//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 The Best Little Hoe House in Canterlot 
// Story: Why Are We Dancing? The Flash Mob Fever 
// by Zephyr Spark 
//------------------------------//

They caught the first balloon to Canterlot, and went to Twilight’s old home, where Twilight’s father greeted the pair. Once Night Light stopped gushing over Spike’s new wings and took almost a dozen new family photos, he sat down on the family couch and briefly explained that Velvet was away on some personal business. 
“So, dad,” said Twilight with her journal ready, “what can you tell me about the compulsive singing and dancing sickness?”
“Well dear, to tell you everything I know, I’d have to start way, way back. First things first, you need to understand that the world was different when your mother and I were your age. Canterlot had customs and rules that citizens had to follow for their own safety, and eventually, many of those rules just became accepted tradition. So much so, that we don’t even bother asking why we do the tradition. For example, females outnumber males almost 6 to 1. Nobody can’t explain why, but it’s always been that way.”
“More like 7 to 1,” said Spike.
“Yes well,” Nightlight cleared his throat. “My point is that somethings, traditions or ways of life, become so second-nature we don’t even question them.” 
Twilight frowned. “Are you saying you don’t know?”
“Well, no. Just that you need to think about things in context. Things were different before you were born.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, we had a little song about Canterlot back then.”
“Really?” Spike’s eyes flattened. “That’s gotta be the weakest musical cue I’ve ever heard.”
“A law was made a distant moon ago here,” sang Nightlight. “The mares in waiting cannot be too hot. And there’s a legal limit to the hoes here. In Canterlot.”
“Dad!” Twilight exclaimed with disgust. “Not in front of Spike.”
“I know what a hoe is, Twilight,” said Spike. “It’s literally Saint Nicolas’s catchphrase. Ho-ho-ho.”
“Oh, Spike.” Nightlight chuckled. “I was actually singing about the gardening hoes. Some folk always believed a hobby of gardening could do wonders for a growing pony’s physical features and health. It’s a shame we don’t have more hoes.”
“Wait, why is there a legal limit to the hoes?” asked Spike. “Does Princess Celestia have some kind of vendetta against hoes?”
“Please stop saying hoes,” Twilight muttered under her breath. 
“Well,” Nightlight was silent for a moment.  “I… er … the thing is… one day ponies discovered that hoes were… impractical. Because we can’t hold them without… getting sweaty.”
“Dad, don’t confuse Spike. If you don’t know why there’s a limit to the … hoes,” she said this word with great reluctance, “…  then you can just say so.”
“Yes. I suppose so.”
“Quick question” said Spike. “Why can’t the mares in waiting be too hot?”
“Because they might have a fever. It will all make sense if you hear the rest of the song. Now, where was I?”
“Hopefully,” Twilight said through barely contained frustration, “about to answer my question without singing?”
“The hoe house is forbidden till December,” he sang, oblivious to his daughter’s irritated expression. “All country music singers must get shots. By order, dancing’s legal in September. In Canterlot.”
“Excuse me, quick question,” said Spike. “What’s a hoe house?”
“It’s …” Nightlight noticed his daughter’s scathing glare and stammered, “well, it’s basically a shed for hoes.”
“And the shots for the country singers, are those so the singers don’t contract fevers from the mares in waiting?”
“Precisely.”
“Okay, continue.”
“In short there’s simply not, a more congenial spot, for clop—” He paused and looked at Spike and Twilight, “I mean, for order and democracy. Than here in Canterlot.”
“Well, that was,” Twilight paused. She couldn’t begin to describe the song without using words she couldn’t say in front of Spike. “It still doesn’t answer my question. So, could you just tell me about the dancing flu?”
“I’m getting there,” said Nightlight. “It’s all explained in the tenth verse.”
“Tenth?!” she exclaimed with unbelievably wide eyes. “You want to sing nine more verses of this?!”
“Plus, a ten-minute dance interlude.”
Twilight rose to her hooves. “If it’s all the same with you, dad, I’d prefer an answer without the musical number.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, looking just a little disappointed. He glanced at a clock on the wall. “Oh dear, looks like I’ve been singing for a little too long. I have an appointment in ten-minutes with an old friend. You’ll probably find some answers in Yakistan. They’re pretty big on dancing and singing.”
“Yakistan?” Twilight said, shaking her head with disbelief. “That isn’t exactly in my backyard. But I’ll do it, for science! Spike? Why don’t you head home and take a break?”
“Nah. I’m good.” He smirked. “Besides, when’s the last time we’ve been on a quest together?”
She smiled at him. “Then, let’s get going. Dad? Tell mom we said hi.”
Nightlight watched as they headed to the door with a smile on his face. The moment they left, the blue stallion sunk into the couch and stared at the ceiling. 
“You can come out now.” He turned to the shadows of his curtain drapes. A pony, wearing a hat and trench coat, stepped out from the darkness and greeted Nightlight with a slight nod.
“What do you want, Beta?”
“There might be a problem,” said the pony. “She’s getting in too deep. We should stop her. Most ponies can’t handle the truth.”
“She’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Then why didn’t you just tell her?”
Nightlight sighed. “I tried to. But I guess the singing frenzy is just too powerful.”
“There’s another problem. The hoes have been acting up again. This time it’s guitars, ukuleles, and double bases.”
“Those instruments,” Nightlight put his hoof to his chin. “Does that mean…it’s back?”
“Yes. And unfortunately, it’s already claimed your son.”
“Faust. That’s not good.” said Nightlight. “Well, at least he looks good in a skirt. What’s the plan?”
“From here, we have to wait until it returns. Then, we take him to the hoe house, and see if Orion can fix it. Let’s hope we’re not too late.” Beta looked away from Nightlight to the kitchen and cleared his throat. “Hey? Do you happen to have any pickles?”
“For buck’s sake,” Nightlight groaned, “why can’t Orion just buy his own pickles?”
“We’re on a budget. Remember?”
“Fine. Just help yourself.” As Beta went to the kitchen, Nightlight grumbled. “Freaking cheapskate.”