It’s Sunday, the day before you officially begin work at the Ponyville Spa. Things have been pretty normal since your evening with Rose. Now that she’s no longer contagious and bedridden, she’s back to work in the market, selling flowers with Daisy and Lily. You’re unsure if it’s the nice weather, not having to be cooped up in her house, or the talk you shared, followed by her therapy session, but Rose has been in a very sunny mood, even more so than her usual cheerful, kindly self. Whenever you see her while you’re out and about in town, she’s always ready with a bright smile and a cheerful wave, which you are more than happy to return. What’s more, and what may possibly be odd to say, the flowers she and her friends sell seem to be even brighter and more vivid than they usually are. Perhaps that was simply the result of the kind of magic only Earth ponies possess.
Rose isn’t the only one in cheerful spirits, either. Ever since Trixie’s return, you’ve spied her and Starlight milling through Ponyville from time to time, chatting amicably about this and that. Like Rose, Starlight is always ready to greet you with a bright smile whenever you come across each other, while Trixie, no doubt still grateful for how you’ve helped her best friend, has been nothing but courteous towards you.
Just yesterday, in fact, she decided to do a magic trick for you in the street.
“You should feel lucky, my bipedal friend,” she said, grandly, “for I am not normally in the habit of performing my tricks just anywhere and for anyone, unless I’m on the stage. Consider this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a gift horse whose mouth you dare not look into.”
Starlight had rolled her eyes at this, though with a smirk that seemed to tell you, ‘This is normal. Just play along.’ You therefore decided to humor Trixie with a humble bow, professing your gratitude at being given such an honor by such a pony. Looking positively tickled at having her ego stroked, Trixie drew a purple, star-patterned wizard’s hat out of one of her saddlebags, and from the other, she drew a large silk top hat. She held them both up for you to observe, clearly to show that both were empty.
“Nothing in the hats, you see,” she said.
You nodded. With a sly grin, Trixie set both hats down, so that the wizard’s hat was sitting on its brim, while the top hat lay upside-down, its opening facing up. Then, to your astonishment, she reared up and stepped inside the top hat, then began lowering herself into it, past her legs, past her hips, past her chest, until only her head was outside of it, and yet the hat didn’t stretch or distort at all. With a wink, she levitated the wizard’s hat onto her head, then ducked down, so that only the two hats were visible, sitting one on top of the other.
With your jaw hanging open, you had been about to turn to Starlight to express your amazement, when suddenly, the wizard’s hat floated off and hovered to the side. The top hat tipped over, completely empty. Next second, as though coming down a chute, Trixie’s hind hooves hit the ground from within, and the hat rose up, revealing the rest of her, before settling itself daintily on her sleek mane.
Words failed you. Starlight clapped. Trixie bowed.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said, before turning her eyes on you. “What did you think?”
“That was...I don’t even...How did you do that?!” you spluttered.
Trixie giggled, levitating both hats back into her bags.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but you know the golden rule of magic: a magician never reveals their secrets. I’m pleased that my trick left you at such a loss for words, though. That tells me its wow-factor is just right. And there’s more where that came from, should you attend one of my shows.”
Then, she closed your dropped jaw with her hoof, patted you on the cheek, said ‘Ta-ta’, and walked off with a pronounced sway in her step. You looked at Starlight, who simply giggled herself, winked, then followed after her friend. You had watched them until they were out of sight, chatting with each other again, before your brain reminded you what you had even gone out to do in the first place, and you stumbled off.
You’re still thinking about it even now, as you’re finishing up tidying your living room.
Truth be told, though you have seen displays of magic plenty of times before, it’s usually only in the form of levitation, or select other spells unicorns use that are tied to their cutie marks. Stage magic is something you haven’t seen much of, not up close and personal, at any rate. Even if it seems more mundane than the kind of magic needed to make plants grow or move the sun and moon, there’s still something awe-inspiring and fascinating about it, something that makes you wish you could do tricks just like it.
Maybe that would show ‘em, those snobs in Manehattan. They wouldn’t ignore you and take you for granted if you could use magic. Give ‘em the old razzle-dazzle, a little hocus pocus, and they’d never forget your name…
You shake your head. When are these thoughts ever going to leave you alone? That’s not what you want at all…
A knock at the door jerks you out of your reverie. Hurrying over, you open it up, and are a little surprised to see Twilight standing there.
“Oh! Hello, Twilight,” you say.
“Hi there,” says Twilight, smiling. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I can’t stay for long, and what I have to say won’t take long at all.”
Slightly puzzled, you watch as she draws out a folded up piece of parchment with her magic, along with a pen. She unfolds the parchment and holds it up for you to see.
“This is your new contract, certifying your employment with the Ponyville Spa,” she says. “Now, don’t worry, it doesn’t negate the one I drew up for you when you first became an affection therapist. It simply outlines the terms of your employment: your hours, wages, etc. Aloe and Lotus asked me to deliver it to you, since I’m technically your vocational advisor.”
You nod to show her you understand, and she hands it off to you to read, as she continues.
“Of course, at the spa, things will be a little different with how long you can perform your therapy sessions. They have clients who show up by appointment, and they may wish to undergo other treatments before or after receiving affection therapy. Therefore, you will be allotted up to one full hour per session, with a minimum of three clients and a maximum of five per day. Does that sound all right so far?”
“It does,” you say.
You’re not really surprised that they would decide to meter how long you can perform your therapy sessions at a time. After all, like Twilight said, it may not be the only reason ponies visit the spa on a given day. You have to take that into account.
Twilight reads on,
“Your shift will begin at noon, and end at 5 PM. You’re currently set on a basic Monday through Friday schedule, but if they need you to come in on a weekend, they will notify you in advance. Your wages will be 20 bits an hour, which will add up to a nice 500 bits a week. Vacation days are all accounted for here, holidays, sick leave, appointments, etc. So, how does all of that sound? I know it’s a little jargony, but they legally have to do it like that, you know.”
“Well, it all sounds right to me,” you say. “It might take a little getting used to, measuring out the time I give to ponies for a therapy session, when I’ve never really done it before, but if that’s how they want it done, then that’s how I’ll do it.”
“Well said,” says Twilight, beaming. “Just sign on the dotted line, and I’ll deliver it to the spa.”
Using her magic, she lifts a book from the top of a stack sitting on your coffee table and floats it to you. Putting the contract against it for a writing surface, you sign your name on the designated line, and hand it and the pen to Twilight, who accepts them while putting the book back where she got it.
“Excellent!” she says. “Well, I’ll be off, then. Thanks, and good luck tomorrow!”
“Thank you, Twilight,” you say. “I know I’ve probably said that to death by now, but I really mean it.”
Twilight smiles warmly, then steps out of your doorway back into the street. She suddenly gives a start, her wings springing open in surprise. Apparently, she bumped into somepony, as you hear somepony else give a surprised grunt, as well as the sound of several objects falling to the ground.
“Whoops! Excuse me, Cheerilee.”
You look outside to see what’s going on. Cheerilee, the main teacher at Ponyville’s elementary school, is indeed just outside, seated on her rump and looking a little dazed. An overturned shopping bag sits next to her, with various pieces of produce scattered on the ground.
Cheerilee’s one of those ponies whom you see often enough while taking a walk through Ponyville, but you never really talk to. Somehow, you had just never struck up more than a casual acquaintance with her, but then again, the same is true for a good number of ponies in town. Knowing every single pony by name and keeping an equal bond with them all is a feat only the likes of Pinkie Pie can muster, it seems. Still, at the very least, Cheerilee’s one of those ponies who will give you a smile when she sees you, despite not knowing that much about you.
She’s still a young adult by pony standards, around the same age as Twilight and her friends. She’s of an average build, with a purple coat, light green eyes, and a fluffy mane and tail in two light tones of pink. She has a kind, sweet-natured face and, from the few times you’ve heard it, a motherly and melodious voice, the sort of voice that a student would want from a teacher: calmly and kindly instructing them while making them feel welcome and valued. It reminds you of your old elementary school teacher, honestly.
Looking apologetic, Twilight uses her magic to right Cheerilee’s bag and replace the spilled groceries back into it. For her part, Cheerilee gets back to her hooves, none the worse for wear.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Twilight says. “I should’ve looked to see if anypony was coming before backing out like that.”
“Oh, no, no, don’t worry about it, Twilight,” says Cheerilee, waving a hoof carelessly. “It was my own fault. I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was walking. I was a little preoccupied.”
“I know what that’s like,” says Twilight, with a guilty grin. “I’ve kind of a bad habit of reading while walking. The number of ponies I’ve bumped into when I’ve got my nose in a book, you wouldn’t believe.”
Back in Manehattan, you didn’t even need to have your nose buried in a book to keep bumping into ponies on the streets. Plus, if you tried to apologize or excuse yourself, you’d more often than not get a surly ‘Watch it!’ or ‘I’m walkin’ here, ya bozo!’
“I’ve had my fair share of that, believe me,” says Cheerilee, “but I don’t have that excuse this time. I’ve just been thinking about the past couple of days, what with...one thing and another...”
“Oh? Did something happen?” Twilight asks, a note of concern in her voice.
You look over at Cheerilee, who still hasn’t noticed you by this point. Her young and pretty face looks troubled, a frown creasing her brow. However, it quickly vanishes as she puts on a big smile, rather too big to be natural, exactly the kind Rose was wearing when she was trying to hide how she was feeling.
“It’s nothing important, Twilight,” she says. “Really. At any rate, it’s not something I’d want to trouble the Princess of Friendship with.”
“Cheerilee,” Twilight says, kindly, “I may be a princess, but that doesn’t mean anything you or anypony would have to tell me isn’t important. I want to be here for anypony who has a problem or needs somepony to confide in. You don’t have to feel like I wouldn’t care about anything you had to say, because I do.”
You had already felt a great deal of admiration for Twilight and what she did, but hearing her say this just makes you feel an even deeper appreciation for her. Cheerilee looks touched, but still unsure, and doesn’t say anything. It seems she’s still not convinced to divulge whatever’s troubling her.
Twilight looks thoughtful for a moment or two, before her face lights up, as though she’s just had an idea.
“But, if you don’t think it’s something you’d want to talk with me about,” she says, “then maybe I can suggest someone you can talk to: someone with the proper qualifications.”
To your surprise, she glances over at you as she says this. Cheerilee finally looks in your direction, and gives a start upon seeing you.
“Oh! Goodness, I didn’t even notice you there,” she says. “Hello.”
“Hello, Cheerilee,” you say.
There’s a pause, and a rather awkward one at that. You glance at Twilight, who gives you a fervent nod, as if urging you to keep talking. Honestly, after that assurance she just gave Cheerilee about being willing to hear what she had on her mind, you’re surprised she’d suddenly delegate the duty to you. Even if it’s within your scope as an affection therapist, and your sense of principle as a human being in general, to hear what’s troubling ponies, somehow its effect feels lessened compared to the power of the Princess of Friendship.
On the other hand, there’s something both comforting and touching in this sudden circumstance. Even though Twilight could handily counsel Cheerilee herself, she’s willingly giving you the chance to do it for her. She seems to feel that, if talking with a princess might appear too intimidating, perhaps Cheerilee might feel comfortable talking with someone more on her level as a Ponyville citizen, and someone who actually has therapy credentials.
She really has that much faith in you to handle this.
Feeling a bit bolder, you clear your throat, turn to Cheerilee, and say,
“As Twilight said, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, something you need to take your mind off of, I have it within my power to give you that chance, and to hopefully help you feel better. I am an affection therapist, after all.”
Cheerilee blinks, looking puzzled..
“Affection therapist? I don’t think I’ve ever…”
Then her eyes widen.
“Oh, of course!” she says. “I heard Apple Bloom talking about it with Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo during recess one day. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it at the time. Something about helping ponies relax through, erm, belly rubs?”
When she puts it like that, it does sound a little far-fetched. Twilight giggles, and you can’t help but chuckle either.
“Well, that’s only part of it,” you say. “Affection therapy allows ponies to relax through simple gestures of affection. It can be through belly rubs, ear scritches, pettings, even something as simple as a hug.”
Cheerilee’s confusion has given away to genuine interest at your words. She genuinely looks as though she’s giving it proper consideration. Twilight looks from her to you, smiling broadly.
“If you’d like,” you continue, “you can come inside with me and tell me what’s troubling you, and I’ll do what I can to help put your mind at ease. Of course, if you still feel it’s too personal to talk about, I won’t force you.”
Twilight nods at you, her smile wider than ever. It’s plain that she’s proud of you for conducting yourself in such a professional and respectful manner, just like during your interview with Aloe and Lotus. Honestly, it makes you feel as though your face is on fire from blushing.
After several seconds of thoughtful contemplation, Cheerilee looks at you with resolve in her expression.
“You know what? Why not?” she says. “I really could use somepony to talk to, even if they’re not exactly a pony. No offense,” she adds, apologetically.
“None taken at all,” you say.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it, then,” says Twilight, still wearing her big grin. “I still have to go drop this contract off. Good luck!”
And with that, she flies off, leaving you and Cheerilee to yourselves. You step out of the doorway and bow, gesturing her inside.
“After you, Miss Cheerilee.”
“Why, thank you,” says Cheerilee, flattered, and she steps inside, followed by you.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” you say, as she looks about, taking in your living space. “I can make us some tea or cocoa, if you’d like.”
“Tea sounds perfect,” says Cheerilee.
You bustle off to get the tea ready, all the while wondering what could be bothering Cheerilee. She always seems like such a cheerful, happy pony. Heck, ‘cheer’ is part of her name. It somehow just didn’t seem right to think of her in any kind of ill mood. It’d be like if Pinkie wasn’t pink, or if Rose sold fruit instead of flowers. Still, you shouldn’t be quick to make such assumptions. Names only told so much of one’s story, after all.
With the tea finally ready, you add a plate of cookies to the tray before taking it with you. Cheerilee has seated herself on one end of the sofa, looking up with a smile as you approach and set the tray down. She’s set her bag of groceries upright on the floor next to her. You pour out the tea and hand her a cup, which she accepts gratefully.
“Help yourself to a cookie or two, if you want,” you offer, taking your own cup.
“Thank you,” says Cheerilee, taking a sip. “You’re very hospitable.”
“Aw, well,” you say, modestly. “Even if I wasn’t a therapist, I still like to make guests feel welcome and comfortable. I, er, didn’t have much of an opportunity for it back in Manehattan.”
“Oh? You used to live in Manehattan?” Cheerilee asks, taking a bite out of a cookie.
“I did,” you say, your tone becoming a bit more bitter as you continue. “It didn’t exactly work out for me, so I moved here. I should’ve done so long ago, to be honest. I don’t really know what kept me there so long. There was nothing for me there, not like there is here.”
There’s a long silence as Cheerilee looks at you, a mixture of curiosity and sympathy in her eyes. You hastily take a drink of tea, feeling as though you’d said too much. What were you doing? You didn’t invite Cheerilee in here just to dump your own problems on her, not when she was the one who wanted to talk to you. This was her session, not yours. It wasn’t your business to monopolize her time.
Setting your cup down, you clear your throat.
“But enough about that,” you say. “When you feel up to it, Cheerilee, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
Cheerilee continues to give you that odd look for a second or two, finishes her cookie, then gives a small sigh, looking down at the floor.
“I’ve just been having a rather stressful weekend,” she says. “And it’s because of something that’s been building up for a long time, something I haven’t had much of a chance to talk about. It’s not something I can easily talk about, either.”
You say nothing, merely nodding to allow her to go on. After a second or two, she says,
“I fell behind on grading papers. I’d somehow gotten the syllabuses for two different classes mixed up, and had already started grading a set of homework based on one before realizing it was actually meant to be the other. Correcting that mistake set me back quite a bit, eating up a good chunk of time that I’d set aside for other things. That’s never happened to me before.”
“Yeah, that sounds pretty rough,” you say, grimly.
“But that’s only part of it,” Cheerilee continues, “because I know exactly why I got so distracted like that. I usually grade homework on Saturday, so that my Sundays are work-free and properly relaxing, before the start of the next school week. On Friday, after school, who should I run into but Big Mac?”
“And what did Big Mac want?” you ask, wondering what the taciturn stallion could have to do with this.
Cheerilee pauses, looking as though she’s desperately trying to work up the nerve to say what she had to.
“He told me that...that he...that we…”
She sighs.
“But then again, you probably don’t know, do you?”
“About what?” you ask.
Cheerilee takes a long, steadying sip of tea, sets her cup down with a purposeful ‘clink’, takes a deep breath, and says,
“It’s a long story, and a very confusing one, involving love potions and good intentions gone awry…”
You blink in bewilderment.
“Did you say ‘love potions’?” you ask.
“But, to put it simply,” Cheerilee continues, not answering your questions, “circumstances led ponies to believe Big Mac and I were, well...seeing each other.”
You nearly drop your cup in surprise at this.
“Ponies thought you and Big Mac were a couple?” you ask. “I had no idea. I mean, hang on…”
You wrack your brain, trying to think. Now that she brought it up,crazy as it sounds, there’s something about it that seems to ring a bell.
“Come to think of it,” you say, slowly, “I thought I did see you and Big Mac out and about a couple times, but I never really thought anything of it. I mean, is it strange for two ponies to just be walking and talking together?”
Cheerilee gives you a sad smile.
“How lucky it can be to not be following the gossip of the day,” she says.
She sighs again.
“If I can be honest,” she says, “I’ve always admired Big Mac for what a kind and hardworking pony he is, but I only ever really saw him as a good friend, and I can only assume he felt the same. We did start spending more time together after that particularly crazy Hearts and Hooves Day, mostly because it started out as something to joke about, and we did find some pleasure in each other’s company, when we had never really hung out before. I learned that Big Mac was more than just the strong, silent farmer he appears to be. Also…”
Here, Cheerilee’s purple cheeks flush a vivid pink, and her voice becomes quieter.
“I’d be lying if I said that, maybe, a part of me wasn’t hoping there was something there between us. At least, I felt there might be.”
You can find nothing to say to this. What do you say to something like this? It sounds sweet and innocent, and yet you can already tell it’s not going to have a happy ending. Why else would she be talking about it in association with her troubles?
Cheerilee looks wistful as she goes on.
“Eventually, however, we both seemed to come to the conclusion that there was simply no romantic chemistry between us, and that we’d only ever be friends. I said as much to Big Mac, and he was perfectly understanding about it. Of course, I should have known it would be this way all along, but like I said, a part of me did hold onto that hope, however fleeting it might be. I could have stood the feeling better...if it weren’t for the gossip.”
Here, Cheerilee’s kind voice takes on a distinctly bitter tone.
“As I said, ponies believed Big Mac and I were seeing each other, and you know how quickly rumors can spread. I began to hear ponies on the street dropping little sly hints about me and Big Mac, wondering out loud if he’d proposed to me yet, or I to him, or else warning me not to be jealous if he was in the market helping another mare. I even heard some of my students whispering about it. I know they don’t mean anything malicious by it, and I know I haven’t been helping matters by spending more time with Big Mac, but it’s all I ever hear anymore, and it’s making me feel sick just thinking about it...”
She starts taking deep, calming breaths, trying to steady herself, looking as though she wants to scream. You notice that her cup is empty, and quickly fill it back up. She takes a long, grateful swig, looking as though that had been just what she needed at the moment. You know all too well about the power of rumors spreading. Make one wrong move within view or earshot of a group of facetious and gossip-hungry ponies, and you could practically kiss your privacy goodbye. Not that it ever happened to you, though. Nopony in Manehattan had given a rat’s whiskers about what you did. You’d witnessed it on the street, though, and had heard plenty of gossip cycling through the pipelines, though you always took it with a grain of salt.
Cheerilee takes another deep breath, and the bitterness in her voice disappears, to be replaced with a much more wistful tone.
“So, now that you know all that, I should get back to what I was saying before, about running into Big Mac on Friday.”
“Go ahead,” you say, gently.
Cheerilee sniffs, then says,
“He said...that he’d met somepony else, in another town. He hadn’t told anypony else about it yet, and wanted me to be the first to know, considering, well....”
“Oh.”
That’s all you can say to that. What else can you say at this point? You already have a bad feeling about where this is going to lead, as if you hadn’t had one already. Still, you wait for Cheerilee to continue. She wipes at her eyes, which are beginning to fill with tears.
“And...of course I’m happy for him,” she said, her voice thick. “I know it sounds hollow coming from me right now, but I really am. This whole thing between us started because of a love potion, artificial romance. There hadn’t been anything between us before it happened, and there isn’t now. I know that. I’m glad that he’s genuinely found somepony that he likes, and if she likes him back, then they’ll both be very lucky, and I can only wish them the very best.”
Cheerilee’s eyes well up again.
“It’s just...hard, you know? Even though I knew the truth, I still held onto that foolish hope that there might actually be something there. I suppose it’s just in anypony’s best interest to wonder when they’ll find their special somepony, and if they might not have found them already.”
Yes. You can understand that. Even you still hold onto that hope, even though you know it can’t happen.
“I’m just scared,” Cheerilee sniffles. “I’m worried about what ponies will think when I tell them the truth, that Big Mac and I aren’t, and never were, a couple. Will they even believe me? Will they pity me? Try to comfort me? I don’t want ponies to fret about me: not my friends, and especially not my students. I know it sounds silly, but I feel as though I have an image to maintain. Everypony knows me as Miss Cheerilee, the sunniest teacher in Ponyville, all smiles and sunshine from her face to her cutie mark. I don’t want ponies to feel like I’m less than what they expect of me. I don’t want them to form the wrong conclusions again when they learn the truth. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all weekend, and I just don’t know what to do…”
The tears start flowing freely now, as Cheerilee collapses against your side, sobbing. Your easily-meltable heart, already turned to goo from hearing her plight, melts anew at her grief and sorrow. You can see clearly what she meant, and what you yourself had observed not too long ago. It doesn’t seem feasible seeing someone acting contrary to how they tend to be seen, when in reality, there’s much more to them than what’s on the surface. This was exactly what she’s been afraid of.
You draw an arm around her and pull her close, so that she’s resting against your torso, her cheek against your chest. You feel her protectively put a foreleg around you, clearly seeking comfort, and you just sit there with her, hugging her, while gently stroking her back at the same time.
“There, there,” you say, softly. “Don’t hold it in, Cheerilee. Let it all out.”
Cheerilee sniffles and hiccups, unable to answer articulately yet, but you can feel her hug strengthen a little. After a little while, her crying begins to subside, apart from a few sniffs. You wonder how often she must do this for any of her students who are feeling sad, and how strange it must be to be on the receiving end of comfort this time.
“I know it must be hard for you, Cheerilee,” you say. “I’ve never been part of a romantic relationship before, but I know what it’s like to wonder where my special someone might be. I don’t begrudge the friends that I’ve made, of course, but I still can’t help thinking about it occasionally.”
Cheerilee looks up at you with puffy eyes, her cheeks stained with tears. You stroke her mane, which feels very soft to the touch, and her eyes begin to close, soaking in the sensation.
“Still, even if things haven’t worked out with you and Big Mac,” you say, “it doesn’t mean you can’t try again. It only means that your somepony’s still out there somewhere, waiting to be found. I know it’s hard to wait and wonder, when it feels like it’ll never come, but that will make it all the more worth it when it does happen. It’s a difficult thing to accept, but it’s the truth. And besides, at least Big Mac still wants to remain friends with you. He didn’t want you to find out about this second-hoof and form the wrong ideas.”
Cheerilee opens her eyes again, looking up at you, a slightly more hopeful look on her face. She’s no longer tearing up, though her eyes are very puffy and bloodshot. You keep stroking her mane as you go on.
“As for what everypony will think, you have to tell them the truth. The rumors will just keep going unless something’s said. And what if you still keep quiet, and everypony finds out about Big Mac and this other pony? That would only make things worse.”
Cheerilee looks away, giving a sad nod.
“Not everypony may believe you,” you say, “but what you should worry about are the ponies you count as your truest and closest friends. As long as they believe you and stand by you, then what does it matter what anypony else thinks? I feel like there’s a famous saying in that, only, er, I can’t exactly think of one. Kind of embarrassing to say to a teacher, I know.”
To your relief, Cheerilee actually giggles. You pause in your petting, and she looks up at you with a small smile on her face.
“It’s all right,” she says. “Thank you. I really needed a bit of a laugh right now.”
You smile back at her. Seeing her perk back up a little is very heartening.
“Would you like me to keep going like this?” you ask. “Or would you prefer another method, like an ear scratch and a belly rub?”
Cheerilee looks thoughtful for a moment, then asks,
“Can you do both at the same time?”
“Of course,” you say, giving her nose a gentle boop. “Providing clients with the comfort and care they need is my top priority, after all. Just lay yourself on your back, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Cheerilee giggles again, gives your nose a brief tap in return, then you two let go of each other, so that she can drape herself across your legs, her hooves curled to her chest in that cute way ponies always do. You rest the back of her head in one hand, enough so that you can get one finger behind her ear, then place the other on her soft and smooth stomach. This time, you take a look at the clock before you begin. Then, you start rubbing in a circular pattern along her belly, while gently scratching her ear at the same time.
Cheerilee’s eyelids droop, a sleepy and dreamy smile coming across her face as they fully close. She turns her head slightly to the side, resting her cheek against your leg, making it squish up in that adorable way all ponies’ cheeks seem to. Like Fluttershy, Cheerilee has a moderate figure, not plump like Pinkie, not trim like Rarity. It’s the kind of physique you associate with living well and healthy, without denying yourself a good treat every now and again. You’d actually once seen Cheerilee at Sugarcube Corner when Pinkie brought her ‘her usual’ treat: cherry oatmeal cookies with yellow sprinkles. Yum.
After a little bit, you start to use not just your index finger, but your pinky, so that you’re rubbing both ears at the same time with one hand. Cheerilee wriggles a little, giving a soft hum of comfort as her smile broadens ever so slightly. Her front hooves twitch, but they don’t clasp around your arm the way Rose’s did, but her back legs twitch a little, too. A little bit after that, and you switch over to scratching under her chin. Her head tilts back, and she lets off that soft hum again, still smiling that same dreamy smile.
Again, you can’t help but imagine Cheerilee being an invaluable source of comfort and counsel for her students when one of them is feeling low. You can just see her giving one of them a hug and some encouraging words, staying with them until their tears are dried. Even someone who looks out for others needs someone to look out for them. If anyone deserved somepony special in their lives, it’s Cheerilee, and you can only hope it doesn’t take her long to find that pony, whoever they may be.
You spend some time alternating between rubbing her belly, scratching her ears, and scritching her chin, doing it in cycles of two techniques at a time. All the while, Cheerilee remains as she is, with eyes closed and a placid smile on her face, all traces of her grief and sadness gone, except for a bit of puffiness remaining about her eyes. This transformation speaks volumes, however, and it’s all you could ask for, after hearing her pour her heart out.
The sudden chiming of the clock startles you, making you stop, though Cheerilee remains in a doze. You look up, and now that you know when you started, you can see that you were at this for just 10 minutes shy of a full hour, if that included hearing Cheerilee’s story. It always amazes you how long these sessions go on for, though you never cared, as long as ponies got the comfort they needed. Now that you needed to time yourself for sessional increments, however, you can at least confirm that it can be done.
After another minute or two, Cheerilee’s eyes flutter open drowsily. She yawns and sits up, looking very well rested, and gives you a grateful smile.
“Thank you so much,” she says. “I didn’t realize how much I needed something like that. I’m usually the one my students can lean on when they’re feeling down. It’s a strange feeling, leaning on somepony else for a change, but I’m very grateful for it. Thank you for that, and for hearing me out through my woes.”
She gives you a warm hug, nuzzling your cheek. Feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside, you return the hug.
“You’re welcome, Cheerilee,” you say. “I just hope what I said helps you.”
“I’m sure it will,” says Cheerilee, easing away to look you in the eye. “You’re right. I can’t give up so easily just because of one setback, and I shouldn’t be so concerned about what everypony will think when I tell them the truth. That Hearts and Hooves Day may have started this mess, but I’ve long forgiven the ponies who caused it. They were only trying to help me because they cared that much about me.”
You feel like you ought to ask who she’s talking about, but decide that, unless she herself was going to name them, you shouldn’t impose.
“And I didn’t help matters by allowing these rumors to keep circulating,” Cheerilee continues. “That wasn’t fair to Big Mac, when he’s a part of this as well. I’ll set the record straight, and keep holding out hope that, someday, I’ll meet my special somepony.”
“That’s the spirit,” you say, smiling. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from whatever else you need to do today. But please, take another cookie with you, if you want. Take two, even.”
“You’re very kind,” says Cheerilee, sweetly. “Thank you.”
She settles for one more cookie, polishing it off daintily before hopping back to her hooves and gathering up her grocery bag. As you walk her to the door, she asks,
“By the way, did Twilight say something about a contract before she flew off?”
“Huh? Oh! Right! Well, it just so happens that starting tomorrow, I’ll be working at the Ponyville spa.”
“Really?” Cheerilee asks, amazed.
“Yep,” you say. “Of course, I still intend to take house calls when I’m not performing affection therapy there, so ponies don’t have to go to the spa to get it if they so choose.”
“Well, that’s lucky,” says Cheerilee, brightly. “You’ll do just fine there, I’m sure.”
“Thank you,” you say, as you open the door for her. “Good day, Cheerilee.”
“Take care,” she says, smiling.
With her grocery bag perched on her back, she steps out and starts off down the street. You watch her until she’s gone, and then close the door. Unexpected as it was, it was nice to get in one more affection therapy session in the ‘old style’, before you got started as a spa-appointed affection therapist the next day. And besides, it was not merely comforting that Cheerilee felt comfortable confiding her worries to you, but that Twilight had had the faith to recommend you to do so over herself.
Things are moving and changing quickly for you here in Ponyville, in ways that are both astounding and exciting, and you can’t wait to see what comes next.