was only effective if you didn't count on it too often or for very long, and so Fleur tended to ration out her usual small supply. (There were ponies who just about used it as a substitute for water and after drinking it with that kind of frequency, found it had acquired exactly the same strength.) But physically... she'd been given a rough idea of what her target looked like, and that had been it: a rough idea. Snowflake wasn't that poor a speaker, probably nowhere near as bad as he feared he was -- but a certain type of male asked to describe mares in front of a female would often neglect details like beauty, generally from fear of making the listener feel they were being compared. It spoke well of his intelligence, knowing enough to avoid the trap, and it had given her just about nothing to work with. Fleur was enhancing her appearance because no matter what this mare truly looked like, Fleur was going to look better. And without a true measure to work against, that meant going just about all the way up. One more layer on the eyelashes... She had to hunch down a little for that. Taller than average, and the mirror hadn't been placed for her height. trying to reach the mirror Stop it, Fleur. Just... stop. The dreams were bad enough. Dreams she hadn't been able to escape. Locked into the nightscape to the very end. Multiple endings. I could try to learn that spell again. It wasn't exactly her first time to that thought. She'd tried so many times... but in many ways, a unicorn's ability to learn workings was directly connected to who that unicorn was. You couldn't master a spell unless you could feel not only a personal connection to it, but had belief in it. Somepony bored by math would never pick up a working that did sums for them, because they were bored by math and so those spells were also boring. And in Fleur's case... I can't teleport because you can't escape reality. I can't stop dreams because you can't escape your life. You could run from it. You could go to where nopony knew about it. You could change it. But you couldn't alter the past. Time had locked events into amber, and the dreams sent her with all limbs pushing through earth gone to liquid, left her to drown in memory until chaos chose to set her free. Nopony could escape their pain, any more than it could be cured. They could only learn how to use it. A few more highlights in my tail, near the base. The schedule says overcast and colder. More emphasis because there's less natural light. You took pain, and you forged it... Too close to the mark: that evaporated. Because other than clothing, nothing concealed any aspect of a mark. She blamed the slip on her lack of sleep, took another sip of juice and redid the general area. "Turn your pain into a weapon." I have my prey. Time to scout. Normally, she would have measured her results by accidents caused, and that was still a viable means of judging just how much impact she was having on some of the passersby: a little more than what was caused by the soon-to-be-inevitable wall. But it wasn't as reliable as usual, any more than it had been during the last part of the trot back on the previous day, after she'd crossed the bridge. There were ponies who were looking at her, because some ponies always looked. And there were those who were looking inside. Looking at personal visions of things they couldn't truly see. Ponies who were... waiting. She'd had a thought when Snowflake had told her about the mission. She'd had it several times and at some point during that trot, looking at how so much of the citizenry was moving, seeing eyes focused on inner illusions, she'd formally completed it. Fluttershy is on a mission. It didn't affect everypony. Some simply went about their day, while others took one too-long look at her and even more simply went into gardens, generally by trying to trot through the fence. But there were those whose tails were carried too low, whose manes were slightly limp. Spines that seemed to have an invisible minotaur hand pressing against the center. Eyes which didn't see much of anything real. The Bearers were away. And Fleur knew very little about what had happened on previous missions -- but in this case, she knew enough. Nightmare. Changelings. The Empire, and whatever had lurked behind that Barrier. Situations where the most reasonable expectation would have been multiple fatalities. The Bearers were away, and so much of a settled zone focused its hearing into the dark, listening for sounds which could never truly reach them. Waited for those sounds to stop. She could die. She'd had the thought. She'd seen how many others were having it, and then she'd done her best to deal with it. To work things out. What would happen, if Fluttershy died on a mission? Not parole. It was exceptionally dark inner humor, weighty enough to drag any silent chuckle down into the pit. No, Celestia was unlikely to treat Fluttershy's passing as a reason to release Fleur: here's your license back because while I'm sure you were doing your best, there just isn't a pony for you to help any more and so I consider your sentence complete. That was a fantasy worth indulging exactly long enough to laugh at it. Fluttershy dying prior to the task's completion would likely put Fleur on trial for every last one of those postponed, unjustified charges. Assuming there was a courthouse which could be used. Assuming there was a settled zone intact enough to have a courthouse. Assuming any judges were alive. She looked at the most distracted-seeming of the commuters. He didn't notice her scrutiny. How much do you know? About how bad things could really become? There was no way to ask. She could only wonder. Celestia thinks Fluttershy is the lone control on Discord. That's the whole reason for this assignment, in her eyes. Fluttershy has foals and then when she dies, Discord has somepony else to care about. Because if he cares at all, if he isn't just pretending to care in order to be free -- then he doesn't care about anypony else, nopony and no one. No one in the world. There's one person in the world he might care about. What does Discord do if she dies? Would he mourn? The sky gone strange again, clouds turning pink, a weeping rain of chocolate milk. Every trotting pony moving in a funeral procession, whether they wished to or not. Wailing plants, a thousand rivers playing a million dirges. Or does he lash out? Somepony dies. The only pony you care about dies. And you're angry at the world, you don't understand, he sounded like a child some of the time in the pasture and a child just lashes out... Temper tantrums. Pounding hooves against the old walls, until they splinter. Until it feels like your hooves might crack, and you just keep kicking because it's all you can do and since your heart already came apart, your hooves don't matter any more. He has a temper tantrum, with a Bearer dead... She didn't know very much about the Elements: hardly anything real. There were rumors, of course. That each one chose, somehow. And if Fluttershy died... it was possible that her Element would choose another. Doing so quickly, providing the chance to almost immediately trap chaos within stone. Or it might take longer. Enough time for damage to be done. Or it might not happen at all. "A friend whose lifestyle, through necessity and destiny alike, has more than a hint of danger about it." Another confirmation of Celestia's near-mark talent for understatement. Fluttershy could die on a mission, and yet Celestia still sent her into danger, keeps sending her over and over again. Fluttershy could meet the one animal she can't calm in time -- -- Fleur took the pain, heated it, smoothed the edge -- -- and die. She trots under a falling object at the wrong moment and she dies. She catches a disease and dies. A wing cramp at high altitude -- considered what little she'd seen of her charge's flight -- probably not that. But the world has a thousand ways to kill you every single day, and if she dies... There was, Fleur supposed, a rather strong argument for pulling Fluttershy out of the Bearers entirely, and an even better one for placing the pegasus in a well-lit room with no sharp edges, then pushing food in thrice-daily. There was a chance that her charge would be willing to submit to such treatment, and a much better one of Discord feeling that such plush imprisonment was offensive. You only had so much time, and then it ran out. Fluttershy's time wasn't infinite, and whatever amount existed was constantly at risk. ...maybe I wouldn't have stopped her from treating animals. That's part of her mark, and if she goes against her mark for too long... Death by stress-induced insanity remained death. But to keep her as an active part of the Bearers... It didn't make sense. So much didn't make sense. She needed more information, and extra places to acquire it from. Sources. Ponies. Also, Fleur was starting to feel as if she'd been asked to single-hoofedly save the world. And at that, she now felt severely underpaid. Which is also apparently habit for Celestia. Save the world. Through getting what might be its most socially-awkward occupant happily married off and pregnant. Don't flatter yourself, Fleur. She always had ponies willing to do that for her: internally, perspective was best. It might not be that bad. Discord could just -- deal with it... That one fell apart rather quickly. Or there could be a new Bearer quickly enough to act. Somewhat more likely, but when Fleur had originally raised the issue of putting the draconequus back in stone... She didn't know if she was saving the world. She just knew it was at risk every day. Anypony's time could always run out at any moment. Everyone's. Anyone's. But in some aspects, that was the way it had always been and so in that sense, nothing had changed. The task was the task, and today's portion of it might also be filed under 'emotional support,' if only because the palace's accounting department might ask questions when it saw 'revenge'. You made me remember. Pain was many things. Prey was generally one. Pain could be a weapon... She got there early. There had been no issues in finding the building: the failed attempt on the previous day meant it was her second trip and in any case, it was well-marked on the map. It was a fairly standard structure, at least from the outside: quite a bit of central Ponyville conformed to a given architectural style. The central distinguishing factors were a well-maintained garden, one which received frequent fertilizer -- but with some of the grass showing signs of urine burn. There was the sign, of course. And the outer colors were just a little brighter than those on the buildings nearby. There was nopony waiting in line. No emergencies trying to inflict themselves outside of scheduled hours. Fleur settled in near the door and waited. After a while, she became bored enough to start formally learning the area. Device repair shop over there. Not that she had many devices. Not that she had any right now... My things should have gotten here already. If this mission goes on for more than another day or two, I have to get into Canterlot -- -- pony on the approach. New puzzle. Mare -- "Well, look at you!" The tone was slightly amazed: a pony who hadn't expected to find a work of art on their doorstep and wanted to spend a few seconds in celebrating the fact. It also came from a strictly-verbal height: the mare was shorter than Fleur, ground-bound, and had still found a way to loft her words so that every syllable came across as talking down. "I'd heard the stories, of course, but to actually see you...!" The mare came closer still. Began to trot in a small circle, taking in Fleur from every angle. "So beautiful! All attention to form and none to function!" One last look at the tail, and then she stopped in front of Fleur, beaming. "So you must be Fleur. I certainly can't imagine you being anypony else. Well, I thought I'd see you eventually, because it's not as if anypony could ever miss you. I just didn't get to attend the party. I usually don't, unless I hear somepony has a pet. And I have working hours, of course." I read your sign. You don't have many of them. With a kind smile, "But I'm sure there's some reason you've come by, and I'm equally certain you'll be able to tell me what it is. Eventually. I mean, once we're inside: no need to discuss things in the street!" Fleur said nothing, and that act was deliberate. She just smiled back, an expression so vacant as to leave a Space For Rent sign hanging from the back of her own head. You think I'm stupid. You took one look at me and decided I'm an idiot. And you're being condescending, but you're so condescending that I'm not even sure you know you're doing it. I'll wear your assigned mask for a little while, because I'll get a few seconds when I drop it. "You did come by for a reason?" the mare checked. "You're not lost, are you? Because I do know you're still new in town. And the streets take a long time to memorize. More so for some than others! So if you just happen to need directions --" "-- it's just a small favor," Fleur smiled. "A little thing. If you'd be so kind?" "Of course! I don't have any patients this early, we've both managed to beat my receptionist here..." Still beaming. "Just come inside and I'll see what I can do!" A tiny pause, and then the tones further lofted into that of the adult teaching a foal. "Actually -- I do need to get to my door..." Fleur stepped aside, allowed the mare space. And then she followed Sweetbark in. There were several kinds of evaluation in progress. Some of them were simultaneous. Physically... when it came to the mare's appearance, Fleur wasn't impressed. An earth pony of average height and build. Yellow-brown fur, and not the best shade of it. The brown eyes were on the bright side, but the mare hadn't really done anything with the white streaks in the light blue hair: those were natural, and it was naturally a shame that they'd mostly been left to fend for themselves. However, the mane had been tied back (much more typical for a vet than Fluttershy's long coral fall), and the tail showed a partial wrap at the base, along with signs that the wrap had been there overnight. A white jacket with some pockets, and the mark... Cat head. Dog head. And -- a duck. Indicating range? But there's no overt medical symbol in there. Not that there had to be: some marks were more symbolic than others, with Fleur's own being at the extreme of the range -- locally -- and Fluttershy's talent was indicated by butterflies. The waiting room told her a lot. The pictures: that was the first major factor. Photos of happy ponies with their joyous companions made for the majority of the decorations. There were some clumsier images which mostly featured the animals by themselves, but the quality could be forgiven, as they were typically rendered in watercolors or crayon. Everywhere Fleur looked, it was happiness and love, glossy fur and silky feathers to go with bright eyes. The gleam of health, in dozens of images. Over and over again. But behind them, when it came to the paint on the walls, the furniture... it was all bright colors. Too bright, the overly-energetic shades which were generally isolated within nurseries. Hues for the very young, those whose parents didn't want their foals to know there was such a thing as darkness just yet. Painting done by the adults who didn't know how not to be afraid of it and so set up a world where shadows might never intrude, so they wouldn't ever have to teach that most vital lesson. It was a waiting room which came with its own imaginary nightlight, and Fleur found herself briefly looking for a crib mobile. And there was one other thing to look for. She'd already picked up on Sweetbark's approach with that unique sense, but now she needed to know more. She was hoping for pieces she could work with... Fleur reached out, solved Sweetbark's puzzle and in doing so, nearly fell asleep. Oh. Oh, for... It would have been unfair to describe Sweetbark as 'frigid,' and it wasn't because the more enticing term of 'arctic' was just within reach. The mare (currently single, and strictly heterosexual) had some interest in sex, in that said interest level was higher than zero. It was just that... In a related sense, it was sometimes unfair to describe sex as 'vanilla,' because the actual flavor was a pleasurable one. Fleur wasn't sure what vanilla had done to anypony in order to become associated with plain, boring, unimaginative, repetitive interaction. But in looking at Sweetbark's puzzle, Fleur was seeing a mare for whom vanilla was a risky proposition. The intensity of Prance vanilla would have put her into full retreat at the mere possibility of such scandalous activity. This was a mare for whom, if sex could be regarded as baking a cake, felt the act of creation consisted of pouring bleached flour into a mold, leaving it on the counter, and expecting something interesting to happen. Any lack of flavor was clearly the fault of the other party, because flour was where all cakes came from and so if you couldn't make flour interesting... Sweetbark was a mare who, if approached with even the most basic idea for true pleasure, would be discovered as having a single favored position: snout in cabinet, looking for medicine to treat the headache she didn't actually have. "So I heard Fluttershy's on a mission!" the earth pony gushed. "Which is why you're dropping by. Not that she usually comes herself, of course. In fact, I hardly ever see her. Well, of course she's at the cottage most of the time, or visiting her friends. But she just doesn't come here." It was the too-fast speech of a pony who was trying to prevent anypony else from entering the conversation, mostly because they still weren't sure the other party could actually talk. "But it's good to know she's doing well!" Glanced back, smiled. "She must be, in order to afford you. I certainly never expected her to hire an assistant!" Fleur blinked. The cinema... Ponies had been talking about Fleur: that was just about inevitable. And now she knew what some of them had been saying. "Assistant," she charmingly parroted. "Well, yes," the earth pony beamed. "I presumed that's why she took you on." She looked at Fleur's horn. "To hold things. On demand. Since you don't have a mark for being a vet. Or a proper assistant. But you can always ask a unicorn to move something! Up to a certain weight." Fleur smiled. "Actually..." Sweetbark continued, "what is your mark? I haven't seen that one before." "Acies," Fleur happily replied, and did so at maximum accent. It was the mare's turn to blink and in her case, she just kept doing it. Awkwardly, with a hesitation which registered as the first small victory, "Ash-ce-e-es..." "No, acies," Fleur smiled. "I'm... not sure I've heard about..." "Can we talk in your examination room?" Fleur beamed. "I'd love to see it." It was somewhat more subdued: less pictures, more testimonial letters. There were also a few anatomy charts on the walls, along with the expected quantity of medical tools and devices. Fleur noted the high level of quality, and how a few of the more complicated ones were completely pristine. The mare turned, faced Fleur directly. Looked her up and down, with most of that being up. "So what can I do for you today?" she asked. "I know Snowflake is at the cottage." A tiny head shake. "That poor dear! He tries so hard, I know, but... well, you've seen him, of course. And his mark. Completely inappropriate. But he's all she could get, and he cares enough to try. And, of course, he does have the common sense to know where the train is. And to tell ponies when to board it. But with him in some sort of charge, sending you here, when Fluttershy never comes by, and of course he can't right now, not that he ever does... well, I'd almost have to assume it's rather serious, yes?" There was a little worry in that last part. It mostly cowered in a corner, hoping Fleur wouldn't notice it, and all of its dreams came to naught. "It's minor," Fleur replied. "Nothing a perfect vet couldn't manage!" And before Sweetbark could say anything, "The first time I heard about you was from Kori's companion. She was so happy with your services! And that was what she kept saying: perfect!" Added a small head tilt. "And when I came here, I didn't know anything about the Bearers, so -- I thought you had to be Magic! The magic of perfection!" A few more blinks, added to a generous supply of freely-radiating ego. "Oh, Kori," Sweetbark finally beamed. "Yes, she's one of my favorites. Did you see her page-turning trick? On command, every time! And sometimes on her own, at just the right time. I swear, she just watches Bluestocking's eyes and knows when her pony has finished reading. But cockatiels can be very bright." Fleur nodded. "Brighter than some ponies," Sweetbark added. "Still, calling me perfect... well, I'm flattered. I can diagnose a dog in a minute and a snake in a second, but perfect? It's a lovely sentiment. And to think of me, however briefly, as Magic itself... thank you, Fleur. I mean that." "But then I met Twilight," Fleur smiled. "Have you met her?" Knowing the answer. The other smile warped at the edges. "Yes. Once. But she rather naturally takes her owl to her friend. I do have clients coming later, Fleur, so what do you and Snowflake need my expert help with?" "Nigro holoserica," Fleur said, and did so perfectly. The mare's expression collapsed. "...what?" "Well," Fleur continued to smile, "I had to use some yesterday. On the groundhog. The one which you sent to the cottage, being pulled along a rough path by a filly who had to listen to every little cry when the road made it hurt all the more. It's a pretty long trip, you know. I made it last night. She would have been hauling for -- well, anyway, the point is that I used some yesterday. And our supply is a little on the low side. So I thought, there's a perfect vet in town, she'll have her own herb patch, and I'll just trot over and ask her for a snipping I can plant!" Another head tilt. "That's all right, isn't it? Just a snipping? And I'd love to see your herb patch, because it just has to be a lovely one! I'm sorry if this comes across as offensive in any way, but the thought of an earth pony maintaining her very own herb patch..." The streaked tail dipped. "You," Sweetbark queried, with all joviality gone, "used that plant." "Well," Fleur beamed, "clearly not by itself..." Far too carefully, "How do you know how to do that?" Fleur extravagantly lofted her ears. "Words go into these," she smiled. "Then I think about what they meant. And when I need them, I just have to remember what they were. That's how learning works." And with the mask kicked into the wall, shattered against the failed armor of testimonials, she seized her chance. Fleur's smile fell away, and she let the words strike. "Actually," she calmly, evenly said, "I'm not sure about your herb patch. I was told you get a few of them delivered. Dried, or powdered in advance. That may just be to save time. But if I found your patch... would I find nigro holoserica there? Do you have the other two? Am I asking for what you don't have? In that case, I'll take something else instead. An explanation. Why did you send a dying animal across the agony of an eighth-gallop, towed along by a child whose nightmares may take moons to fade, instead of doing your job?" Her volume had never changed. The mare, whose tail would have been splayed on the floor if there had just been enough of it, couldn't manage to stare at Fleur. She was blinking far too quickly for that, with pupils expanding and contracting. Trying, and failing, to refocus on an unexpected reality. "...who are you?" "I think you just called me Fluttershy's assistant," Fleur softly replied. "Let's go with that for now. Do you have those plants, Sweetbark? Were you just out at the moment, and you were planning on coming to the cottage to ask Fluttershy for snippings? Or have you ever had them? Have you had them one single day since the two of you have both been in this settled zone? Because a real vet makes sure they can brew that mix, at any minute, in every hour of their working lives --" "-- Fluttershy," the ears-back mare broke in, with the faulty wrapping on the partially-bound tail starting to work free as the lashing began, "isn't a real veterinarian. She doesn't have any formal schooling, not a single college class or diploma. She's self-taught. And unlike pony medicine, the law says she's allowed to practice without that graduation. It's a loophole of sorts, one designed to allow students some intern experience between semesters. But she hasn't had one class..." "She has a herb patch." The tone was casual, because that made things all the worse. "A complete one. Should we compare --" "-- but she has a little skill," Sweetbark shot back. "Enough to do a few basic things right, even with a mark for communication instead of medicine." You focus on marks a lot... Fleur took the chance. Sweetly, "And your mark would be for?" Sweetbark's ears went flat against her skull. "And with all that land," she continued, as if Fleur had said nothing at all. "The sheer number of animals, the expenses she has... she's poor, do you know that? You have to know, with the meager salary she could just barely afford to pay you without sending herself over the final cliff. She has a little skill, and I have too many prospective clients, because I'm the true veterinarian for this settled zone. I have more than I could ever possibly see. So... I pass a few along." There was condescension in that statement, and Fleur had expected there to be. But there was also something far worse. "Those which are safe for her, the little things she can do at her limited skill level," the mare went on. "Because I don't want to see her drop into bankruptcy. She has a hard enough time already, doesn't she? To send her clients, for the simple things, to make sure she has some level of income..." There was pride. "I," Sweetbark declared, "am being charitable." And sincerely smiled. But there had been another aspect. Something Snowflake had spoken of, passing along Fluttershy's own theories. Something Fleur, who'd been listening, had just heard. "Because nothing's simpler than killing," Fleur stated. Sweetbark pulled back. Instinctive movement, something so close to the core that she hadn't been able to stop it. "It's so simple," Fleur continued. "When you know what you're doing, nothing's easier than ending a life. It takes about ten minutes to learn how, when you watch and listen. From first step to last breath, and then you never forget. Remember ten minutes and you can kill over and over..." Spoken to a pony who hadn't mastered her instincts, it triggered a quarter-hoofstep of retreat. Getting away from the fear. "But," Fleur shrugged, "I'm sorry to say that yesterday, your attempt to be charitable -- backfired." And, having confirmed what she wanted to know, simply smiled and waited. Finally, "...how?" Sounding very much like her charge. "I didn't charge her," Fleur shrugged again. "It didn't seem right. It wasn't her companion, after all. It wasn't the final bill for a lifetime of love. 'The true price is paid on the back end': a vet told me that once. Food, playthings, checkups... when it's your companion, the real cost comes on the last day. This was just a groundhog she found somewhere. So this death was... free. Thank you for thinking of the cottage, though. I'm sure that with a situation which justified an invoice worth presenting to a filly, it would have been helpful. Now since you've explained what happened yesterday and I'm sure you have clients coming in, along with a receptionist to keep them in order... thank you for your time." She turned, and calmly began to trot away. I know you. Fluttershy knows you. She passed it on to Snowflake. But neither of them acted on it... "Fleur?" The voice didn't have enough happiness in it: just whatever the mare had been able to cram in within a few seconds. It didn't cover all of the fear, hid none of the loathing, and so it made Fleur curious enough to glance back. "It is a long trot back to the cottage," Sweetbark declared, and nodded towards a jar. "Why don't you take a treat?" She thought as she trotted. About what she'd been told, and what she'd just experienced. "Fluttershy thinks she's -- afraid." "Afraid of what?" "She has a reputation," Snowflake had explained, "for being perfect. And the way she maintains it -- is by sending away everything which might fail. If she gets a case where the animal will die, or might die -- she sends it to the cottage. When it goes wrong, Fluttershy takes the blame, and Sweetbark gets to keep being perfect. Fluttershy thinks it's reached the point where some ponies realize it, deep down: they won't go to Sweetbark if they think it's bad. But others just keep heading into town. And Fluttershy..." Several hills had moved towards each other, his features twisted with concentration. "...she said she can't know for sure, but... she doesn't think Sweetbark has ever ended an animal's life. That she's afraid of it. And as long as the cottage is there..." Fluttershy was right. I've seen her now. She can't. And with Fluttershy around, she doesn't have to. She deals with her pain by never experiencing it, by giving it all to somepony else... There had been so many graves. But Fluttershy hasn't done anything about it. Neither has Snowflake. They just... let it happen, because to them, that's the way to keep the cottage going. The smile was brief, completely private, and utterly vicious. That's not me. Now. A credible story which can't be easily denied, and the ponies who'll be the first to hear it. Put that into the rumor mill, and... She stopped. Completely stopped in the middle of the street, which meant the most-recently entranced pony nearly went into her. And after she'd reoriented following the dodge, she went into the nearest alley for a little more privacy. Examined the last pre-stop thought somewhat more closely. Tell the story to who? I've been focused on Fluttershy. I met some ponies at the party, but I haven't followed up with any of them. I know... Fluttershy, and she doesn't talk. I know Caramel, and there aren't a lot of ponies who talk to him. The first requirement for getting rumors going is knowing ponies who'll listen before passing them along... And given the privacy in which to do so, Fleur winced. I need to make some friends.