The Wool we Weave

by Lambs Prey

Happy to Help! - 1007 A.C.

~Year 1007 A.C. Equestria

"Hello there!"

The laden pegasus missed a wing beat, craning around in the air to see who'd shouted out to him mid-flight.

"Who-?"

The pegasus's eyes narrowed. Wariness. Without replying further, he dipped a wing and wheeled away.

"Have a nice day!" He cheerfully shouted over the wind after the departing stallion.

A little later, as his wings carried him higher up the side of Mount Canter, he passed close by enough another pegasus coming the other way to shout out another greeting.

This time it was a pinkish mare, with a sweatband keeping her mane out of her eyes.

"Hello! I like your mane!"

Broken from focusing on her exercise, she looked over. Panic, quickly hidden under anger.

"Freakin' creep!" She shot back, and quickly beat harder to fly away.

Okay, that hadn't been very friendly, but that was her choice, not his. And he chose not to let it affect his cheer.

A positive attitude was a healthy attitude.

He climbed higher through the mid-afternoon sky, periodically passing by the neat lines of train-tracks, which wound up the side of the mountain towards the capital city above.

"Good afternoon, great day to fly!"

"Hello! That's a really nice shirt."

"Hi there, have a lovely day!"

And in the end, he even got somepony to wave back. Briefly, before they fully realised who he was and caught themselves, but he was still counting it.

Canterlot. The awesome, towering majesty which made you feel small simply be being in its presence, as you tilted your head back and back, mouth agape, as you tried to take it all in.

The city was so bright and wonderful, so full of emotion and life. The pony mountain capital was simply, utterly, and completely amazing. He'd only seen it once before, from a distance.

Mayflower loved it just as much this second time as on first-sight.

He could fully appreciate it this time too, wasn't he lucky? He hadn't thought he'd ever get to go inside Canterlot himself. Or be allowed to. But the few of them who had been in, had of course excitedly told the rest of them all about it.

He'd been rather envious of them, but that wasn't a nice emotion, so he'd pushed it away, and instead listened with rapt attention as they shared all of the strange and wonderful things they'd seen inside.

About funny houses and strange colours, of things called street lamps, hanging baskets, statue fountains, and clock towers.
Ponies were so interesting! It was humbling to hear about how far ahead ponies were with their culture, but also inspiring too. Everything ponies did was so new, so different, so exciting to hear about. And so very different to what they used to be told about ponies.

At the time of course, those privileged few picked to go inside as part of the king's delegation hadn't felt very privileged. The treaty hadn't yet been signed, and they didn't know if they'd be trotting themselves right into an open prison cell.

It was silly in hindsight, but they'd all been new. They didn't know that wasn't how ponies operated yet. Mayflower was still new, actually. He was one of the youngest.

But now here he was, getting to go into Canterlot, unescorted, finally, as part of his employment.

Profession. Employment of profession. Having a profession was important. The King had said so.

Because they were all new, and could do and be anything they wanted.

Free choice, self direction, and self determination. Things Mayflower hadn't even realised he was being denied back then. But now, he was free to be whomever and whatever he wanted. To try one thing, to maybe decide he didn't like it, and to switch to something else.

The sheer freedom was a heady rush!

"Free to be a tinker, tailor, baker, or candle maker~" He hummed, then laughed to himself, just because he could and because it was a pony rhyme.

Rhymes. Little memorisation tricks for foals! Those too were another new thing, one of a thousand new experiences, ideas, and little freedoms.

And the profession he'd chosen to try out?

Mayflower had chosen, at an inspired idea of one of his fellows, to try out becoming a therapist!

Because therapists helped ponies, and although Mayflower knew he had a lot about the world to learn, helping somepony was never a bad thing.

And because a changeling therapist who could empathise with what a patient was really feeling had to be a great idea, right?

Mayflower was optimistic. He'd chosen to be optimistic.

Because that too was something he was now free to do, too.

"A therapist."

"An amateur volunteer therapist, to be precise." Mayflower politely corrected the Royal Guard.

Scepticism, and dislike wafted off of the armoured unicorn. It made for a acrid, bitter-dry taste on the back of Mayflower's tongue. He kept smiling though.

Happiness was an active state of mind, and he chose to be happy.

He tried not to stare too hard into the Guard's eyes, because that was apparently rude and weird, no matter how fascinating pony eyes were, with all their different colours and pupils which dilated, unlike changelings who only had one solid colour and eye shields. Transforming and looking in a mirror wasn't the same, and he wasn't skilled in it like an infiltrator, or ex-infiltrator, was. The active emotion in a ponies eyes, the tiny nuanced facets that couldn't actually be mirrored-

"I don't believe you."

"What? Why ever not? I'm telling the truth."

"A hundred reasons. But forget all of them, here's just one. You have to go to university and get properly qualified to be a therapist. You new changelings only crawled out three months ago. It's impossible that you've gotten qualified in only three months." The Guard accused, stance aggressive.

The lower ranking Royal Guard who'd first stared, and then run to summon his superior officer when Mayflwoer had turned up at the gates, nodded emphatically alongside his boss.

That was a surprisingly knowledgeable challenge by the, uh, sargent? Lieutenant? Mayflower didn't understand pony rankings. But in the hive, there'd only been queen, then infiltrators, then every drone else. Now, there was only king, and everyling else.

Mayflower smiled wider, happy to help explain to the maybe Sargent unicorn, "You're absolutely right about that, sir! You have to get a proper pony licence to be a qualified therapist."

The suspicion coming off of the Guard increased at how cheerfully Mayflower had said that, and a sour streak hostility of started up as well.

Mayflower hurried on quickly; "But I'm not a therapist, no sir-ee. I'm a volunteer therapist. We checked in your law books, well somepony helped me check, but don't worry. I'm not charging anypony for my services, I'm volunteering, so I don't count as employed. And that means, as long as somepony agrees, I can try to help them as an amateur therapist."

Mayflower held his beaming smile in the face of the negative emotions he was tasting. After a moment, he helpfully offered, being completely earnest, "If you want, I'd be happy to try being a therapist for either of you fine sirs."

He tried not to let his wings or mandibles droop at the instant and immediate wave of distrust-revulsion he received. The other Guard even made a gagging motion.

At least the officer pony stayed outwardly professional, and it was wrong to try and force anypony to feel anything but their true emotions internally, so that's what Mayflower would respond to.

"Fine. You can enter Canterlot. That is, if you follow the rules. You do know the new laws, right?" The stallion challenged, eyes narrowed.

"The Twilight Changeling Reformation reforms? Yep, I know them all by heart!"

The reforms in question were the brand new laws to help reformed changelings. That was why King Thorax and the delegation had come into Canterlot in the first place, to sign the official agreement. Why, Princess Twilight had tried to push for even more reforms, but King Thorax'd had to gently dissuade her, saying; "Thank you princess, but you've done enough for us already. We don't want to force anypony to accept us before they're ready."

Princess Twilight was amazing and she always meant the best, (Mayflower had even shaken her hoof once!) but the new changelings didn't believe in anything more strongly than free will, and the right of everypony and every king to choose for themselves. They'd been slaves and not even known it for too long for it to be otherwise.

"Then you'll have no problem following them will you, changeling?"

"Oh, I'm Mayflower, it's nice to meet you. And nope, no problem at all. No transformation allowed inside Canterlot. No taking on a pony form, original or not. No approaching or talking to any foals without their parents express permission. No approaching any mage towers or mage tower employees. No entering any bars, banks, schools, or stadiums, public or otherwise, although libraries are permitted. No participating in any public sporting events. No flying to Cloudsdale. No entering the Palace Grounds unless invited and escorted. Oh, and no feeding off of anyponys emotions ever, but that's obvious of course."

The second Guard's jaw clenched and he started forwards, "Oh it's obvious is it?! Then why-"

"Private! Control yourself."

He snapped to attention, "Yes sir."

The officer turned his gaze back on Mayflower, Tsk'ing and mouth turning down. Disdain.

"Pull that out of your hivemind to recite, did you?"

"Ah, no, you see, we don't have a hivemind. Well, at least not anymore. I wasn't hatched yet, but the last hivemind was five years ago-"

"That was rhetorical."

Mayflower shut his mouth and closed his mandibles tightly over his lips in a display of submissiveness. He'd slipped, he hadn't meant it to be a reference to the wedding invasion five years ago, but that was how the unicorn had taken it, if the shot of salty disgust which was splashed all over the disdain was anything to go by.

"Forget it. The sooner we're done here, the sooner you're out of my sight. You know the last rule don't you, changeling?"

"Of course. And it's Mayflower. All visiting changelings for the duration of their stay within any pony city have to-"

"That was also rhetorical."

The weight of the 'last rule' knocked lightly against Mayflower's carapace, locked just above his hoof, as he finally trotted into Canterlot.

That last rule that the nice pony officer had been talking about, (Mayflower called him nice because thinking the best of somepony was also a choice) being; All changelings shall wear a guard approved tracking band at all times and not remove it for the duration of their stay.

So Mayflower had a hinged metal ring locked around his lower foreleg. He could transform his leg and shift out of it at any time, of course, but then he'd be breaking the law and get arrested, so he wouldn't do that.

Besides, Mayflower decided it didn't look quite so bad against the olive green sheen of his pristine shell. Kind of like a big, if bulky, bracelet.

And since it meant he finally got to enter Canterlot, it was a small price to pay! Canterlot, with its funny paving stones instead of dirt, ponies wearing clothes, hundreds of new smells he didn't recognize, and everything so utterly different to the hive.

And the emotions! They were everywhere, a rich, riotous, complex, ever swirling layer of emotions wherever he turned, because wherever he turned there were ponies. Coming, going, standing, talking, laughing, trotting, fetching, carrying, hugging, jostling, pointing, whispering, moving away, falling back...

Mayflower put on his best smile and waved energetically to everypony who was staring at him, the hoof with the metal tracking band to prove he was wearing one.

"Hello! Good afternoon."

The cloud of emotions around him began to curdle, ripples spreading outwards with him at its center.

For a moment, Mayflower knew nervousness, but he chose not to dwell on it, and embrace optimism instead. Because this was Canterlot, and these were ponies. It was ponies who'd reformed the changelings with King Thorax's help, showing them what they could be.

And indeed, to prove it, nopony started screaming or running away in panic. Although some were leaving, but they weren't running. And others were glaring, but they weren't shouting. And they didn't want to look at him, but they weren't hiding. And yes, the cauldron of negative emotions was threatening to overwhelm him, but nopony was actually acting on any of-

*Spfflat*

-And at least it wasn't stones they were throwing.

Mayflower scraped the shattered egg off of his back plate with magic. Good thing he had a carapace and not fur!

"Thank you!" He called out brightly to which ever pony had thrown it. And then ate the raw, goopy mess in one gulp, shell and all. It tasted good.

Annnnd now everypony was really avoiding him if there weren't already before. His mandibles turned down in a disappointed changeling frown. He'd made another social mistake.

"Silly. Ponies don't eat raw eggs." He chided himself. The noxious cocktail of negative emotions coming from all around him was starting to make his stomach hurt, just a bit.

Mayflower decided it was best if he hurried along. He did have an appointment to keep, after all.

He opened his shell to let his wings out, and with a loud buzz lifted off straight up, and then away.

And if three angry tasting, young adult pegasi took it upon themselves to follow him from a distance and watch him like hawks, then it was only out of concern for their fellow ponies, which was an admirable trait.

"Hello, that's a very nice shirt. Can you please point me in the direction of-No? No. Okay then."

"Excuse me ma'am, do you know where-? O-okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm going."

"Good afternoon sir, I'm new here, can you please tell me where-? Sir? Sir?"

Mayflower was not stupid. However he'd recently learnt what the word 'naïve' meant, and he was increasingly suspecting he might be that instead. But he didn't think of himself as stupid.

He definitely hoped he wasn't stupid. Because he didn't like feeling stupid. It was unpleasant, like he had mud coating his carapace that only he couldn't see.

But dwelling on negative feelings was a choice, and he was choosing to be positive instead. So he let the feeling of stupidity slide away and went back to being positive.

He was just... young. New to being a reformed changeling. And he wasn't stupid just because he hadn't learnt how to read properly yet.

'Reading', 'writing', those concepts hadn't existed in Chrysalis's hive back then, they'd been a 'weak-minded pony invention'. The meaning of pony letters was available through the hivemind if an infiltrator needed them while under cover, but the hive hadn't needed a written language themselves. The hivemind already held all their history.

Now though, everyling was only just beginning to learn their letters in Thorax's new hive, and with no hivemind any more, learning to read was hard!

Mayflower wasn't stupid just because he was still learning how. He just hadn't realised all pony directions were written down on things called 'street signs', but that didn't make him stupid for not knowing something he'd never heard of existed before today.

But perhaps he was naïve for supposing he could get by just fine by asking ponies for for directions instead...?

"...Nah. It'll be fine. I'm sure I'll get there in the end."

And he would! Choose to be positive. So he would! He'd just be a bit late, that was all.

Eventually, some nice pony would have to give him directions if he just persevered and asked enough.

Maybe that unicorn couple over there at that table, with the scent of contentment hanging between them, would finally be the ones to help?

The couples ears swivelled as their heads turned in confused alarm, trying to locate the giant buzzing bee. Then the looked up.

"Hello!"

Okay. So, lessons learned. Apparently it was socially rude if you were a flyer to fly so close over those who couldn't. You were supposed to land and walk over first if you wanted to talk to them.

It really shouldn't have taken so long to put two and two together. It was so obvious in hindsight.

But Mayflower knew better now, and armed with his new knowledge, he could set about asking for directions properly this time.

Except that mare, because she had a foal with her, and he wasn't allowed near foals, but that next one past her would surely be happy to help, right?

"Hello miss. I'm sorry to be a bother but c-?"

Mayflower absently rubbed his chest as he tried another street. It hurt, just a bit. Not because of sadness or anything, but because that mare had kicked him in the chest.

He was sure it had been an accident on her part, and not on purpose. She'd screamed, spun around, wildly kicked, and then galloped away. The galloping away was how he knew it'd been an accident. She was probably feeling very silly wherever she was right now.

Besides, being forgiving was part of friendship. Princess Twilight had lectured at length about always forgiving accidents during her visit to the new hive. She'd come to give an intense three-day course on the properties of friendship, and teach them all how it worked.

And anyway, Mayflower had barely felt it, the kick had only clipped him, and his carapace was nice, strong, and healthy. In fact, a changelings' chestplate was one of the strongest areas of their carapace.

The only real harm done was actually to the mare, she'd been the one who'd scared after all. The sharp taste of fear was not a pleasant one.

Forgive and forget. No harm done. Mayflower chose a street that looked promising, and set off.

"I can't wait to learn how to read." This would all be so much easier the next time he came to Canterlot, once he could read what the arrows and street signs meant. Number 17 Dawnbringer Street, here he came.

It wasn't down that street. Or the next one. Or the one after that, now matter how promising each new street looked.

Mayflower knew he was now well and truly late for his appointment. His carapace was feeling heavy on his shoulders. He'd really wanted to give a good first impression, especially since the lessons had emphasised how important trust was for a therapist.

"Wait..." He said out loud, and stopped. He turned to look at the latest street signs' indecipherable squiggles. Then he turned to look at the first house in the row.

He could read the numbers, the pony numerals 0 to 9 was thankfully something he'd learnt, but that didn't help him if he still didn't know what street he was on.

"Oh maggots."

He really had been stupid, not just naïve, but stupid!

He'd been going through street by street, thinking he must get there eventually, but unless he knew what street he was on, knowing the house was number '17' meant nothing. He didn't even know what the house was supposed to look like! Did it have a garden? What colour was the door? One story or two? Three even?

"No, it's okay. I've got this. I've got this! I just really do have to get somepony to give me directions, that's all. Yeah, easy."

With fresh determination burning in his chest, Mayflower turned back to the busier main street. This time some kind pony would surely take pity on him.

"Hello hello! I'm Mayflower, could you please help me find-? Wait, please wait. Just one minute, ten seconds even!"

No pony would talk to him. They wouldn't get close to him. They wouldn't even look at him for longer than two seconds. They all parted around him like minnows around a pike. He was left isolated and alone in his own pocket of clear space the middle of the street.

Mayflower was trying to be positive, but it was getting harder. He knew many ponies here had been hurt during the wedding invasion, and that they had a good reason for their feelings, but having to taste those feelings of distrust, fear, and anger weren't making it easy. It made Mayflower desperately want to wash out his mouth in a futile attempt to get rid of the ingrained taste.

He only needed one pony to give him directions. Just one. That wasn't asking too much, was it?

No, no it wasn't. There had to be at least one pony who would. Yes, somepony would. That's right, he just had to find that one right pony.

Yeah, this was another thing covered in Princess Twilight's important friendship lessons; patience and perseverance! Mayflower could be both of those things. He would be both of those things.

A positive mindset was a choice, and he chose to make that choice. He just had to keep trying. Never give up! Where would he and the rest of the changelings be if King Thorax had given up at the first tinee-tiny hurdle? Still rotting under Chrysalis's hoof, as the unworthy queen slipped deeper and deeper into insanity with every passing moon, that's where.

Chrysalis had terrified Mayflower. Not scared, terrified.

But she was gone now, and he didn't have to think about her or those bad times ever again if he didn't want to. And he didn't want to, so there! They had King Thorax now.

"Move along, bug, or I'll fine you for obstructing traffic."

Mayflower jumped, turning to the gruff voice. There was a Royal Guard duo standing behind him, but keeping their distance.

And behind the golden armoured pair, further back, he spotted the pegasus trio from earlier glaring.

Mayflower tasted confrontational emotions. "I..."

He paused, eye shields blinking rapidly.

Wait. They were guards, Royal Guards. Their whole job was to help ponies. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He could just ask them!

His mandibles spread wide in his beaming smile, "Hello sir! And other sir! I still have my tracking band on, see? Am I glad to see you."

Confusion. Suspicion.

"You are?"

"Thank you, really, thank you. I need directions."

More suspicion. Strong reluctance.

The Guards gritted their teeth, "Directions to where, exactly?"

Finally Mayflower was here. Finally finally finally! Unfortunately late, but wasn't 'better late than never' a pony phrase?
Or at least, he was mostly confident this was 17 Dawnbringer Street. He hadn't tasted any dishonest emotions from the two nice Guards when they'd given him directions, merely negative ones, but nothing intentionally deceitful. Although, he supposed they could just have been mistaken.

Well, this house before him definitely said 'No. 17' in brass letters on the door, even if he couldn't read if the street sign said 'Dawnbringer'. That meant the chances were fifty-fifty, right? Those were good odds!

He was only hesitating from trotting up to the door right then and there to knock because he was double-checking. And because the house was, somehow, a bit off. Weird.

Mayflower was standing in a cul-de-sac. Dawnbringer Street, (a very nice street admittedly, no sharp rocks at all), was just one double row of houses leading up to an abrupt end.

Number 17 sat right at this far end, in the middle looking down the whole length of Dawnbringer Street. It alone was detached, not terraced like the rest. Leading up and down either side of the rest of the street, the rest of the houses were neatly paired off against a matching opposite partner, but 17 was the odd one out.

The day was getting late into the afternoon by now, and because of it's position at the very end, the front of Number 17 was cast in shadow.

But hey, some house had to sit right at the end of the street, why shouldn't it be Number 17? He heard a door open, and turned to wave at a poofy-maned pony who'd just stepped out of one of the other houses.

"Hello there. Is this Dawnbringer Stree-?"

The pony stepped right back into their house and shut the door, and took their interesting looking poofy-mane with them.

Mayflower sighed, "Oh well."

Number 17 waited for him. It looked bigger as he got closer.

There was a small front garden. It was utterly bursting with heavily pollen laden flowers, the virtual carpet of thick colour almost completely swallowing the choked path. Fresh, sharp planty scents filled Mayflower's nose.

The mash of colours was very pretty, but the flowers heads were all bent and closed, the sun having passed.

Mayflower reached for the gate, and ended up blinking his eye shields in surprise. The gate was also bolted, but from the outside. Why? Shouldn't the bolt be on the inside? Sure, you could easily reach over from the inside and undo it, but wasn't that just a little bit extra inconvenient?

Well it was a very nice garden whatever the reason was. (Oh, and probably a very nice pony made bolt too, although Mayflower didn't know how you were supposed to judge but he could learn if somepony would teach him how). In fact, he should start a garden like this one in their new hive, he was sure Katydid and Bluefly would love to help, and they could learn about growing stuff together!

He entered, politely re-bolted the gate, and went up to the front door. The heavy flower heads tapped and brushed against the smooth carapace of his legs with every step.

The cloying scent of so many flowers was so strong it made his head swim.

He reached the front door almost without realising it. The brass numbers 1 and 7 were dull under the afternoon shadow, instead of bright and reflective.

Before he could grow nervous, he knocked.

The door was thicker than it seemed. His hoof striking the wood barely made a muffled tap. He knocked again harder to be heard.

Silence. He angled his ear fins, trying to catch anything coming from inside.

Was somepony coming? He couldn't hear anypony. Should he knock again? Or would that be rude? Was there a limit about the number of times you were allowed to knock?

Movement behind the little window of frosted glass in the door, and an eye was abrubtly peering out at him.

Unless they were transformed, a changeling's face couldn't wince, or at least not like ponies did, their immobile face plates wouldn't allow it. Instead, they conveyed such things through other movements instead, like the position of their mandibles, their jaw, their wings, and how they stood.

So Mayflower tried not to move react as instant, intense distrust flooded out from behind the locked door. Instead he put on the best smile he could manage to clearly show he meant no harm.

The pony beyond the door seemed to wrangle their emotions, and the acute intensity of the distrust dropped, although it still remained.

The thick door opened a few inches, and then stopped as it was caught by some sort of short metal chain.

A deep brown pony eye, set in a lighter brown furred face, peered out at Mayflower from behind a circle of wireframed glass.

Glasses! Or spectacles, those were what they were called. Ponies wore them to improve their vision.

And there was definitely something wrong about the eye, and it wasn't anything to do with how watchful it was. Just watchful, not as open, expressive, and ever so fascinatingly alive like other ponies eyes were.

"Yes?"

Just one word. Cool. Not saying anything. But Mayflower could taste the mounting suspicion.

"Hi!"

The pony mostly hidden behind the door stayed silent, waiting.

Mayflower hurriedly introduced himself, tilting his mandibles up to try to help accentuate his 'I'm-friendly' smile:

"Hi, I'm Mayflower, very very sorry I'm late, I'm a reformed changeling. Oh, quick check, this is Dawnbringer Street right? Gosh I hope so, or I'm in completely the wrong place. Right, sorry, anyway. I'm Mayflower, your volunteer therapist, once again, I'm very sorry for being late, but better late than never!"

Silence. The bespectacled eye didn't even blink.

"Who?"

"Uh, Mayflower? I did introduce myself, didn't I?"

"Mayflower." The hidden stallion repeated. Mayflower did not like the taste of the emotions he was getting, not one bit.

"Um, yes?" He tried, shifting nervously on the step.

"Mayflower."

"Uh, I mean, um, yes. I'm Mayflower. Reformed changeling? Therapist?"

Finally, the brown eye in the door's crack blinked for the first time. It seemed clearer when it reopened, focusing on Mayflower.

"Mayflower. Why are you on my doorstep?"

"Oh, I'm your new therapist. Well, technically, I'm a amateur volunteer therapist. Wait, I said that already-"

"No,why are you here?"

Mayflower quickly glanced at the brass door numbers to double check that, yep, this was still Number 17. "Because, because you put in a request? For a therapist, I mean. A changeling one."

"I did not request a therapist. I requested a willing reformed changeling for a single visit."

"But you said it was for therapy reasons in your letter, right? That's more or less the same thing, right?"

Budding anger. "No. I mean, why are you here, on my door step, right now, in the middle of dinner?"

"Ah, well, I got lost, so I'm late, but I'm here to do our first therapy session. For you and your wife, right?"

The single eye regarded him coolly, "We weren't expecting you. In fact, were weren't expecting anypony. Because nopony told us you were coming."

Mayflower froze, "...Ah."

It only now, and very suddenly, occurred to Mayflower that he'd neglected to inform anypony in Canterlot he was accepting the request which'd arrived in the mail to the hive two weeks ago. As far as anypony in Canterlot knew, the strange, one-off, out of place request had been completely ignored.

"...oh."

"Stupid."

*dink*

"Stupid."

*dink*

"Stupid naïve stupid."

*dink*

"Naively stupid."

*dink*

"Stupidly naïve."

*dink*

Mayflower thunked the end of his muzzle into the letter box situated at the entrance into the cul-de-sac. He'd heard banging your nose against a wall or lamp post was a way of ponies showing self-recrimination. He didn't know if he was doing it right, however it certainly felt like he was doing it right.

He felt like a fool. It was a feeling which squirmed in his stomach. He'd overlooked the blindingly obvious. Even a grub not out of their first molt would've known better.

Now he'd wasted everypony and everylings time, messed this up, and ruined one of the few precious opportunities the new hive had received to reach out in friendship to ponies.

King Thorax had made sure everyling was aware of how important it was to prove to everypony that the changelings had turned over a new leaf, how vitally important it was to true, real, freely given pony co-operation, and that every chance that came into their hooves was precious.

And he'd gone and mucked it up.

"Positive. Be positive." He mumbled to himself. Being positive was a choice.

...He was finding it a tad bit difficult to manage at the moment, though.

"Right. Right, think. It's not the end of the hive. What can I do?" He shut his eye shields and tried to think. What could he do to fix this? What would the King do if he was here in Mayflower's place?

"Now what are you doing?"

Mayflower's eye's snicked open and he spun around at the call.

Back down at the other end of the cul-de-sac, standing behind the gate into his flower stuffed garden, the earth pony from Number 17 was standing. It was him who'd called out.

He was steeped in the late afternoon shadow his own house cast over him, but Mayflower still got his first full view of the pony who'd put out the request.

An average build, and average height earth pony, his fur light brown speckled with big splotches of dark brown. There was nothing special about his mane or tail cut, and the only thing he wore were those wire rimmed glasses.

Mayflower fumbled for words, "I, I was just, just..."

His mandibles opened and shut over his hanging open mouth. His hunt for words was coming up empty hooved.

"...Just, just uuuuh, just nothing. Nothing! I'm sorry, was I making too much noise? I'll be going."

The earth pony let out a huge sigh, large enough that even from down the street Mayflower saw clearly his shoulders rise and fall.

"This is not what I had in mind at all. You, turning up out of the blue, when the day's already done, but I suppose I'll have to take what I can get."

"Wait, you mean...?"

With visible reluctance, the other stallion beckoned, "Yes. Come inside. Carton's putting the foal to bed, then we can start this. Just don't do anything..."

Scenic Paint paused, slowly sweeping his gaze from the top of Mayflower's jagged horn to the tips of his insect-like clawed hooves:

"...'ill-advised'." He finally settled on. Which Mayflower thought was an odd way of telling somepony to behave, but he was going to be on his best behaviour anyway!

He'd thought he'd messed everything up, but the kind Scenic Paint was giving him a second change to be a good therapist.
He nodded vigorously, "Oh yeah, I will! No problem! Thank you lots. By the way, I love your garden, its amazing."

Scenic paused in walking up the flower chocked path, looking back over his shoulder. Mayflower faltered at the considering look he was getting. He tasted hints of what might've been worry. Or might not have been.

"... Thank you, but I can't claim credit. This is all my dear wife's work. And you haven't even seen the real garden out back. It's part of her job. She keeps bee hives. Is that strange to you?"

Mayflower tilted his head, closing the garden's gate behind him for the third time today, "No? Should it be? I'm new to Canterlot, sorry."

"I suppose not, no. Kind of obvious, but it's a silly question now I think about it. Never mind it, then."

Scenic opened his front door and held it aside, "This way to the living room. We'll discuss this properly inside with my better half."

Mayflower almost walked into a wall as he stared around, trying to see everything as he trooped along behind his host. This was his first time being inside a pony dwelling himself, not just hearing about it second hoof. Everything was so new, so different! The proportions, the space, the sharp right angles, the colours, and different materials instead of having to use stone for everything!

His mandibles hung as wide open as his mouth. What was this soft, turf-like thing underhoof? It was a mat! What was that metal ticking thing with tiny fake bees on it? Oh, it was a clock! How about all those resin stops covering all the sharp corners of tables and cabinets? Actually, Mayflower hadn't a clue what those were for.

This. Was. So. Cool.

'Cool' was pony slang for 'great, or 'wonderful', he'd been told.

All of the walls above a certain height, (above foal height he realised), were hung with a patchwork of paintings of every size, all slotted together wherever there was free space. Strangely, there was also a large painting on the far wall, right in the centre, but it was hidden under a dust cloth. It was only strange because none of the other paintings were. Maybe it just wasn't finished yet?

There was also an overabundance of bee ornaments everywhere, yellow-and-black stripes, and hexagonal honeycomb patterns.

"Here we are. You can sit there Mayf...Mayflower."

"Thank you!" Mayflower chirped, laying down on the indicated yellow sofa, more like a raised mattress really.

He got his hooves under himself, making sure to watch his immobile hoof-claws, tracker band out of the way, and tried to sit patiently and not to buzz with excitement.

He was finally here, finally doing this! His very first chance as a volunteer therapist, and representative of the new hive!

The taste of fear. Nervousness. Dread.

And then Scenic's wife slowly, reluctantly, ears back, shuffled her way into the living room. Forgetting it was rude, Mayflower stared up at her. She was a giant!

Her fur was orange, tied back mane brownish, but she was huge! Tall! Big! She must be nearly as tall as the King, even!
But the scared emotions coming off of her were very different to her intimidating size. Mayflower felt a shooting pang inside.

Scenic didn't spare Mayflower a second glance. With her entering, he only had attention for his wife. He was at her side, encouragingly leaning his head into where he came up to on her shoulder. He gave her a small smile.

"You can do this." He told her simply.

Carton, that was her name Mayflower belatedly recalled, the muscles beneath her fur that he could actually see tensed up, and then... relaxed.

She smiled wobblily back down at her supportive husband, "I, yes. O-okay. Okay."

The taste of familiar, well-worn love that flowed beneath the mare's fear made Mayflower beam with happiness of his own. Scenic took Carton over to the couch opposite Mayflower's, this one cream coloured, and they lay down together.

Well, actually Carton laid down on her side, Scenic sat up on his haunches alert, supporting Carton's broad back where she lightly leaned up against him.

They looked at each other across the coffee table in the middle of the cosy living room. The bee clock ticked. Oh, was this where he was supposed to jump in and introduce himself to Scenic Paint's wife?

"Hi miss! I'm Mayflower, the volunteer therapist you wrote for, and it's wonderful to meet you both. Thank you for inviting me into your home. It's a lovely home too."

Mayflower smiled. Carton averted her eyes to the floor. Scenic didn't.

"Perhaps..." Scenic cleared his throat, "...It would be best for everypony present if I laid out a few things first."

"Oh, please, sure, go right ahead." Mayflower had to again rein in his excitement from overflowing.

"First off, I am here to support Carton. That's my priority, my first priority, and my only priority."

Carton shifted, giving Scenic a nudge and reproachful look.

"I know dear, I know. But my problems are less important than yours and can wait."

Carton started to sit up, "Yours problems aren't less important-"

"Less pressing, I meant less pressing." Scenic amended.

Placated, Carton dropped back down fully with a huff of air.

Scenic waited a beat, then continued. Mayflower noted again that there was something wrong with Scenic's face, especially around and under his eyes. The flesh looked puckered and scoured in places, the fur too patchy and thin. Then Mayflower noticed he was only noticing this because of how Scenic was meeting his eyes instead of looking away.

In the one afternoon that Mayflower had been in Canterlot, he'd already noticed that there was this certain face, or rather an expression, that ponies made, before averting their gaze if they could help it. Usually, it was accompanied by the uncomfortable taste of varying levels of revulsion.

Scenic however didn't avert his eyes, which Mayflower took as both interesting and encouraging. And speaking of encouraging...

"Yes? Please go on Mrs. Carton."

"The letter you received asking for a willing changeling participant, we wrote and sent it together, Carton and me. After the official announcements, about the changelings reformation I mean, well I, we, thought this might be a chance."

"A chance for what?"

Carton tensed. Scenic gave Mayflower a steady look, "To face past traumas and old fears. And yes, I am talking about the Wedding Invasion."

Mayflower looked away. This was what it nearly always came back to in the end. For nearly every single pony, their first introduction to the changelings had been the terrible disaster of the Royal Wedding. In the aftermath of that event, fear and paranoia had flooded Equestria immediately after, as terror and paranoia of loosing their loved ones sweeping the nation.

And understandably so. It must have been terrifying to suddenly be unable to trust anypony anymore, as suddenly you weren't trusted in turn. Everypony was left standing alone surrounded by a sea of potential enemies. There had been too many pitiful, heart breaking cases where mobs of ponies attacked previous trusted neighbours out of misguided suspicion. Sometimes even in the same family. Mothers turning on fathers, sons on daughters.

The invasion may have happened under the hive's old queen, as the old changelings, and not under King Thorax as the reformed changelings, but that did little to reassure ponies, now did it?

The invasion had deeply scarred many, many ponies. Physically for some, and emotionally and mentally for the rest. And those scars ran deep to this day. Mayflower and the new hive were uniquely aware of that last, horrible fact. They tasted it every time they met a pony undisguised. Here and now, the reminder made him wish he could shrink in shame on the cushion and vanish, just like it always did.

Even Discord's escape wasn't anywhere so bad as the Wedding Invasion in hindsight. At least back then, everything and everypony had been fixed within the day! Fixed for the ponies, that is. Or at least, so Mayflower had been told. He hadn't actually been hatched yet.

That said however.... he'd also been told that something had happened to the last hive mind after Discord. Something bad, although no changeling really seemed to know what exactly. Details were vague, and the survivors didn't discuss it at all with anypony. Which was completely fair in Mayflower's book. Since he hadn't been hatched at the time of Discord's escape, he couldn't really judge. He was instead one of the Invasion generation, one of the many hundreds of eggs laid en-mass in preparation for Chrysalis's planned war.

The invasion which had hurt so many victims, two of whom he was in front of right now, who'd invited him into their home, and were even now showing remarkable tolerance and self control.

The couple were being very brave today, and that was a good thing. A positive mindset!

Mayflower took a deep breath, "I'd like to say again sorry on behalf of all changelings about the invasion, and Queen Chrysalis."

Scenic made a non-committal, dismissive noise, "How many times have you repeated that exact same sentence?"

"Every time," Mayflower said seriously, "And I will say sorry again every time in the future too."

There was a pause, hanging heavy in the air as Scenic seemed to think over that. All the paintings filling the walls made the room seem larger and more empty than it really was.

"Maybe. Maybe not. You at least seem genuine. This would usually be the part where my wife would say it wasn't your fault, it was your Queen's, but, that's part of why you're here in the first place. To help Carton understand that."

"I know it, but I don't feel it." Carton spoke up quietly, quiltily looking down into her huge forehooves.

Scenic automatically leaned over to gave his larger wife a quick, half-hug, "It wasn't his fault. It wasn't your fault, right? M-Mayflower?"

Mayflower froze. "Ah, um. No."

Scenic looked at him, brown eyes shrewd behind the wire-rimmed lenses, "So you were part of the invasion." He stated.

A shot of spiking fear, instinctive and immediate. It came off of Carton. Scenic's reaction was a more complicated mix, but not with any surprise in it.

"I will say it again, I am deeply, deeply sorry for the invasion. I was on the outside of Prince Shining Armour's shield, I never actually set hoof inside, but that's not an excuse. I was still there. This is... this is my first time setting hoof in Canterlot though. You have a wonderful city."

"It's not perfect. Every city has its problems, Canterlot is no exception." Scenic disagreed.

Mayflower tried to smile, "It doesn't seem that way to me. It's beautiful. And filled with so much love and friendship. I hope my hive can become like this one day."

For the second time, Scenic was given pause as he seemed to digest that, "I see. I hadn't really thought about that. About what it must have been like living out in a desert wilderness lead by somepony like Queen Chrysalis... but that's not what we were talking about."

Scenic shook himself, refocusing on Mayflower's face, staring him dead in the eye, "If you never actually set hoof in the city, I don't think you can really count as part of the Wedding Invasion. Which is a good thing for everypony."

Again, the complicated tasting mix of emotions swelled up from the brown speckled earth pony. Then it was quickly muted, as Scenic caught himself. He frowned:

"Wait, you can feel our emotions. You can tell exactly what we're feeling." He stated, accusing.

"Taste them, yes. Sorry." Mayflower apologised.

Scenic snorted, tail flicked restlessly across the couch behind him, "So there's no point trying to keep secrets." He mumbled.

"No no! I swear I don't use it for that, and I won't pry into anything I do taste, that's not how it really works-"

Scenic waved him off, the irritation Mayflower could taste more self directed than at him, "No, look. It's not, I understand it's not intentional, but-"

"I think we're getting off topic again, dear." Carton softly interjected.

Scenic blinked, then blinked again, "Oh yeah, we are, aren't we? Okay, right. Staying focused now."

He took a deep breath, ears rising back to a neutral slant with a nod at Mayflower, "Although you weren't really part of the invasion, you're still here today because of the invasion. Specifically because-"

"-Because I need to face my fears." Carton Juice spoke up. She seemed to be gathering her courage. Scenic patted her shoulder and let her speak at her own pace.

She fidgeted. Mayflower tasted shame, "I a-always was pushing Scenic to get better, face his own fears, y'know? N-not to do with the Wedding Invasion, something completely different but-but I never realised, never knew..."

"Yes?" Mayflower prompted hesitantly, hoping that was what he was supposed to do.

"... Never realised how difficult it was. What I was pushing Scenic to do. I didn't understand how rude I was being to him. And now the horseshoe's on the other hoof and I'm feeling like a big, fat, hypocrite."

Mayflower hurriedly shot a look to Scenic, but the stallion wasn't immediately leaping to reassure his wife, to tell her it was fine and that she was forgiven. Instead, he just kept patiently patting her on the back.

Carton heaved a breath, "Well, now it's my turn to do this. It'll be his turn again later, but right now it's mine to pony up."

Mayflower felt distinctly like he was in over his head. His two-week therapy course hadn't said anything about this. "That's, that's wonderful. Er, how am I supposed to help? I'll help in anyway I can, of course! But, how?"

Scenic resumed being the speaker again, "During the invasion, I was at home, looking after our foal. He was only a month old back then, and Carton desperately needed a break. I insisted that she at least take the day of the wedding off to attend the public celebrations with her mare friends." His lips quirked in a pony smile. Mayflower tasted no humour.

"Some holiday that turned out to be, huh? Anyway, the long of the short of it was, Carton was caught outside in the first wave of the invasion. Caught, as in, the changelings caught her."

"I tried to hide. But I'm big. They found me right away." Carton said in a small voice.

"I don't think it would've mattered where you hid, dear. They can track ponies by emotions, remember?" Scenic soothed her, "But without going into detail, that's the long and the short of it. I was at home, and she was out and got attacked."

Anger, then. An old, tried swirl of it, like the taste of bitter charcoal.

"And you?" Mayflower found his mouth asking, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, "Did we-did they come to this home and capture you to?"

"We weren't in this house at the time, this is new. Well the house isn't new, we're new-Never mind, not relevant. No, me and the baby were 'protected'. We weren't captured and buried alive in one of those cocoon things."

Again, that complicated blend of emotions, "... But Carton was." Scenic finished.

"Again, I can only say how deeply, deeply sorry I am and that I wished none of that had ever happened."

"Thank you." Carton managed.

"I mean it. Really." Mayflower insisted.

"And that's why you're here. Because of the Wedding Invasion, Carton was left, ah..." Scenic hesitated.

"A mess. To put it lightly." Carton supplied, and even managed a weak giggle.

"That. 'A mess'. She's better than she was, but-"

"-But it's been years and I'm just. Not. Getting. Any. Better."

The taste of her frustration was like rotten sour grapes in the back of Mayflower's throat.

Carton calmed herself, "But then, three months ago, I saw my chance."

Three months ago? That could only be-

"King Thorax and our reformation!" Mayflower exclaimed, grasping ahold of the positive topic change. Then he cringed, hastily pulling back and dipping his curved horn, "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"We would've had to have been deaf and blind to miss royal announcement about the new changeling hive and reformation. The official declaration was also on every front page by royal order for a week afterwards." Scenic observed dryly.

"That's great! That absolutely everypony heard about it and knows we're good now, I mean." Mayflower smiled.

Scenic didn't return the smile, "Everypony heard about it, yes. We certainly did. But that's not the same thing as believing it."

"Seeing is believing. Those are the exact words I thought at the time, 'I'll believe it when I see it, and not before'." Carton told him seriously.

"That's... fair. I understand. Especially with the 'seeing' bit, because we're changelings, and we can disguise ourselves as-You already know that, I'll stop."

Scenic reached up and re-adjusted his glasses, "But that's exactly what you're here for, Mayf-flower-"

Again, that half stutter.

"-Seeing is believing. Carton wanted to see, and talk to you, and face her old fears."

Carton braced herself, and finally looked directly at Mayflower. She flinched, darted her head away, but then resolutely stopped and turned back. She took a deep breath, "I want, I want to face them. One of the old changelings. I want to see what I've been so afraid of, and, and not run away this time."

"Wait, you mean...?"

"Yes. She wants you to transform back to look like one of the changelings from the invasion." Scenic stated bluntly.

Mayflower winced, the plates on his back opening as his wings sought to buzz in agitation, "That's is not, I mean I could, but I don't-"

"We obviously can't force you to, but please consider it. For Carton's sake." Scenic pressed.

Mayflower did not want to. He didn't want to return to being like that, when he was just a drone, ever again. Even if it was only externally, and only for a few minutes. He really didn't want to. But, if it would help somepony who'd been hurt by changelings, what right did he have to refuse? Then he remembered the laws of Canterlot.

He felt relieved that the choice was taken out of his hooves, "I'm sorry, I can't. It's against the law. I'm not allowed to transform at all while I'm in Canterlot."

But Scenic didn't even miss a beat on hearing it was illegal, "We won't make any report to the Guards. Besides, I know them."

Mayflower was flabbergasted, "B-b-b-but, it's the law! You aren't allowed to break the law. And I can't risk things for hive brothers and sisters."

"We won't tell anypony, I swear. It's just to help Carton." Scenic pressed.

Mayflower held up his hooves, shaking the one with the bulky tracker band on it for them to see, "It's, it's against the law. Princess Twilight Sparkle made those herself, we-I can't just break them. I could get us all into so much trouble."

Mayflower was not prepared for the non-reaction he got from Scenic Paint after invoking Princess Twilight's name. Princess Twilight has the greatest, even King Thorax said so! Carton seemed to get it, but Scenic was just, indifferent to her name. And now he was glaring:

"I've seen those things before. I didn't like of them then, and I don't like them now. They're degrading. Like you're a disobedient dog that needs a collar."

Mayflower realised Scenic was glaring at the metal tracker band, not at him. Which was certainly better, but still...

"I don't want to get anypony into trouble." Mayflower insisted, "I'm very sorry."

Carton put a large hoof over Scenic's own, stopping him. She caught his eye when he looked over, and shook her head.

He huffed, "Alright. Alright, fine. We can't force you. Thank you for coming out all this way, even if we weren't expecting you, but-"

"I want to try something else, dear. I don't want to give up just yet." Carton interrupted.

"Are you sure? You don't have to-"

"It's okay dear, I'm sure."

Scenic didn't look anywhere near so sure as his wife insisted she was.

"It's fine, my Paint Spot. I want to at least give this a go." She craned her neck around to briefly rub her cheek against Scenic fondly, "And aren't you saying goodbye to the, to our guest a little soon?"

"I am?"

"He is?"

"Yes darling. He's also here to help you come to terms with what happened, remember?" She chided him.

Scenic's mouth set into a line, "I don't think that's going to happen any longer. But you do you, dear. Don't let me hold you back."

Disappointment came off of Carton, but she didn't say anything. Mayflower took that as his queue hurriedly jumped in:

"Please, I'd love to help if I can Mr. Scenic. That's why I'm here, to help. It's why I wanted to be a volunteer therapist. Whatever it is, I'm sure we could just give it a try, maybe?"

"You're happy to help, but not if it means transforming into an old changeling even to help my wife." Scenic said flatly.

"Dear."

Mayflower's mandibles and mouth gaped, "I, I, I don't mean it like that, b-but it's the law, and I can't just, I could get in so much trouble."

"No, I understand where you're coming from. I get it. But get where I'm coming from that I'm not prepared to open up to somepony who, from my point of view, sticks to a racist law. Even if they're the one it's racist against. Besides," He snorted, and added in an undertone to himself, "Not with a name like that anyway."

Tangy confusion from Carton; "What d'you mean? A name like...? Oh. Ohhhh. Mayflower. Oh I never even realised, I completely blanked on that. I just, because I was so nervous, I'm sorry dear, I didn't even think about it."

"Umm..." Mayflower dared to raise his hoof, as if asking for permission, "I don't want to case a fuss, or offend anypony, but what about my name? It's not a secret pony insult is it!?" He asked in sudden alarm.

"It's nothing." Scenic dismissed too quickly.

Carton gave her husband a nudge. He looked at her sideways, but stayed silent.

She gave him another nudge. He scowled, the warped skin under his eyes making the expression look much more fierce than it actually was.

Carton sighed, "I know, I know. This was exactly the pushy behaviour I was apologising for earlier. But, please dear."

Scenic gave in reluctantly, "Mayflower is... an unfortunate name. Some very bad things happened to me at a place called Mayflower. And I was one of the lucky ones."

Scenic's tone wasn't more than merely despondent and uncomfortable, but that wasn't what his emotions said. Mayflower took a deep breath and then gagged, coughing into his hoof as he tried to get the burning taste he'd just inhaled out.

"Gaha! Ffleugh! Ack, ack, aack!"

The look Scenic shot him was poisonous. Mayflower threw up his hooves, "I'm sorry I'm sorry! Really, it's wasn't that bad-just, I wasn't expecting-I wasn't prepared. That was... horrible."

"What was?" Carton asked, confused. Then she caught on, "Oh. The emotions."

"Yes, well." Scenic said stiffly.

"I'm really, really, really sorry I made you feel that way." Mayflower apologised.

That fierce scowl returned, "You did not make me feel any way. What happened back then had nothing to do with you."

"But my name's the same, and I didn't know, so I'm very sorry, I didn't mean for it to be the same."

"So what if it's the same place as your name? It's just a coincidence. Drop it." Scenic snapped.

"But I tasted it how you felt. Another changeling could have come, but I did. I didn't know, or else I promise I wouldn't have introduced myself as Mayflower. I feel so guilty now."

"I said drop it. It's just bad luck. And nearly nopony speaks about that place anymore anyway. Just the older Night Guards, and us few."

"But I didn't know," Mayflower stressed, "It was an accident, and I'm very sorry about it."

"Yes, I know you didn't know. We've established that." Scenic rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"But I'm going to fix it. I can at least do that much!" Mayflower stated as firmly as he could manage.

"Fix it?" "What?" Carton and Scenic both echoed in baffled unison.

Mayflower nodded in firm decision, "It's easy. I'll just change my name."

"What."

"I'll change my name. I don't want a name the same as something so bad as Mayflower, not after I've tasted it. So I'm changing my name to something else."

Both earth ponies stared at him. Incomprehension tasted flat, and he was getting as flat as a stone taste off of them right now.

Surprisingly, it was Carton who found her words first, "But, it's your name. You can't just change your name. Can you?"

He blinked his eye shields, "I can't? Why not? I mean, it's my name isn't it?"

"But it's your name. A name isn't-You shouldn't change it just because somepony tells you to."

"But you're not telling me to. I want to." He assured them.

"What about documents, bank accounts, registration? What about all of those?" Scenic protested.

Not-Mayflower tilted his head, "Those are pony things. The hive doesn't have any of those. We're just who we are."

"You don't? No census, no registration, no anything in the hive? Surely that can't be right."

Now he was the confused one, "Why would we? We're changelings. We know who every otherling is. Any changeling can sense another changeling if they're standing close to them, and everyling is different. A name is just what we call each other out loud. I chose Mayflower because I liked it. But now I've got a good reason not to. So I'm going to choose a new, better name."

It finally clicked for Scenic Paint and Carton Juice. The flat taste of confusion gave way, and in its place came the almost spicy tang of realisation.

For all the similarities, the spoken words, even the changeling's own interests, they weren't equine. And that didn't just mean in body. For all that many ponies still accused changelings of being monsters, they were operating on a misconception to begin with, because they weren't equines to being with. Ponies accused them of being monsters, meaning 'monstrous'. But they could have accused them of being 'un-equine' and they would've been much closer to the truth. Changelings weren't ponies. They spoke, they thought, they felt, but that didn't make them ponies.

Changelings were only the same right up until the point they weren't, and then the jarring unexpectedness of the diversion caught you off guard.

Changelings were their own unique race. Not merely 'fake ponies' as many screamed. Griffins weren't ponies. Minotaurs weren't ponies. Diamond dogs weren't ponies.

Changelings weren't ponies either. They were a newly reformed race, not even out of infancy, and fumbling around to cement their own culture. But despite what Princess Twilight Sparkle and King Thorax had done, changelings weren't ponies.

In this room, filled with pony effects, from the furniture to the floorboards to the painting lined walls, Scenic and Carton were sitting across from a changeling.

The hint had been in the name all along; changeling. Change. Mutability, fluidness, adaptation.

The disconnect was sudden and sharp. Like a snow laden branch finally snapping off.

It disquieted Carton, as well as shamed her. The realisation actually calmed Scenic's emotions somewhat. He nodded in slow acceptance:

"Alright. Okay. That makes as much sense as anything. So you're not Mayflower anymore. Who are you now then?"

The changeling looked up at the ceiling, tapping a hoof claw on their chin with a 'click' of chitin.

"I'm Mayfair." Mayfair declared, and just like that, breaking apart and re-forging her own internal self-image.

"Mayfair. Can I ask why?" Scenic questioned.

"Of course! Well, see, I chose Mayflower originally because it was so similar to what my older clutch brother chose, Mayfly. So I chose Mayflower to be like him, but now I'm Mayfair. Mayfair, Mayfair, Mayfair. Yes, I really like Mayfair."

"Huh." Scenic sat back. He thought on that for a minute as Mayfair repeated her name to herself in delight.

"Mayfair's sort of a mares name." Carton blurted, then almost tripped over herself hurrying to add, "But then so was Mayflower, and it's not like you're a pony, you can call yourself whatever you want, you've no reason to conform to pony naming conventions."

"Mayflower was a mare's name? Huh, nopony never told me. That's a bit embarrassing, I would've corrected it if I'd known. But thanks, I do know Mayfair's a mare's name."

There was a sudden pause, the same as before. Understanding being taken apart and put back together finally in the correct pattern.

"So when you say 'corrected', and that you know Mayfair is a feminine name..." Scenic trailed off leadingly.

And so it was, that in the house of Number 17 Dawnbringer Street, sitting in the living room while their foal slept in the bedroom, that Scenic and Carton learnt an as of yet, undocumented fact of changeling society. Even Twilight Sparkle, who'd insisted vehemently on studying King Thorax and his reformed changelings, had either missed or overlooked that little fact of changeling hives.

Changeling's could change form. Utterly and completely. Infiltrators were just as skilled at impersonating a mare or a stallion in their task to harvest love in the past, they'd had to be.

In the not so very distant past, when the there had still been a hive mind, and before 'The Crash', as the new Mayfair told them a lot of new changelings were now informally calling to the muddle and confusion referring to the loss of the hivemind and the complete breakdown of the old hive it had caused. But before the great Crash, back in those dark times, most Changelings hadn't had their own minds, only the hivemind. They'd just been drones. Sterile, asexual drones. And also back before the purges. But no ling spoke about that.

"Yeah, I'm glad I was only hatched after The Crash. Really, it sounded awful back then, imagine not being able to think for yourself? Or, well, I suppose you wouldn't be able to imagine it if you couldn't think. That's sad." Mayfair finished sombrely.

Scenic though had a question, "What about Mayfly, that's your older brother you said. But you said 'brother', what if he was to suddenly change?"

Mayfair didn't understand the question, "Uhhh, then he'd still be him?"

"But you're saying 'him'. Not her. Or why not just by name, instead of a pronoun?"

"What's a pronoun?"

"Him, her, he, she, how you refer to someone." Carton helped.

"Oh, I get what you mean. I don't mean him him, I'm just saying him because that's what you're supposed to say in Equish. I, hmm... I don't know how to explain this. Remember how I said any changeling knows another changeling if they're next to each other?"

They both nodded.

"It's like that."

"What's like that?"

Mayfair concentrated hard, trying to find the best words to explain what she meant, "Like, like we all just know. Like how names are just for saying out loud. We don't actually need them, but having names is so much nicer, don't you think?"

She, who-was-not-physically-a-she-or-a-he, waved a hoof, "Like, like my brother isn't really my brother. Well, I mean he's my clutch sibling, definitely, but he doesn't have to be my brother. Or a he. Or a she either. I'm not a she really, or a he either. I'm a changeling. But don't worry, ponies can call us either, we don't mind! It just makes speaking Equish much easier."

"Oh. Oh that makes so much more sense. It's because of the pony language, Equish. Changeling is a pony name too, not actually your own. What do you call yourselves in your own language?" Scenic asked, almost all wariness and coldness gone.

Mayfair opened her mandibles and gave short, a chirping buzz in answer.

"That. That's our real, actual name."

Scenic blinked, and then he abruptly, and unexpectedly, laughed. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm physically capable of saying that."

"Don't worry, don't worry! Please, really, it's fine I assure you." Mayfair reassured him seriously, in case he really was worried, "Anyway, Equish is so much more eloquent. 'Eloquent', see? That's a word we don't have. Or rose. Or daisy. Or orchid. Just red or blue or white flower. Oh, you've got a very nice flower garden outside by the way, Mrs. Carton."

"Thank you." Carton said faintly. She looked at Scenic, then back to Mayfair, and then all around the room.

"I feel like I've been clubbed over the head with this new revelation. And I haven't a clue what to do with it."

"Sorry." Mayfair hastily apologised.

"No no, it's just... all just very new and different, that's all."

Scenic took off his glasses, the frame adhering to a touch of his hoof with must have been a small enchantment. He massaged his closed eyes with a foreleg.

"Mayfair," He addressed her, eyes still shut, "In light of... stuff, I am willing to, very hesitantly, at least speak to you about what my wife wants me to."

Huh? What had brought about this sudden change of heart Mayfair wondered?

Scenic finally put his glasses back on, and turned to give Carton a look which conveyed a lot. Mayfair fleetingly tasted again that complicated mix of emotions, but this time all overlaid with resignation, "About the Wedding Invasion, but that's it. Nothing more." He told her.

"I know dear, I know. I promised not to push. But thank you anyway." She murmured, and gave him a brief encouraging rub with her shoulder. Which ended up almost unbalanced the smaller earth pony.

Carton gave him one more smile, then turned back to Mayfair. Her smile faltered, and hear ears went back, but she gulped and pressed on, "I do have one last question Mayfair, before we move on. If it's not rude, that is."

"I'm here to help with anything. Well, anything I can help with, and, you know, not break the law. Ask away."

"It's not actually important in the long run I suppose, but, does that mean Queen Chrysalis wasn't actually a queen? Or could King Thorax also be Queen Thorax? It's just, I'm interested."

"What? Oh, no, definitely not. That'd just be silly." Mayfair chuckled at the mere thought, "A changeling Queen is always a Queen, and a King can only be a King."

"... I don't get it."

"Well, it's like this, see? Chrysalis was the Queen, and Thorax is now the King. Simple see?"

"Um, not really." Carton admitted.

"Hm, I don't think I can explain this. A Queen and a King aren't like us other changelings. A Queen is a she, and a King is a he. Always. I suppose the King could change his name, but he'll always still be a King."

The earth ponies exchanged looks and raised eyebrows.

"I think we'll just have to chalk this up to something we can't understand as ponies, and move on." Scenic shrugged philosophically.

Mayfair blinked, but let it go. She thought it made perfect sense, but she was probably explaining something wrong. Oh well. "So! Now we can... uhhhhh... What were we going to do next again? I forgot." She sheepishly turned up her mandibles.

Mayfair hadn't meant to cause it, but just like that, any lingering bitter-sweet amusement coming off Scenic vanished.
"Now? That's between you and Carton. She's the only one who can decide what would help her best facing her fears."

Resurging panic from Carton, as her eyes widened and she was broken from the brief distraction about where she was and what she was doing. Her oh-so-mobile pony ears went flat, and she swallowed twice.

"I wanted, I want to prove to myself that I can be brave. I want to recreate what it was like. Sort of. If, if you won't transform to an old changeling, we can still do the rest." She braced herself, both physically and in her emotions:

"I want to stand here on my own, with just you Mayfair, right up in my face, and I want to make myself not breakdown or, or run away."

"That... that doesn't sound like something a good therapist should do." Mayfair hesitated.

"I want to at least try it. It's dumb, cliché, but I feel inside that it will help. Probably." Carton insisted.

"But, but that's... but!" Mayfair shot an agonizing look to Scenic, however Carton's husband didn't step in.

"This isn't about me, this is about what Carton feels is best for herself. I will support her choice."

"Please? Can we at least try it just once?" Carton asked her.

Mayfair was out of her depth. She had no idea if it was the right thing to say, either as a therapist or as a representative of the new hive, but... "Alright. Let's do this."

"Are you sure about this?" Mayfair hesitated.

'No' was what Carton's emotions clearly stated.

"Yes." She was what said out loud.

"...Are you sure you're sure?"

"As s-sure as I'm going t-to get." Carton managed.

"Ooooooh-kay. If you're sure you're sure you're sure, then open you're eyes whenever you're ready. I'm standing right in front of you now."

The big mare, standing nearly have as tall again over Mayfair, trembled with her eyes squeezed tight shut, "I know. I can h-hear you."

"Of course you can, of course you can," Mayfair soothed, "And when you're ready, you can open your eyes."

This was the idea Carton Juice had envisioned to try overcoming her fears. It was simple and blunt, Scenic would step out, despite his reluctance, and leave her alone in the room with Mayfair, who'd stand right in front of her and much closer than she was comfortable with. Carton had even suggested Mayfair could try to be intimidating, or to hiss and snarl, but Mayfair didn't want to do that even in acting. So she'd deflected with; "Let's see how it goes normally first." Which she was quite proud of herself for her forward thinking on-the-spot.

But then Carton had to go and press, saying; "I know this isn't the real deal, so unless you at least try to be intimidating, I don't think it will be enough. I've seen scary fangs and eyes aplenty before."

Which brought them to their positions right now. Scenic was waiting just on the other side of the door outside, leaving Carton and Mayfair alone in here. The only other ponies here to bare witness were those in the paintings looking on.

Carton was standing in the middle of their living room, tensed up, eyes closed, and ears back. Mayfair had positioned herself right in front of the larger earth pony, and was psyching herself up to 'be scary' when Carton opened her eyes.

Which would be any second now.

Any second now.... Aaaaaaaany second....

Mayfair really wasn't liking being this up-close-and-personal to a source of fear, it was downright nasty. Fear wasn't what the reformed changelings of the new hive wanted, it was the opposite.

But since she was doing it to help Carton, that made it a positive action, even if it was negative, and Carton had given her permission, a very important point like Princess Twilight had stressed-

Carton opened her eyes before Mayfair was ready.

There was a moment of staring into each others wide eyes.

Mayfair finally remembered and snapped back into her role, "RRRaahhH!" *Hissss*

Big green pony eyes shrunk into black dots.

"Er, was that too much-?"

Carton took a deep, deliberate breath, opened her mouth, and screamed.

"AAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEEE!"

Mayfair gingerly rubbed at her ear holes. Carton had a set of lungs which were a match for her stature. Big, strong, and healthy.

Somewhere in the rear of the house, Mayfair could hear the sounds of the foal being shushed back to sleep by the couple.
Unsurprisingly, his mother's scream had both awoken and terrified the poor infant colt.

Ponies didn't hatch, and didn't molt from grubs. It was one of the few things changelings were actually superior in. Ponies took decades to grow up! A changeling only took half a year, if they had enough food and love of course. Otherwise, they grew up like the drones in the old hive had. Simple. Basic. Empty.

Mayfair tried not to dwell on how poorly this had all gone. It felt like from start to finish it had just been one thing after another. She searched around for something positive to hold her attention instead.

Luckily this was a pony home, and there was so much in this room alone for Mayfair to examine, although she made sure not to touch. You needed permission first for that.

Like a mug of pencils, a golden Celestia figurine, a funny white hat with mesh, and a toybox filled with stuffed cuddly animals, all so neatly sown with little button eyes and ribbons.

And of course, all the paintings in every different size and shade filling the walls, all hung above tiny hoof grabbing height. With a glance towards the door to check if the couple were coming back any time soon, Mayfair approached one of the laden walls to get a closer look.

She appreciated the trust she was being shown, being left alone in here while being a stranger. And a changeling. That must be a good, strong sign of budding friendship and trust.

These were some really nice paintings. No ling in the hive was this good at painting yet. But it had only been three and a half months since they'd become free to be artistic in the first place. Everyling was still experimenting on what their individual hobby should be. Princess Twilight had insisted that everpony had to have at least one hobby doing something they enjoyed. Also, your hobby wasn't allowed to be your job, that was apparently very important.

Mayfair leaned in really close to a painting of a cloudy mountain slope. It was amazing, because it looked exactly like a craggy mountainside, but had only been made with a few broad brush strokes. Grey, white, and black, and then with a single streak of blue to make up a sky. The lone splash of blue between the grey clouds vividly drew the eye, defiant and lonely.

There were a lot of landscape paintings, Mayfair realised, and not really that many of ponies. It was mostly all scenes and places, like sheer hillsides, sunny days, a split oak tree, a cloudy night, a mossy stone wall, and fields of wheat.

The few paintings depicting ponies weren't of anypony famous that Mayfair could recognize at any rate. Not that she was fortunate enough to know many yet, but there were none of the four princesses anyway.

It only served to make her wonder though... what was the painting behind the dust sheet?

It was the only painting covered up, and it was a big one too. Why thought? Was it damaged or not finished yet?

Actually, now she really wanted to know. What was special about this one painting? She approached the hidden painting, drawn.

She could almost-sort-of make out vague-maybe impressions through the thin sheet, but not enough. Mayfair wanted to know what made this one painting in the whole house extra special.

The house had gone quiet. Mayflower snatched back her reaching hoof and spun around just as Scenic came back in through the door.

He slowed on spying Mayfair up and not where he'd left her.

"I was looking at your paintings. They're really nice!" She quickly got in before he could ask.

"Thank you. But I hope you didn't touch any, did you?"

Mayfair's hoof tingled, but she hadn't actually touched anything, "Nope. Promise!"

"Carton's mostly calm again, but she's going to sit the rest of this out with the foal."

Mayfair awkwardly pursed her mandibles, "I, uh, I'm really sorry about that. The screaming and, yeah." She added belatedly.

"Don't worry about it. It's what I thought would happen." Scenic sighed heavily.

Mayfair felt bad that Scenic's pessimistic prediction had been proved right, and that she hadn't somehow done more. "I'm really sorry. I should have said no more firmly. Now it's just made everything worse than before."

Surprisingly Scenic disagreed, "No, you really shouldn't. She wanted this, and that's what's important. It was good for her, even if it doesn't look that way. She took the first step, and next time, she'll take another."

"Are you sure? It didn't sound or feel like this was a step forwards. She tasted uh, very scared." Mayfair winced with her body and averted her eyes.

Scenic stepped back fully into the living room and quietly shut the door behind him with a skilful hook of his rear hoof. "I love my wife, really I do. But only one of us has ever been to therapy before. She wanted to defeat her past trauma today, get it over and done with in one go. But that's not how it works, that's never how it works. Therapy doesn't happen in leaps and bounds, it's done in slow, painful, crawling inches."

Mayfair stared. She had no idea what to say to that. So she picked out something else.

"You've uh, um, been to therapy before? A proper qualified pony therapist?"

Scenic paused, and gave Mayfair a long look, "Yes." He kept looking at her, waiting.

Mayfair almost, almost almost, asked for what. The words were literally on the tip of her tongue, but by some miracle, her body moved faster than her brain and snapped her mandibles shut over her mouth in the nick of time.

"Umm, uuh, err, you don't need to, uh, go reassure your neighbours or something do you?"

"Our neighbours? Why?"

Mayfair vaguely waved an olive-green insectile hoof, "About, you know, the screaming. And um, that I'm not an evil changeling sucking out all your love or something?"

"Oh that. Don't worry about it."

"I um, I kind of am. Sort of."

"It's fine, they won't have heard. First we're detached, and second, we got this house enchanted with one-way sound blocking. Among a few other enchantments."

"Oh." Mayfair knew very little about the applications of unicorn magic outside of blast, shield, and telekinesis, and next to nothing about enchantments aside from that they existed.

Changelings had nowhere near the magical talent, strength, or reserves of an average unicorn, outside of one field; self-transformation. Emotional sensing and manipulation wasn't strictly magic, it was racial.

"Uh, that's cool?" She offered.

"It was necessary. For my peace of mind."

"So, uhhh..." Mayfair trailed off, not sure how to say this. She glanced out the window, at the darkening Canterlot skyline.

"What?" Scenic prompted.

"Should, should I go now then? You know, since the idea failed, and Carton doesn't want to continue, and you don't really like me, and it's getting late..."

Scenic spared a glance for the waning light outside his window too, "Do you have some sort of curfew?"

"What does curfew mean?"

"Is there a time you have to legally be out of the city by?"

Mayfair quickly thought back and reviewed the rules in her head, "Technically, no. I'm not allowed in the city unescorted after dark, but if I'm inside or with you, then I'm being escorted right?"

"Hn." Scenic waved Mayfair to sit back down on the couch. She only noticed once she'd done so, that Scenic himself didn't make retake his own seat until she had.

Actually, only now that she was thinking about it, did Mayfair realise Scenic had been keeping a full body's length between them at all times if possible, staying out of reach.

Scenic was obviously reluctant and uncomfortable talking to her alone, so why was he letting her stay? Hopefully, it was because he was trying to extend the hoof of friendship!

Scenic broke the silence in the living room just as it was starting to stretch out, "About Carton... I think it's going to take ten or fifteen times at least before Carton will be able to do it. Therapy is a slow, gradual process, with many set backs. Mayfl-Mayfair, is this something you can commit to?"

"Wait, what? You want me to come back?"

"Yes. As I said, this'll take time. If you can't or won't, please tell me now-"

"Yes! I mean, yes of course I'll help, I'd love to." Mayfair beamed, mandibles all the way up in happiness. This was wonderful, for her and for the hive!

So why was Scenic's emotions gradually sinking further and further?

"Was I... should I have said no?" She hesitantly probed.

"What do you-? Oh, emotion reading again." He spat, "I really don't like you doing that."

Mayfair cringed, "I'm sorry, I can't help it, no changeling can."

"I know. Forget it, mark it down as a failing on my behalf, not yours. It's one of my many hang ups."

"I'd love to keep coming if it helps, but if me being here is only going to make you unhappy, maybe I shouldn't."

Scenic cocked an eyebrow and looked at her. It wasn't a glare, but it was a 'look', "Did you know, you use very tame words for bad concepts, and lots of excitable ones for good stuff."

"I do. It's a conscious choice. Because having a positive mindset is also a choice." She nodded firmly.

"That's foalish." He stated.

Mayfair had to reluctantly nod to that too, "I don't think I'm stupid, but I do think I'm probably naïve."

"Have-", Scenic stopped himself. His emotions calmed back down, "Fair. That's fair. And a more realistic self-assessment than I made back then. I've been stupid and naive in the past too, and I'm older than you."

"How'd you get better at it? Can I do it too?"

"No, sorry. Experience is the only remedy, I'm afraid."

"Phooey."

They lapsed into silence. Outside, dusk continued to fall. Scenic glanced again to the gathering dark beyond the window.

"Moving on. You know how my wife wants me to speak with you too, yes?" He asked, still watching the window.

"Yes, but you don't have to if you don't want to. A therapist isn't supposed to make their patients uncomfortable."

"I don't want to at all," Scenic said bluntly, "But if she's trying her best then I've got to at least try too."

He took a deep breath. Again that strange mix of emotions bubbled up. This time, Mayfair finally got a good taste of the underlying foundation of them all; guilt.

"We've talked about what happened to Carton during your invasion already. Now, do you know what I was doing during your invasion?" Scenic asked pleasantly.

"You said you were at home, looking after your new grub, didn't you?"

"Foal, or baby, yes. Not this house, my old one. We'd sold Carton's old place and were still saving up to buy this one. So I was at home, with the foal in his crib, when the Prince's shield fell and your invasion began."

Mayfair winced, "I, I get that's it's true, but could you please not say it like that? 'Your invasion'. It was Queen Chrysalis's invasion."

Scenic didn't even glance away from the window, "I'm being fair. Your fault or not, it was still your invasion, and you were part of the disaster. Own it. Your invasion, your people. And your deaths."

"I knew somepo... someone once, in the past. I don't remember them, though. But they were a friend. A good friend. Not a nice friend, though. Good to me and mine, but not nice. I don't remember any of that, of course, but Crimson didn't paint them in a very flattering light, that's how I know it's true. He wouldn't have lied."

"I, I don't follow? Um, who's Crimson?" Mayfair asked, uneasily.

"Our friend. Maybe you'll meet him since you're going to be visiting again," Scenic swallowed, "Actually, I shouldn't have said that. Look, don't ask Crimson if you ever meet him, I shouldn't have let slip his name. It's private."

Mayfair shifted, rubbing her forehooves together nervously, "Should, should you be telling me this then?"

"What I'm telling you is only private to me, not to him. And I won't give specific details. Anyway, I had this good, but not nice, friend in the past. But because of some magic, I can't remember them."

"That's awful!"

Scenic's emotions twisted, a tangled knot of unpleasant tastes, "I... yes, awful. But I don't remember them to miss them. I know I should, but since I can't, I don't. Which isn't fair to anypony, but that's how it is. Life isn't fair. I don't remember them, but I know they must've taught me that, because they were there. With me, and Crimson, and Sargent G-"

Scenic bit off the name, stopping himself from giving details. It took a moment for him to resume, "This friend of mine, I keep saying they weren't very nice. They weren't. And neither was I. I was... a selfish coward. This is back before the Wedding Invasion happened, you understand? Oh, I should probably explain this, but, we were all in the Guard together."

"You were a Royal Guard?" Mayfair exclaimed, surprised.

"No, well yes, very briefly in the Royal Guard, but also no. I was a Night Guard. We all were, actually. At the time we'd just survived a... some bad stuff. We were recovering. And then Discord happened. Do you changelings remember Discords escape? I don't know if you were around at the time."

"I wasn't, no, but some... a few others were. They don't like to talk about it."

"Hmph. Maybe because they actually remember it accurately unlike everypony else." Scenic muttered.

"Huh?"

"It's not... actually I suppose it is relevant. Look, go out and ask any ten ponies about Discord's escape. Nine of them will only vaguely remember it, or have blanked it out. They think, 'oh well the Elements of Harmony fixed everything'. Well, I'm the tenth pony, and I do remember what it was really like. And it was bad."

Scenic worked his jaw, "I saw my then next door neighbour running around turned inside out. The street outside turned into lava pool. A literal pool. There was a diving board, even. I didn't see anypony dive off, thank Celestia, but... You see where I'm coming from, right? That it wasn't all just a 'harmless prank'."

"So, anyway, in the aftermath of Discord, I apparently went and asked this friend for help like a dumbass. And they said yes. I forgot who it came from at the time, obviously, but they gave me a box. But when Discord didn't escape again, and nothing else bad happened, I must've put it from my mind, or else I was made to forget it. I don't know how else to explain why I stuck it in a back room and never checked on it again, especially after I went to such lengths to ask for it in the first place."

He turned away from the darkening window. His tone was calm, his ears still up. His emotions even tasted calm. Calm, in the same way a graveyard was calm. Mayfair flinched.

"Do you know how many changelings died in my old house because of that box?"

Mayfair stared, frozen. She jerkily shook her head.

"Would you like to know?"

She shook her head harder.

"Fair enough. Fair eee-nough. Ignorance is bliss is actually a true saying. I certainly wish I didn't know."

Scenic sat, lost in memory.

"What was... what was in the box?" Mayfair finally asked, a buzz in her words from how tight her throat was.

"The jack-in-the-box. Didn't I say it was a jack-? Oh, no I didn't. Yeah, a big jack-in-the-box." He vaguely spread his forehooves to indicate the size, gaze still distant.

"But, huh? Isn't that a foal's toy?"

"Yes. Yes they are. This one wasn't, isn't. I don't remember, but my friend had a sick sense of humour it seems. Especially what with this being right after Discord and all... and it killed changelings."

Mayfair recoiled. That was sick, just like Scenic said it was. Furthermore, he just didn't understand. A foals toy had killed changelings? How? That made no sense. It was a toy, even a big one. It was a wind up spring in a box! And a box couldn't move, or fly, or fight. Maybe if it had exploded, but that wasn't what Scenic was talking about.

It sounded like the kind of twisted ingenuity poured into making something harmless able to hurt that the old Queen would have approved of. The kind of sick monster who cut the feet off of birds, so as to watch them fly but never be able to land again, until they plummeted out of the sky from exhaustion and died. That willingness to go beyond, to not stop, and keep hurting, to defile or sacrifice anything or anyling in pursuit of a goal. That had been Chrysalis's way.

Those bad times were behind them, and now King Thorax was here to make sure they never happened again. But the memories of suffering were fresh in every reformed changelings mind, and it was why Mayfair cherished so much the new hive now.

But this, what Scenic had just told her? Mayfair had no words. What did you say even to a confession that? That changeling soldiers had died in Scenic's old home? She was a changeling too.

'It could have been me. I could have been one of them.'

If she'd been in the first or second wave during the invasion instead of being held back as reinforcements... Mayfair could easily have been one of them to attack Scenic's house on that day.

Changeling's and ponies had both died during the invasion, Mayfair had known that. But it was a nasty realisation to know that you really truly could have been one of those.

It was real. It had happened. It wasn't just impersonal words, of a tragedy happening to a stranger you'd never met. Because Scenic wasn't a stranger, and he was talking to Mayfair, and he'd been one half, so couldn't Mayfair have maybe been the other unfortunate half if she'd been there?

She shivered convulsively, a crawling touch under her chitin.

"That's..."

"Yes. To whatever you were about to say. Yes, it is." Scenic muttered uncomfortably. His eyes flicked away guiltily.

That's what all the guilt she'd been tasting was about, the changeling's who'd died. Scenic felt responsible, and this was his own way of confessing.

She should say it was okay, shouldn't she? As a therapist, and a reformed changeling, she should tell him that it was alright, shouldn't she?

It wasn't Scenic's fault, not really. Was it? No, it was this friend of Scenic's fault, theirs and Queen Chrysalis's alone.

Mayfair sucked in a slow breath between her fangs. Again, she tasted the guilt. For a moment, it hung in the balance as she wavered.

But she chose to be positive. She chose to see the best in a pony, to forgive and forget, to believe in always extending the hoof of friendship above all.

"I'm very sorry that happened to you, Mr. Scenic. And to them. And to everypony and everyling in that invasion. But none of it was your fault. It was self defence of yourself and your foal." Mayfair felt immediately lighter for having said that.

Nopony had won in the invasion. Everypong had lost. There had been too many victims on both sides. But it could also be a chance for ponies and changelings both to come together afterwards. Just like now.

Except the taste of guilt tainting the air didn't cease.

"No, no, no No! No you don't understand. It's not that, it's not about self defence, it's, it's-!"

Scenic's words stopped. His mouth stayed open, working, breathing hard, and angry. He whipped off his glasses, glaring; "It's-!"

"It's not your fault." Mayfair repeated, and meant it.

"It's not about. Who's fault. It was." Scenic ground out, now glaring at a point past her shoulder.

Mayfair faltered in her newfound forgiveness, "It's not?"

The taste of guilt was growing heavier, sour enough to fill up Mayfair's throat.

"Of bucking course it isn't! I was a Night Guard. Even if I was too cowardly to do it myself, I understand what self defence means. I couldn't kill a pony even to save myself, but I was so glad to be alive afterwards when somepony else did it for me." Scenic gritted out, somehow keeping his voice down to avoid disturbing Carton and the foal.

"Um, if it's not that, then what is it really about?" Mayfair asked meekly.

Scenic's chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily. He grimaced, emotions a confused jumble of uncertainty.

Finally though, he had to reach a decision, and he did. If anything though, it only made his grimace grow worse. Scenic slipped his glasses back onto his muzzle. To Mayfair, his emotional state abruptly became muted, tired.

"It's not misplaced guilt over what happened during the Wedding Invasion. Our new-born foal was at risk. That changed everything for me. My only regret is that Carton didn't stay home that day, and so would've been spared her own trauma. Although maybe she would've gotten different trauma instead. But no, it's..." Still Scenic hesitated.

"I guess I invited a changeling here today to apologise for what happened to them, even if I think I was justified. Because-"

"You don't have to apologise. It was Queen Chrysalis's fault for everything. She foalnapped Princess Cadance, she ordered the invasion, she attacked first. We were, we were just following orders." Mayfair said.

"-Because..." Scenic quietly finished, "I kept the jack-in-the-box. Just in case. It's here, in this house, right now. Because if an invasion ever happens again, I know what will happen. That's why I'm sorry."

"..Oh."

'Oh.'

Oh. Well. Now what did you say to that?

Mayfair's throat was very dry. She sat very still on the couch cushion.

I could have been one of them, she'd thought earlier.

'I could still be one of them.'

Very slowly she moved, just her eyes. No box in any of the room's corners. No box beside the sofas. No box under the curtains.

"Where is this jack-in-the-box?" She croaked.

"Inside the house," Scenic said instead of answering, "But you're safe. You're not in danger. You're fine right now, aren't you?"

"That's not-"

That's not fair, that's not nice, that's not very friendly. Mayfair had come here to try to help in good faith, and Scenic hadn't warned her at all.

Bu-bu-but, but this wasn't how ponies were supposed to do things. Ponies were supposed to be nicer, kinder, better than changelings! She felt hurt, betrayed.

"That's not very nice, Mr. Scenic." She told him.

He looked away, "I know. That's why I'm saying sorry. I not trying to make a threat or anything, I can't control the jack-in-the-box at all or anything. I didn't set it on those changelings that day. It just does... just does."

That helped, but only a little bit, "Well, you- It's still not nice at all. And I don't like it!"

"Of course not, I don't expect you to. I'm just apologising. That doesn't mean you have to accept my appology or forgive me." Scenic shrugged philosophically.

Mayfair jerked, "What? No! That's not how friendship works, Princess Twilight said so. You have to forgive ponies when they say sorry."

Scenic stared at her flatly, "That is utter horseapples." He said with contempt.

"It's not! Princess Twilight is the Princess of friendship, and she said you need to forgive-"

"No, you don't. You really don't. You're under no obligation to accept or forgive anything from me if you don't want to Mayfair."

"I, I, no. I'm a reformed changeling, I've chosen to love and forgive..."

Scenic took a shallow breath, "Princess Twilight is a wonderful pony, she really is. I've heard her speeches and read the papers, and anypony can tell she's completely genuine. However I know lots of other wonderful ponies. Princess Celestia and Luna run the whole of Equestria, and that's something I could never, ever manage, so I respect whatever they decide is best for this country. But Princess Twilight? She's the Princess of Friendship, and I don't need her advice or permission on how I make friends."

"Princess Twilight has saved Equestria!"

"Yes? I never said she hasn't. What's that got to do with anything? I know Night Guards who've helped save Equestria too."

"She saved Equestria with Friendship," Mayfair stressed, "Nopony is better at friendship than her."

"W-what?" Scenic choked, coughing, "Do you honestly-? You do. You believe that. Okay, wow. I should have put two and two together. You're new to life, you would think that it's that simple."

"I'm not a foal or stupid." Mayfair buzzed in anger. Then she caught herself and tried to calm down.

Sudden melancholy wafted off of Scenic, "You're less than five years old. Full grown doesn't mean grown up. Tartarus, it took me years after I was an adult to actually grow up."

"I said I'm not a foal."

Scenic blew out his breath, twisting his head away. He examined a painting instead, "I... I guess I'm not a changeling and so don't have a right to judge on that. Just, maybe try not to be star blinded."

"What?"

"Star-blinded. With stars filling up your eyes, so you can't see clearly. I didn't realise, but it happens to lots of ponies, especially in Canterlot. You see big, famous, impressive ponies, like nobles, the Wonderbolts, archmages, or right at the top the Princesses, and you fixate on just them. They're so inspiring, but don't forget, they're only equine too. Don't forget about the rest of us commoners. There's thousands more normal, honest, good ponies in Equestria besides them, you know. Like my Carton Juice."

"I'm not star blinded or what have you. I'm just choosing to see the best in everypony, there's a difference." Mayfair firmly put her hoof down. She'd lived as a nameless, faceless drone under Queen Chrysalis, so she knew a ruler wasn't necessarily good. But because of the old mad Queen, Mayfair also now knew how good the Princesses of Equestria were.

There was nothing wrong with taking advise from a pony much wiser than you in their field of expertise, especially since the new hive was too new to have any real expertise of their own yet, and who knew better than a Princess? They literally embodied their field of expertise. Love, day, night, and friendship!

"What I'm trying to say is..." Scenic paused, getting his words in order, "What I'm trying to say is that; friendship doesn't work as advertised on all those friendship posters. Well, sometimes it does, for normal ponies I guess. But there's a lot of abnormal ponies out there, you know? And that means they have abnormal friendships too. Do you think that means they're friendship is wrong or fake?"

"No." Mayfair stated what should have been obvious. Of course friendship was never wrong.

"Okay, good. So, why should you, personally I mean, have to do friendship the 'normal' way?"

Mayfair struggled for a second in frustration, trying to put her own logic into words of Equish, "Because that's the way most ponies do it. And I want to be friends with them. And because ponies have been doing friendship much longer than changelings have and are better at it."

"So it's about fitting in. I guess that's really important to you guys, huh? I mean obvious before, yes, but now you're the new, reformed changelings. You don't have to blend in anymore as a matter of survival."

"No ling liked living like that, you know. What we have now is a dream come true." Mayfair said more stiffly than she'd meant to, but reproach clear. But that wasn't a very nice, friendly emotion. So she took a deep, buzzing inhale and let the feeling go with the exhale.

She sat up straighter, and tried to think of a way to make this less confrontational, because negative emotions just hurt everypony involved. She was a changeling, she'd know. She needed to try a different approach here.

Mayfair swallowed, and asked"Mr. Scenic, do you hate changelings? It's fine if you say yes, it's fair, but I don't think you do. Do you?"

"I definitely don't hate you."

"Thank you, that's very-Hey wait, I said changelings. Do you hate all of us, not just not hate me?"

Scenic shook his head tiredly, "No to that, too. Dislike, maybe, but not after I had time to sit down and cool off after the Royal Wedding. But to be fair if you had, no, if Queen Chrysalis had won, I bet I'd be singing a different tune."

"Thank Celestia she didn't," Mayfair echoed with feeling. Scenic twitched his ear in surprise at her chosen exclamation, but she paid it no mind, "What I'm trying to say is, if you don't hate us, why did you keep that horrible jack-in-the-box-thing?"

He grimaced, ashamed but resolute about his path, "I already said, but in case something like that happened again. Because I choose my wife and son over any invaders lives."

"But, but we not bad anylonger. We're reformed, we're good guys now! It's not healthy to hold onto fear. As a therapist, I must encourage you to let go of those negative memories. How about this, if I forgive you, can you forgive changelings? Get rid of the jack-in-the-box, let go, and forgive. Please? That's fair, isn't it?"

Mayfair tried to put every once of encouragement and sincerity inside her into her words. It was harder that it should have been. She couldn't forget that she could have been one of those dead changelings, but she felt a pressure lift off her chest as she said the words, and found she meant then whole heartedly.

Forgive, and be forgiven. Let go, and offer your hoof for the other pony to take.

"That's not how it works. And I said you don't have to accept my apology if you don't want to."

"But I do want to. I do want to forgive. I want everypony to forgive."

Scenic's grimace was pained, eyes behind his glasses darting away, "You don't have to forgive me, but I don't have to forgive changelings either, even if I'm now over it. Although I do I wish I had even half the positivity you seem to."

"You don't have to wish, you can be. You can forgive and let go. Anypony at all can!"

Scenic shook his head to himself, "You really do practice what you preach. That's... that's some real strong conviction you have. I wish more ponies were like you. You're a better pony than me." He sounded surprised.

"I'm not trying to be a better pony than anypony else. I can only try to be the very best pony I can be."

"Best changeling, you mean. The very best changeling." Scenic corrected.

"Hey now, I'm trying. All of us lings are." She defended King Thorax and the new hive.

Mayfair got a confused, disconnected blink in return, "Huh? What? That's...? Oh, oh no that isn't what I meant. I only meant, you're not a pony, so why should you have to pretend to be one? We're really not as great as we make ourselves out to be. This is something my friends had to hammer into me, but there's a lot of other pon-people, a lot of other people out there in the world, you know? Griffins, diamond dogs, zebras, dragons, all kinds. You don't have to be a 'pony' when you can be yourself."

"Oh, and deer, deer too. I can't forget about the deer holts." Scenic added on.

Mayfair didn't think she really agreed with that. Ponies were the greatest, they were the ones so full of love that they'd managed to reformed the changelings, after all. And why else would the old Queen have been so obsessed with replacing them? But Mayfair was making the choice not to disagree. So she let herself be distracted by something else he'd said, not that it took much doing.

"Deer? I've never met any, or met anypony or ling who's met any deer either. Are they nice?" Belatedly, she remembered that as a therapist, she was also supposed to have been respecting boundaries and not pushing in the first place. Oops. Maybe she should have tried to get more therapist training before volunteering?

"They are. The deer certainly seem to have it all figured out, they're much happier than most ponies I know, not worrying about the rat race and living with nature instead."

"Rat racing?"

But Scenic didn't seem to hear that, his head cocked in memory, "Yeah, both times I met a deer holt, that was the impression I got. Or would have gotten, if not for the reaper... ehm. Yes. The deer are reclusive, but also open, if that makes sense. They're content with their lot in life. I wish there were more of them in Equestria."

"How many different deer clans have you met?" Mayfair was intrigued.

"Holts. They don't really have clans, only holts, which are more like big extended families they live and travel in. And, twice. I've met two deer holts. Which really isn't a lot, now that I think about it. That second deer holt I met, later that is, and I got much a better picture of their normal lives without some danger constantly hanging over our heads..."

She tasted melancholy then, and wistfulness. Scenic shook himself where he sat on the couch, "You'd have to meet and live with a deer holt for a week to really get it. I'm not sure how Crimson even knew they were in that area, but next thing I knew, I'd already bought a train ticket and was riding out to the border. I just had to go and see to confirm if I hadn't imagined that feeling of freeness the first time, you know? For myself. To know what our first meeting could've been, if things had been different."

"Sure? Maybe. Okay, no I don't really get it, but if it was good then I'm happy for you. Maybe one day I'll get to visit a deer holt myself. I hope so, since you say they're so nice."

"They are. They're a bit like you, actually. Up front, a bit blunt, but completely honest in not meaning anything by it. Also unfailingly polite. They take guest rites very seriously." Scenic recalled.

"Why not live like them, then? It sounds like you loved it."

He sighed, "Because I'm too 'civilized'. I'm pampered and soft. I couldn't rough it like they do, having to fetch and carry my own water, gather my own food, carry my own bed. The deer live in tandum with the very real danger of real predators, too. I stayed with that second holt for a week, but, I guess it was more like a once in a life time camping trip of self discovery. Plus Carton wouldn't want to, either. And what about our foal? No, he needs to grow up with other ponies his own age. And what if he go sick out there in the middle of nowhere, what then? No, I couldn't live like the deer do." Scenic shook his head.

"Don't you think that you could try to become more like them, though? Just a bit, not the whole way, but maybe some of it?"

"Like what?"

"Like, maybe trying to be more like the deer themselves? Maybe get rid of the jack-in-the-box and live freer instead?"

Scenic's face closed, but Mayfair had to try, she couldn't just ignore something which killed changelings. "Wait wait, just hear me out! That box isn't good, you know it's not good, you're feeling guilty and apologising for it. You're unhappy, upset, this horrible jack-in-the-box thing isn't helping you, it's hurting you."

"My family's safety comes before my guilt. Sorry. But they're always going to be my priority."

Mayfair tried to think of something that would get through to Scenic, that would convince him. If only King Thorax were here. She was just a volunteer, amateur therapist.

"...It's, but, that thing's illegal." She finally tried. It was the wrong thing to say, but come on, surely this should have been obvious already?

"I don't care. Or rather, I don't care about that more than I care about my family. Besides..." Scenic hesitated, then obviously decided it didn't matter.

"Besides, it just comes back on it's own."

"Huh?" Mayfair asked intelligently.

"After the first-After the Royal Wedding, when they were doing the clean up and investigating, the Guards seized the jack-in-the-box. They returned it two weeks later saying there was nothing in it, and fined me for wasting Guard time. They gave me back the empty box, it was definitely the same box, but it was empty. I thought it'd all been used up or something, but when I went into the spare room, there was another jack-in-the-box. Exactly the same, just a tiny bit smaller. It fitted perfectly inside the bigger empty box. So perfectly I couldn't get it back out or even see the seam. And then I had only the one jack-in-the-box again."

That was really not what Mayfair had wanted to hear. Especially not here, and not now, in this very house, with the sun gone and darkness here.

She looked around the living room with all it's paintings, afraid that at any moment she might see... she wasn't sure exactly what. Not a box, she wasn't scared of a box. But what was inside the jack-in-the-box? What did it look like? She vaguely knew it was supposed to be attached to some coil or something, but what if it could somehow climb out, and walk around? How would she know what she was even supposed to be looking out for?

"You don't have to stay here, you can leave whenever you want. I'm sorry for scaring you. You don't have to stay." Scenic said. Oops again. He'd caught her looking at the door. He read of guilty concern to Mayfair's taste.

And strangely, bizarrely, conversely, his guilty concern abruptly smothered Mayfair's need to get out of here.

For a moment, she'd forgotten she wasn't trapped here, and that she was free to leave whenever she wanted. It had only taken being reminded of her freedom to banish her building fears. Because why was she here today, or tonight, in Canterlot?

She was here to help ponies.

"Well, have you tried to get rid of the box yourself?"

"No. Weren't you listening? I don't want to get rid of it, even if I don't like it." Scenic sighed tiredly.

"Well, there we go then. That's your next step. Trying for yourself." Mayfair announced.

Scenic stared at her. He glanced around the otherwise empty room at a loss, and then back to her, "I just, I literally just said-It protects me and my family. I don't want to get rid of it."

"I know," Mayfair chirped, "That's why I said it's your next step. Improvement is all about setting yourself goals. So that can be your goal for next time."

Scenic rubbed hard at his ear, "Next time-? Are you not hearing me? Or are you just not understanding? I don't want to get rid of it."

"But you know you should." Mayfair didn't miss a beat, "It's bad, you know it is. It hurts ponies, and that makes you unhappy because you know its bad."

"But I won't, because the alternative is worse if something does ever happen again." The earth pony insisted.

"If the alternative is worse, then just find a alternative to that alternative." She would not be deterred!

"For b-" Scenic cut himself off from whatever he'd been going to say next and rubbed his forehead with his fetlock, "This is going round in circles and nowhere fast." He muttered.

"It doesn't have to, you can change that at any time you want." Mayfair assured him, with all the encouragement she could muster, which was quite a considerable amount.

Scenic rolled his head around on his neck bonelessly, ending up staring up at the ceiling, "No, it's not going to suddenly change, you and me are in complete disagreement."

"That can also change."

"Yeah, it could. You could stop asking for what isn't going to happen."

"It's not impossible. Nothing is impossible if we just work together."

Scenic swivelled an eye down from the ceiling to give her a disbelieving look, "No."

"Please?"

Another heavy, expresive sigh, and Scenic went back to staring up at the ceiling, "I won't be nagged. Stop it."

"Well, how about instead-oh wow, you painted your ceiling too?" Mayfair got distracted as she finally looked up.

Well obviously, the ceiling was painted, but Mayfair meant painted like the pictures filling the room. She just hadn't noticed until now because she hadn't looked at the ceiling in any great detail, and because the painting was very subtle. The ceiling was already a washed white, and the painted picture was only made up of similar subtle shades, like creams, ghostly pale blues, and the lightest of greys. As a result, you could easily miss the picture unless you were looking straight up at it.

But Mayfair was now looking, and she saw it.

It was a sky of falling snow.

It was a gentle, silent scene. It gave the impression of depth, staring up into a white sky, snow flakes drifting down on every side of you.

The longer Mayfair stared up into it, the more depth the painting seemed to gain. You just had to relax, and one by one, the impressions slowly revealed themselves to you. White... silence... muffled... drifting... cold... snow...

She had only ever seen snow on distant mountain peaks within Equestria's borders, when the pony weather teams brought winter around. There had never been any snow in the barren, sun scorched Badlands, no matter how bitterly cold it got at night.

Mayfair had never seen a snow fall, but this, this felt like seeing snow. As if she flew up, she would be able to feel the cold bite of snowflakes melting on her carapace.

She kept looking up, because it was the gradual, building kind of fascinating you could lose yourself in. If she just let herself imagine, she could almost hear the near silent shush of wind, feel it swirling around her hooves, the crisp, ice-cold air on her tongue.

The subtlest brush stokes of grey could become the impression of a dozen different things the longer you watched. They danced and swirled into new shapes whenever you weren't directly looking, only visible out of the corner of a relaxed eye. A swirl of snow in the air, then a cloud, then a billow of ice, or a distant blizzard, or a hidden figure, nearly anything.

Mayfair was captivated. It was so realistic, she could even imagine herself growing cold. Or her breath frosting. Her extremities slowly cooling. Her wings buzzing with a rattling shiver.

"It's beautiful." She let out a long breath of contentment as she stared up. Her breath blew away in a billow of white.

Mayfair's heart missed a beat. She went cross-eyed. Very slowly, she huffed out a tiny, nervous breath.

The wisp of white, frozen breath blew away.

"I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but I do think it's beautiful too, thank you." Scenic's voice was very loud in the muffled snowfield of silence.

Mayfair jerked her head down and away from the snow painting. Abruptly, it felt like she'd surfaced from a film of water.

She gasped in a breath, the air suddenly almost hot after the winters numbing cold.

"Wha-? Who-? No, why? How?" She spluttered, glancing back and forth between Scenic and the ceiling.

Scenic shrugged self-consciously, but Mayfair tasted an undertone of quiet pride, "It's a magical painting. It's my job. A stallion needs to be willing and able to support his family."

"Bu-bu-but!" She pointed at him, up, back down, at everything, "But how!? That's, wow, impossible, how?"

"Magic of course, that's how. A memory magically painted into the painting. I'm no unicorn, but that doesn't mean I can use magic of a different kind. Or sort of guide it, at least. But it's really, really, really hard to do. It took months to paint this ceiling, you know."

"It's amazing." Mayfair finally settled on.

Scenic smiled for the first time, looking up at his hoof work, "Thanks."

"How did you discover this?"

"I just woke up one day and the idea was in my head, to try to paint a memory. It... seemed to come almost naturally when I finally put brush to canvas." He gave a modest shrug.

"I've never seen anything like it. Are you a really famous artist? Who else can do this?"

"Nopony else can. Well, no pony else in Canterlot, at least. And, sorta famous? But I don't sign my name on my paintings, but they go for quite a lot at auctions. Quite a few rich ponies just seem to love them. Not all of them, but quite enough to corner my own little slice of the pie. However some ponies just don't like the effect. Don't know why."

He vaguely waved a hoof, "Say that it feels creepy to them. 'S'probably why they only sell for good money, not stupid rich money. Still, I've got a budding circle of collectors amongst the nobility who snap them up whenever I sell a new one. As long as there's a market for them, I'm good."

"I like them. You should sign your name, it's amazing." She gasped, looking around at all the other paintings on the walls, but none of them moved, "How may more have you done? Can I see them?"

Scenic looked over sharply, "Don't go around telling everypony. I purposefully sell them anonymously for a reason. It takes a long time and a tonne of work to paint even one memory. I don't want hoyti-toiti self-stylized art critic collectors bugging me or my family. I don't owe anypony any more of my time or talent than I'm willing to sell. I do it to support my family, they're who I want to really spend my time with. Understand?"

Mayfair held her hoof up to her green chest plate, "I Pinkie promise I won't."

"You what promise?"

"Pinkie promise? Princess Twilight says its the best and only promise to use between friends. And if you break it then you can't be friends anymore."

Scenic narrowed his scarred eyes behind his glasses, "That's stupid. Ponies argue and make up all the time. That's how life works-You know what, forget that, it's not important. Do you promise to keep this to yourself? I really don't want my free time with my family getting affected."

"Yep, I promise I will keep it secret."

Mayfair felt Scenic's nervous tension partly dissipate, "Thank you. And yeah, not to toot my own trumpet, but it is rather special. I've tried to teach a few other close friends how to paint with memory and magic, but nopony else can do it. So far, anyways." He looked back up at the snow sky.

"Well it's very lovely, whatever the reason is." Mayfair too looked up again. The magic of the snow sky painting didn't immediately suck her back in. It was slow, gradual, and now that she was aware of it, she needed to want to be drawn into the effect. She wanted to touch the cold flakes, feel that quite cold.

"So cool." She repeated quietly, just to herself.

It really was incredibly cool. Yet even so, now knowing she could experience the snowy effect whenever she wanted just by looking up, she couldn't help but wonder what else Scenic had painted? What other scenes and landscapes?

Mayfair stole a hungry glance at the covered big painting under it's cloth. Was it too another magical painting? It was big enough at least, so it must be special. What could it be of? A sunny beach? A breezy meadow? A blooming woodland?
She didn't want to be rude, but she also really really wanted to see.

Temptation snuck up her horn, coalescing into a sheen of green telekinesis magic that wanted to reach out and pull the cloth aside.

Scenic was an artist, he wouldn't mind showing off his work now would he? This whole room was hung with his normal works in every size, after all. It was a near thing. Mayfair only just managed to stop herself by instead asking for permission. Permission first, then she could look:

"Is that big one there another magical painting? Can I see it? Please pretty please?"

Scenic looked behind himself to follow her pointing chitin armoured foreleg. When he realised which one she was asking about, a momentary spike of intense suspicion and defensiveness lashed invisibly out. It was just an instinctive reaction, there and gone, but for that one second, it had been there.

"Oh, ah, never mind. Forget I asked." Mayfair hastily lowered her pointing hoof.

"That painting's not for... it's not ready yet. Not finished. You wouldn't want to look at it anyways." Scenic said evasively.

So why was it hanging in the middle of the living room, then? If it was still being worked on, shouldn't it be on an easel waiting for brushes to apply paint instead? Or something similar. Mayfair didn't know how different 'painting magic' was to 'mundane painting', after all.

"Oh? What's it going to be of when it's finished?" She felt she had to ask.

"It's a who, not what." The answer seemed to have slipped out of Scenic without meaning to, because sour tasting annoyance immediately followed it.

After a comment like that, curiosity didn't so much as get the better of Mayfair, rather that it held her mouth hostage and demanded she asked. Her solid blue eyes practically sparkled as she just had to know; "You can magically paint real ponies too?! What are they like? Can they talk? Are they like the real pony or are they-?"

The baleful glare Scenic was giving her was very effective for stomping her curiosity back into line. Ponies glared very differently to changelings, and frankly, Mayfair thought they were rubbish at it, glaring just didn't suit their fuzzy faces, but by some quirk, Scenic's glare somehow still was.

"-Shutting up and not asking anymore questions." Mayfair shut her mandibles over her mouth contritely.

Scenic glare kept up for a long minute. Mayfair ducked her head, glancing away and fidgeting on the cushions. Finally though, he relented.

Scenic slumped and sighed. He rubbed clumsily at the bridge of his muzzle, glasses riding up, "You're exactly what I imagine Taffy was like as a foal to a 't'."

"Who's Taffy? Is she nice?"

"My point exactly," Scenic resettled his glasses and opened his tired brown eyes, "I think we should call it a day here. It's late, and I doubt either of us is going to convince the other. You came here to help Carton with her fear, and thank you for that, but she's done for the day, and I'm not personally interested in your therapist services any further.

Scenic stood from his couch, brushing off where he'd been laying with a parting flick of his tail over the cushion, "Thank you for coming out, but we're done for the day."

Mayfair's heart fell. They were done. She hadn't succeeded. She drooped, "Oh. Okay."

Dejectedly, Mayfair got off of her own couch, vaguely clawed hooves not so much solidly 'clopping' on the floorboards like a ponies did, as much as 'clacking'.

"What's with the sudden reversal of attitude?" Scenic questioned.

"I was just trying to help." Mayfair mumbled, looking down.

"I said we're done for the day. Not that we're done forever."

Mayfair looked up, "We're not? But, but you said..."

"If you recall, I said real therapy takes time. Carton isn't going to overcome her fears with only one session. If she still wants to do this now, it will take repeat visits."

He paused, blinking in consideration, "Ah, only if you want to come back, that is. This isn't an obligation. Or if any changeling wants to take your place. I get it if you don't want to come again, that's only fair."

Mayfair almost immediately blurted out that she'd love to come back, but if today had taught her nothing else, it had at least taught her to spend longer thinking before she spoke. So she stopped and actually thought about the question properly first. Today had not all been happy, and Scenic and Carton were not what she'd been expecting. Would she really be happy to come back?

And the answer she found after looking inside was; "Yes. Yes I will come again. I want to be a therapist, because I want to help."

"You don't have to, and you're allowed to change your mind," Scenic cautioned, "In your place, I probably wouldn't want to set hoof inside my house again. But you could just be braver than me. If you do come again, please let us know in advance this time, alright?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. It just, it just didn't even occur to me."

Scenic eyed her, looking her changeling physiology up and down without a flinch, "Thank you. If you do change your mind though, can you please see if another of your brothers? Sisters? Another changeling would be willing to come in your place. I'll pay for their time either way, which reminds me, how much do I owe you for today?"

"No no no, I'm a volunteer therapist, I don't get paid." Mayfair protested.

Scenic frowned, "You guys, you do understand commerce and money, right? You've been taught about all of that, right?"

"Oh yeah, Princess Twilight taught us allllll about that to, she had loads of blackboards and everything. You ponies do things weirdly, we don't use money in the hive, but we do have a bunch of gold bits for pony stuff." Mayfair relayed proudly.

"That's... kind of interesting. Another time, maybe. But I'm still paying you, if you're employed in a profession, ponies need to pay you to perform it."

Mayfair reared up and crossed her forelegs in an 'X' of negation. It was a pose she'd seen a pony do before and she'd really wanted to try it out for herself, "Nope nope nope, you can't pay me. Really! As in, it's the law. I'm not a fully qualified therapist, that means, I can only volunteer as one if I don't get paid for it."

"So you're basically an intern, then?"

"What's an intern?"

"Unpaid slave labour," Scenic muttered to the floor, and then at normal volume, "It's somepony who agrees to forego a wage in return for job experience."

"That sounds right. That's me then, I'm a volunteer intern therapist!" She declared

"...Right. Well, I can just pay you and you not tell anypony."

Mayfair shook her head, still holding the pose, "No. That would be against the law."

"Of course. And you take the law very, very seriously at all times. Alright, I won't press then." Scenic sighed.

Why was he sighing? She hadn't really offended him, had she? Mayfair had thought ponies tried to hold onto their little circular gold bits as tightly as possible, but Scenic seemed really keen on paying her.

But at least he'd finally let it drop now, because Mayfair wasn't going to break the law, even a small law, because keeping all of the laws was vitally important for getting ponies to trust changelings again. King Thorax had said so, so she was absolutely going to stick to all the laws.

Abruptly Scenic said, "I don't really know you well enough yet, but I think you're probably a good po-person. Person."

Embarrassed warmth rose in Mayfair's chest, "Daww, thank you, but it's nothing."

Scenic shrugged, "It's not nothing, and it's also why I'm prepared to have you back."

He said it so simply, but Mayfair thought that if it had not been the case, she would never have been welcomed back into this house. And she deeply wanted to return again. Both to experience the magical snow painting again, and to help.
It made the warmth in her chest spread even further, rising high enough to even enter her voice as a happy buzz:

"I will be back, I promise! And I also promise to try my very best to help Carton Juice."

"If you're offering, then I'll hold you to that." Scenic nodded, and gestured Mayfair after him, leading the way to the front door.

Outside, night had truly fallen, but it wasn't actually that dark. All the ambient light in Canterlot, (even here in this more isolated cul-de-sac with only one street lamp), meant there was enough to see by. Also, changelings had decent night vision.

But despite the not too-dark night, Mayfair was a bit surprised that Scenic did not step out onto his porch, not setting a single hoof out past the pool of light spilling from his open door.

Mayfair turned around, standing on the porch. She looked at Scenic. Scenic looked at her. The moment stretched on into uncomfortable.

"So, uh, thank you for coming." Scenic coughed.

"Thank you for having me. Again. And I'll come back. Again."

"Yes. Well, that's the plan."

She kept looking expectantly at Scenic. Scenic looked back at her.

Scenic cleared his throat, "You know your way back in the dark?" He asked.

"Yep. I'll just fly up, and follow the city edge until I get back to the main gate. I need to return this to the Guards and tell them I've left." Mayfair nodded, wiggling her forehoof with the tracker band locked around it.

"Ah. Of course. Just fly, much easier."

"Yep yep." Mayfair agreed again. She kept standing there on the porch.

Why were they just standing here staring at each other? She was missing something here, she was sure of it. What could it be?

"So. Goodbye?" Scenic finally suggested.

Oh, of course! It was a proper farewell, that's what she was forgetting.

Mayfair stood to attention, puffing out her chest, and enthusiastically listed out all the pony goodbyes she knew, "Farewell, good night, sweet dreams, goodbye, until next time, tata, sleep well, so long, Celestia bless you, and adios!"

Scenic slowly blinked. He half raised one brown furred foreleg, then lowered it. She tasted faint bemusement.

"Yes. Goodbye Mayfair." He finally settled upon.

"I'll be back next week, I promise-Oh? Who's this?" Mayfair tilted her mandibles up in surprise. She rose onto her hoof-claw tips and craned her neck to see over Scenic's head.

Scenic spun around in the doorway to look behind. His ears went up in surprise on his head:

"What're you still doing up? It's well past your bedtime, young stallion."

Out of one of the dark doors at the end of the corridor, a small colt was peeking. No, peeking was not the right word, peeking implied shyness. The grey furred colt was 'peering' out at them, making no move to duck and hide now that he'd been spotted.

"Didn't your mother put you to bed?" Scenic asked, relaxing.

The silent colt nodded solemnly.

Scenic sighed, "Okay, where is she? Did she forget to read you a story?"

A small foreleg was levelled with all the authority of the Princesses at the other closed door, never breaking eye contact.

"She put you to bed, and then went to bed," Scenic sighed regretfully, "Tonight's meeting really took it out of her."

There hadn't been any question in there, and the colt didn't give any answer, instead continuing his intense scrutiny. Specifically, of Mayfair herself.

It must be his first time ever seeing a reformed changeling in his young life. And he wasn't bursting into tears or screaming! Thrilled delight nearly set her jigging in place, but no, she forced herself to stay still in case she startled the colt like she might some small cute furry animal. Pony foals were just so very different from changeling grubs!

Scenic noticed the direction of his young son's gaze too. For half a second, all the muscles in his back tensed, but then he relaxed and moved aside, "Did you hear us talking? Did you want to see who our guest was, is that it?"

Another solemn nod from the grey colt in the bedroom doorway.

"Well..." Scenic hesitated, "...Well if you're still awake anyway, why don't you come say hello? But it's straight off to bed afterwards, understand?"

"Yes, papa." The colt spoke carefully, shaping each word in full, but even so, they couldn't prevent a high, childish lisp. Mayfair only kept from squealing through an effort of supreme will.

She was practically vibrating in place as the little colt stepped out of their bedroom door and trotted up. The law said changelings weren't allowed to approach any foals without the parents permission, but Scenic had given his permission, and the colt was approaching her, not the other way around!

It was only then though, as the greyish white colt stepped into the hallway's light, that Mayfair noticed it. Or rather them. Two of them.

A pair of wings. Small, folded feathered wings adorning the young colts sides. The tiny feathers were a paler shade of soft grey, all aside from the very ends, which were all tipped in black.

Mayfair's traitorous mouth spoke before she could stop it, "Oh, so you adopted-?"

*Smack* With great alacrity, but not enough, her hoof tried to cover her jaws, hard carapace smacking on carapace.

"I'm so sorry." She tried to get out around her blocking hoof, insectile eyes wide. How could she have blurted that?! What if Scenic and Carton couldn't have foals of their own? What if the foal didn't know he was adopted? What about any number of other things?

"Nah. Everypony asks, but no. It's really rare, but sometimes it happens if you've got a pegasus in your family tree. Carton's great grandfather was a pegasus it turns out," Scenic chuckled, "Heh, we're both not looking forwards to when his wings are strong enough that he starts flying everywhere. I've heard it's hard enough for pegasi parents. Luckily, we've got a good pegasus family friend who's promised to help."

"Ah, ah-ha-ha." Mayfair laughed, relieved. She crouched down to get closer to the colt's head height.

"Hello there buddy, I'm Mayfair. I'm a reformed changeling, and it's wonderful to meet you." She smiled widely at him.

And just like his dad didn't he did not flinch or look away from her mandibles and teeth. Mayfair thought that he was cute, of course he was, all foals and grubs were cute and special, but the colts grey eyes solemnly studying her in a grey face, with a grey mane and tail, and mostly grey wings, well... it was a bit unfortunate on the poor colt. Grey on grey, not even a hint of brown or speckles like his two parents. It meant his eyes looked sort of flat and dull, for all the young intelligence in them. And he couldn't change his appearance like a changeling could.

"What do we say in return?" Scenic prompted his colt.

"Hello, Mayfair." The colt carefully lisped up at her, still carefully studying her.

His emotions were very calm for a foals, very balanced. As she smiled and stared back into those oh-so expressive pony eyes, no matter their youth, Mayfair thought she saw something.

"It's nice to meet you." She told him.

He considered, then nodded just once back up at her, "Nice to meet you too."

"Mayfair came to try to help mama and papa today. She's going to be coming around again in the future, maybe you can ask her questions then, alight?" Scenic gently nudged his small son's shoulder, "But now, it really is past your bed time. Off you go."

Another careful bob of the colt's head, "Yes papa. Night watch over you." He lisped.

Mayfair had not heard that pony form of good night before. He must have picked it up from his parents, because Scenic repeated it right back, "Night watch over you. Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite."

Mayfair waved happily after the departing pegasus foal. Now she had another good reason to look forwards to coming back next week.

"You have a lovely colt." She told Scenic.

"We do. Me and Carton couldn't be luckier."

"What's his name?"

Scenic blinked, surprised. Then he smiled. It was crooked.

"Gloom. In memory of an old, lost friend."