//------------------------------// // It's More Like Happy Ending Interruptus // Story: Anchor Foal II: Return Of The Cringe // by Estee //------------------------------// There were ponies in the settled zone who openly considered Fleur to be an exceptionally lucky mare and she, with typical and well-hidden irritation, would immediately decide they weren't in possession of all the facts. ...to be fair, when it came to the exact details of how the relationship had truly started, taking custody of all the facts probably required the palace to run a background check before issuing the security clearance. But when considering what was publicly available... They would take note of her beauty, because just about everypony did: when it came to the refinement of appearance, Fleur existed on the level where even those who had no direct interest in her type or species would almost always understand why the rest of the herd was not only following her, but tended to bump into things unawares along the way. (Something which rarely happened these days -- at least in the settled zone, as the vast majority of Ponyville understood she was taken.) And to have Fluttershy as her partner -- -- well, yes, on the practical level, that triggered a few immediate and potentially permanent side effects: qualities which, when combined with the cottage owner's near-terminal shyness, had prevented the majority of ponies from truly seeking the pegasus' favor for a very long time. Because when you were in love with somepony, and they somehow felt the same way about you -- -- there were still days when she still didn't completely understand how Fluttershy had come to that decision. The same days which found her not quite able to believe it, as she waited for everything to inevitably fall apart. But there were fewer of them now -- -- in love, each partner effectively inherited certain aspects of the other's life. An emotional, social, and occasionally physical dowry. And if you were going to be in love with Fluttershy, then you were also going to take custody of several dozen animals, an endless succession of feedings, numerous chicken coops which always needed cleaning, and a not-so-occasional bear. Oh, and there was also a draconequus to consider, although... that wasn't as much of a factor right now. Ponyville collectively acknowledged that nearly all of that presented a certain degree of difficulty for the average relationship, although most of the residents tended to rank the chicken coops a little closer to the top of the scale: after all, the bear could theoretically be asked to leave. But for Fleur, as a known vet-in-training -- wasn't that all the more opportunity to practice? It was the perfect environment for her! And she'd found exactly the right partner -- -- somehow... ...the settled zone was a little scant on the actual details and when it came to questioning those who had been at the heart of it, one of them didn't talk very much and the other had a way of politely smiling which suggested that you were just about to stop. The only things just about anypony truly knew was there had been something involving an evacuation and a number of giant monsters, but every one of those had just vanished and then... ...the point was that the mares were obviously meant to be together. They were a beautiful couple: perhaps the most attractive pairing in Ponyville. It was so clear that their filly would be -- -- they were meant to be together, and they'd found each other. Didn't that make Fleur into one of the luckiest mares in the world? No. At best, Fleur considered herself to potentially be making up for a previous extended streak of misfortune, and was reluctant to declare that the books had been balanced. Doing so might mean the world somehow noticed what had been going on, and when that happened... She always did her best to plan. To control, because you couldn't leave matters up to luck. Yes, there were times when that could work out in your favor. The feelings produced by those moments of fortune, when it seemed as if the very world had declared how much it cared about you -- it was possible to chase those for a lifetime, and ponies who left everything up to luck would often find that the chase was rather short. Because luck would turn on you. If it felt as if fortune favored you? That was a delusion. Luck was capricious. Cruel. It didn't care. Luck could be its very own monster. And still, the majority of Ponyville considered Fleur to be an exceptionally fortunate pony: one who had been blessed with love, beauty, and a place in the world. Because the winding paths of her life had brought her to the cottage. The place where she belonged. Currently, Fleur considered herself to have been brought to a place where, at least twice per week, she went to war against a chemically-treated stick. And lost. It hadn't started with the sticks. Fleur occasionally had to force herself into remembering that, mostly while trying to think of a reason why she shouldn't just turn the entire supply into kindling. They'd begun with an assortment of single-charge devices, and those had turned out to be the simplest, weakest enchantments available. The simple act of removing one from the packaging meant the barely-held thaums worked themselves out on whoever had done it. And since this was the cottage, two very surprised raccoons had been briefly surrounded by glow. The shifting ripples of the edges indicated that the spell had no idea what to do with that, while a fast-racing patter of claws suggested the raccoons were even less certain about the results. The rest of the supply had been secured. They'd gone through a few different types. And what Fleur had learned (after eventually working her way down to the fine print, which had required borrowing a specialized magnifying glass from Twlight) was that the charge was even weaker than suspected, some disruption to the spells could occur from subjecting the devices to minor changes in condition -- like, just by way of example, opening a package -- and no matter what the working actually said, you were supposed to follow up with a professional afterwards because the spells had an accuracy rating of under one hundred percent. It was also under ninety percent. Fleur had spent some time in trying to track the exact number, only giving up when the first hints of the minus sign began to appear on the mathematical horizon. On the whole, the one-shots had been utterly useless. (Fleur had sent a well-earned letter to the creator, suggesting that they add a new label to the packaging: For Entertainment Only. There had also been a few sarcastic details regarding how they could improve the resulting discharge lightshow, in the hopes that any degree of entertainment could be had.) And after a while... ...a few moons... ...they'd been trying for... ...Fleur had switched to the sticks. The sticks were relatively new. They still weren't fully reliable, in part because it was so easy to misuse them -- but if they were deployed properly, their accuracy rating was well over ninety percent. And in theory, she only needed to do two things for the chemically-based color change to take place. One of them was waiting. The other was urination. The urination was where the issues began to crop up. She had to relieve herself directly onto the stick. Well... how? Because using her field was right out. Moving the stick was simple enough. Fleur was capable of levitating her own body mass: measuring out the degree of strength required for the stick necessitated a few decimal places and a couple of zeros. But it was hard for unicorns to move anything they couldn't directly see. Some degree of control was always forfeited at the moment any surrounded object was blocked from view (and the former escort had decent flexibility, but there were limits), the wobbling kicked in immediately, and even if she managed to line herself up with a mirror and kept everything steady -- the stick was still surrounded by a field. Liquids responded to fields through getting tangled up in the borders: little rivers and tributaries flowing around the outer edges. Of course, letting her horn go dark resolved that. The urine would immediately fall. So would the stick. They generally didn't interact on the way down. And it was supposed to be clean urine -- which, for purposes of the current definition, meant liquid which had touched nothing except air and stick. Or the test didn't work. ...well, it could touch the mounting. There was the option to use a mounting. The base rested against her back, just over the hips. The arc of curving wood didn't seem to know what to do with her tail. There were hinges to make the whole thing more or less adjustable, and none of them had accounted for a mare of Fleur's sheer height. The best she'd been able to do was hit the edge. Of the mounting. Which had been followed by cleaning the bathroom. There was also the option to work with a partner. A very long-handled pair of jaw-gripped tweezers was presumed to be involved. However, Fleur refused to involve Fluttershy in the process, and when it came to anypony else -- she was perfectly aware that there were ponies who would have happily volunteered, her talent told her who all of the local ones were, and she avoided them accordingly. And you could always just place the stick in the toilet trench. The instructions said that was perfectly suitable, just as long as the user made sure there was no chance of having the results become contaminated -- which was the exact moment when Fleur had decided that possession of a mark for chemistry had to make the pony completely useless in every other aspect of life, because there was a toilet trench involved. Did they have any idea what normal trenches were like? And this was the cottage. It wasn't just two mares going through the bathroom: it was an endless assortment of animals. Some of them were permanent residents, others were only going to be there for a little while and seldom stayed long enough to learn all of the rules, and more than a few just looked at the continual flow of hopefully-clean water and decided that was where they were supposed to drink. Or, for the ones who both found a hidden way to watch the pony residents and decided there was something interesting about that technique, do something other than drink. Also, it was a continual-flow trench. There was an entrance and an exit. There was also a current, and the stick didn't weigh very much. It was a warm spring morning, Fleur was doing the same thing she did at least twice per week, always in complete privacy. Block off both ends of the trench. Clean it, followed by scrubbing the bathroom in an expanding oval from the trench out: contaminants moved. (This could take a while, because she had to get rid of every last trace of fur and given the cottage, very little of it would be pony.) Clean the trench again, because the act of cleaning everything else disturbed the environment and something could have drifted back. Urinate. It was the only part of the process which made her feel as if she'd accomplished something. Recover the stick. Place it in the secondary holder, which was kept on the counter by the sink. And... watch. It changed color. It always changed to a different color, and it was always the same one. She was cleaning the counter. It was something to do. We've both been tested. Maybe the tests were wrong. Maybe there's something wrong with -- Maybe the world just didn't want it to happen. It was a warm spring morning, and that meant several things for the cottage and its residents. Fleur, who was facing the mirror while doing her best not to look in it, had the option to check on a few of them just by glancing to the sides. The rough majority of pony homes kept the Bureau's weather schedule in the bathroom: Fluttershy typically hung theirs along the left edge of the silvered glass. The schedule said it was going to be warm, clear, and slightly on the humid side because some of the younger plants needed the extra moisture. It didn't make any claims about having all of it show up on time, but it was generally acknowledged that including any Rainbow-based disclaimers would wind up having text overflow the schedule. They were a single moon into spring, which had the beneficial side effect of putting them that much further away from Winter Wrap-Up. Fleur had finished her second, and hated all of it just as much on the repeat. Why was any part of the labor necessary? Because in Protocera, winter was perfectly capable of wrapping itself up. Griffons didn't worry about melting all of the snow in one day -- and exactly what was that doing to the local water tables, anyway? It was something which happened naturally and when it came to the change of seasons, it wasn't as if there was an alicorn responsible for tilting the planet... -- Fluttershy had very softly pointed out (or 'argued', but Fleur didn't feel as if it had ever reached that level -- for the pegasus) that getting all the warmth shifted in within a single day was pleasant for the ponies. And there was nothing wrong with getting so many of the crops started at the same time. Also, it was... nice, just getting almost everypony working together for a little while -- -- volunteer work! An entire settled zone serving as unpaid labor! If this was necessary at all, then why not bring in professionals? Exactly what were their taxes paying for? Fluttershy had said something about taxes potentially being higher without resident labor. Fleur, who still intended to get a copy of the town's budget and sit down with the math, had tried to let it go at that and done her best to stay at Fluttershy's side throughout the day. Again. Which had done nothing to dispel her belief that the majority of ponies were control freaks who refused to let a single leaf fall unless the vibration produced by hooves had shaken it loose. It wasn't so much subverting nature as refusing to let it get a word in, making the world feel that somepony was going to do most of the work on its behalf. And it was a codependent relationship, because the ponies got to bask within the warm delusion which said they were in charge. It had been possible to stay with Fluttershy, because her mate had mostly just been checking on those of her charges who had been the most vulnerable during the cold. But some of the others... There was a weather schedule in the bathroom and for an Equestrian home, that was normal. The right edge of the mirror hosted the calendar. They'd had a very minor argument about the calendar. Fluttershy felt that major dates needed to be posted within ready view, possibly in order to watch their unstoppable approach and prepare all levels of dread accordingly. Fleur felt it was unnecessary -- -- well, yes, as an escort, she'd kept an appointment book. But that was just a formality. Fleur agreed that they needed a book in the working parts of the cottage, because that was how you tracked veterinary, grooming, and kennel service appointments. But when it came to the basic requirements of their lives, both of them were more than capable of keeping it all straight with memory alone -- -- and when the argument had ended, there had been a calendar in the bathroom. Fleur wasn't entirely sure how the pegasus had done that. Or how it kept happening. The weather schedule contained the but-for-Rainbow guarantees. The calendar held the forecasts. Oh, some of the things posted on it were going to happen: in particular, Fleur noted the looming presence of her next counseling session with some irritation. Also, there was going to be an Adopt-A-Pet event in a few weeks, because it was spring. There was a chance that the weather would put multiple ponies in the mood to seek animal companions, especially for those whose short-term memory had a few problems. After all, walking a puppy looked like wonderful exercise -- in the spring. Recognition of the fact that the canine still had to go outside during snow, chill, and ice usually didn't sink in until the winter solstice. Ponyville was still expanding, because a near-continual parade of new ponies kept making the mistake of deciding that the settled zone which hosted the Bearers had to be an interesting place to live. (It was -- for a given value of 'interesting'. The mistake came from believing that none of the things which made it so 'interesting' could ever affect them.) Fluttershy believed that meant a fresh market was available, and a typical spring at the cottage made it feel as if the animals were trying to overwhelm it. Or just show me up -- Another square showed a doctor's appointment. Dual, with Snowflake covering for their absence. Fleur was dearly hoping they didn't have to go, or would at least be going for a different reason. Somewhat after that was a reminder to watch for the next wave of migration, because some of the birds traveled further out than the ponies who had gone to spread the word and lead the way. Fleur hadn't been able to find the words which described how idiotic that was -- which meant she'd effectively held her tongue right up until the moment Fluttershy had introduced her to the Green-Crested Warbler, and so learned that there was at least one type of bird which was too stupid to complete the process on its own. (The species also wasn't all that good at flying, and Fluttershy kept waiting for the day when they collectively forgot how to eat.) It would be Fleur's second spring at the cottage. The second time around for everything associated with the season, and -- she was still trying to figure out how she felt about the migrations. They mostly seemed to be the process of having old problems come back to you for extended review, and the best of those wouldn't have you as their final destination. They just dropped by long enough to mooch a few meals and for anypony with the sometimes-dubious fortune to count Rainbow as a friend, the experience was at least roughly familiar. And then there was That One Square. It had been heavily marked. Numerous annotations had been made within the limited space as information had come in. The entire thing had a surrounding border of question marks: something which failed to serve as any level of temporal confinement, because That One Square was heavily subject to change. When it came to interference, wild weather would be the first and best suspect. This was followed with all of the problems associated with travel, because some of the interruptions could be international. The Square was a forecast, because there was no true way to schedule the event -- but it still had a near-blackened place on the white sheet. Something which loomed with the gravity of the inevitable. Fleur tried not to look at the Square too much. Thinking about it was bad enough. And no matter what she did, it just kept getting closer and closer... She finished cleaning the bathroom. Took the latest stick up in her field and, without ceremony, allowed sheer frustration to snap it in half. Then she broke it again. Again. Strictly speaking, it wasn't the stick's fault. But there was a second local target for the emotions, and going after that was going to have a few consequences... ...the remnants were placed within the refuse bin. After a few seconds, the unicorn shifted a few concealing layers over them. She made herself look into the mirror. The light from her ignited horn reflected around the bathroom, glimmered on the surface of the little renewed river within the trench, and reflected off the titanium circlet on her right foreleg. Two field bubbles projected towards a rack of tins, chose a pair of the fine powders. Light makeup today. When it came to Fluttershy's preferences, the pegasus liked to see Fleur with none -- but it was a working day. We've probably got the morning for basic chores. First appointment isn't until ten-thirty, and it's only six now. The 'probably' had been birthed from experience: a veterinary emergency could arrive at any hour and if one of those didn't come calling, there was always the chance of a mission. There hasn't been a mission for nearly a moon. It can't last -- -- go down, help her with the feedings, have breakfast... Another morning. Another stick. ...they had a failure rate. The manufacturer had been very detailed about that. It was low, but... it was present. Maybe it's the stick. Maybe it's not me. Please don't let it be -- She could try another stick in the afternoon. There was a shrew waiting outside the bathroom door. The tiny black beads which served for eyes stared up at what had to be a virtual mountain of pony, somehow found a way to judge the mare's expression, and then the little mammal scurried around to Fleur's left hind leg. The unicorn held still as miniature claws scrabbled, and then Katherine climbed up to Fleur's back, found the usual hollow, and began to fall asleep. It had taken Fleur less than three minutes to put on makeup. Most of the trot down the ramp was required before she found a way to make herself look happy: the final key came from remembering that she actually was. Quite a bit of the time. She picked up a small procession of followers as her hooves picked out the path, streaming out of doorways and cubbyholes. The season meant that some of them were just about newborns, who'd barely been in the world long enough to figure out much of anything beyond 'this pony is safe': the absence of other information meant they tended to trail along in the hopes of learning or pouncing something. The older residents were perfectly aware that hour and direction meant Fleur was most likely heading for the kitchen, there was always a chance for ponies to drop food, and hope sprang eternal. A few were just about waddling along. Fleur made sure her hooves didn't go anywhere near those residents, and managed the feat while doing her best to not directly look at them. The unicorn's guardian and love was exactly where Fleur had expected her to be: in the kitchen's pantry, which served as food supply for animals more than it did ponies. Gentle teeth were carefully gripping the top of a feed bag, pulling it off the central pile in preparation for the trip over to the dispensing area. It was a task which was being done with practice, precision, care, and the unstoppable knowledge -- "Did you eat anything yet?" -- that she was doing all of it instead of taking care of herself. The pegasus, whose mouth was occupied, silently backed up. Used the drag over to the fourth set of bowls as a way of buying time, which did nothing to stop the rising blush from underlighting her fur. Something which the pulled-back mane rendered that much more visible, and that was also set off nicely by the three other sources of light in the room: the first hints of rising Sun touching the window, some device-provided illumination from overhead, and the pinkish glow of the glass dome which covered the fast-cooker. The last had finally been enchanted to ensure that Fleur was the only pony who could casually remove it, because that was the only way to stay safe. Fluttershy didn't always have both sides of her face exposed, even now. But it happened more often than it once had, especially when Fleur considered that 'once had' usually meant it hadn't happened at all. And even so... The pegasus released the bag. Looked up at Fleur, as small animals began to cluster around yellow hooves. "...no," Fluttershy softly admitted. "I didn't." Fleur, with practiced ease, held back the sigh. "We've talked about this." "...I know." "Take a break," the unicorn didn't quite suggest. "Have breakfast. Then finish." A quiet aqua gaze looked down and regarded the growing crowd which just about surrounded the smaller mare's legs. Something which had just picked up a small white rabbit, who then moved into a position where he could guard the incredible tail. "...they're waiting for me. And I just get into a rhythm with the feedings," the stronger mare said. "...it's easier to not stop." On the rather dubious bright side, it was a fresh excuse. "This bag for them," Fleur attempted to compromise. "Then something for you." Fluttershy smiled. "...something for us," she corrected. And Fleur smiled back. Breakfast wasn't anything special. There had been enough time since the Wrap-Up for some of the fastest-growing plants to see their first harvests. The couple mostly indulged in sunflower shoots, and added the year's initial serving of greenhouse-free lettuce. Iceberg, as that was the single best way to keep Angel's twitching nose out of anything: he made sure to glare at them accordingly. The meal wasn't anything special. But they were having it together. The mares took a few seconds for nuzzling, then broke it up when they realized it had gone over a minute. The appointment book was brought out, opened on the kitchen's central table, and they reviewed. It was looking to be a fairly light day, if the capriciousness of luck allowed it to remain so. There were three grooming appointments, two checkups, a pair of clients were coming by to pick up medicine refills... "...we should have some time tonight," Fluttershy noted with a smile. "For lessons. And review, because I want you to be a little better on cats before I have to give the test." Fleur nodded. "And after..." Both eyes briefly seemed to sparkle under tripled light. "...if you do really well..." 'After' would lead to another stick. They typically talked about a lot of things, in the morning hours before the cottage officially opened for business. Fluttershy would review appointments. Check the stock on herbs. They had been considering a new range of grooming brushes, and there had been some discussion of a muzzle because Thistle Burr was probably going to bring his dog in again. Fleur, who knew the cottage could afford to lose a client, had taken it as a challenge to see just what it would take to make him leave -- but Ponyville's most notorious contrarian had responded to being nudged away through digging in all four hooves and effectively daring her to be more direct. The former escort felt up to the challenge. They talked about everything which took place in and around the cottage. Egg deliveries to the Cakes. Cleaning the chicken coops. Checking on the stream. Preparing for Zipporwhill to take on more work hours in the summer. But Fluttershy never brought up the sticks. "...so where are you starting today?" the pegasus asked. "I thought I'd clean up the reception area." Also known as 'the sitting room', because it was still doing double-duty. "There's a lot of shed fur in there." "...spring," Fluttershy quietly observed. "Winter coats dropping away." Followed by a small, rather pretty wince. "...and that one fight which started while we were both looking at the macaw." Fleur nodded. "And you?" It was generally best to have some rough idea of Fluttershy's location, because the unicorn was still a veterinary student and an early-morning crisis might mean calling for help. The yellow head dipped, and eye contact was broken. "...out back." Which meant she would be cleaning up the graves. It had been a long winter. And one of the darkest truths of veterinary work was that no matter what anypony did, there would always be more graves. "I can --" Fleur started to offer, hoping to take the burden because it just wasn't as personal for her -- "-- no." And that was it. She'll be down for a few hours. A little moody for the rest of the day. She always is. I'll have to cheer her up. That's probably why she wants to try -- Another stick. "Let's finish the feedings," Fleur temporarily conceded. (She could always make another attempt at the next grass clearing.) "And then we'll both get started." There were multiple ways to measure the practice's success. Having extra fur to sweep up was among the most annoying. Fleur was trying out a new kind of pushbroom: wide and low to the ground, with a pair of indentations for forehooves. In theory, it allowed her to guide the bristles through simply shuffling along. In reality, just about everypony in the world moved one side of their body before the other, and the broom curved accordingly. Four-legged mini-hops didn't seem to be much of an option. She was thinking about the Square. The stick. Maybe the stick would resolve itself before the Square turned into an extremely local reality. If they were just that lucky -- -- if there was nothing wrong -- -- if luck wasn't waiting for its chance to turn away -- -- and she heard the outside birds sing. It was a somewhat familiar series of notes. A song which had once played for her, over and over, until they'd all gotten used to her comings and goings at the cottage. After that, there had been a new melody. And on the day she'd officially moved in, the music had shifted once more. But this almost sounded like the original. A warning to their mistress, who was still potentially somewhere within hearing range. 'There's a stranger on the road.' Fleur sighed to herself. Disengaged from the broom, began the trot towards the door because of course it just couldn't be a quiet morning -- but there was still a good chance that this latest arrival had a problem which the unicorn could handle alone. Actually, if it's an easy one, I should call her in. A reminder that it can go well. Remove the splinter, trim the claws, get the porcupine quills out of the snout. She'll feel better -- -- the former escort was halfway to the lever when the song went off again. Both songs. She stopped. Listened... ...two. One hiding inside the other, and for a mare who'd been living at the cottage for more than a year, it was now possible to sort out the choirs. The primary came from what she was sure were the younger birds, who simply knew there was a stranger on the road and had sounded the warning accordingly. And then you had the older avians. There were less of them, but -- birdsong often became louder with age. It allowed them to push their bars through. There were ways in which Fleur would never fully understand their message, not on the same level at which Fluttershy could comprehend every note. It wasn't the unicorn's talent, and it never would be. But the half-buried song was blatant enough to understand. The message was practically universal. 'Stranger/not a stranger, we don't like this, we don't --' You didn't need a mark for communication to understand a cry of alarm. '-- intruder --' -- and Fleur could hear the hoofsteps coming up the last part of the approach path now, they were within fifteen body lengths of the cottage, she accelerated and her horn ignited, the field projection moved ahead of her, opened the locks and pushed on both halves of the door -- -- it flew open, with the outwards-swinging wood still ten body lengths away from impacting the approaching party's face. (It would take very little time before Fleur would begin to perceive that as having been the first of several missed opportunities.) She reached the frame, stood within it as her gaze searched the curving path, looked past the transplanted date palm -- -- they saw each other. She knew him. She'd never met him. There had been a single glimpse on an exceptionally quiet night, gained from an old image contained within a picture frame: something which hadn't known the light of Sun or Moon for years. It was kept hidden away, only brought out when there was no other choice. Or when secrets were being shared, because love meant trust. She knew exactly who he was, and it meant that the first of her fully-concealed reactions was anger. She knew him, and that meant she wanted him gone. Sent over the bridge and out of sight forever, well before he had the chance to ruin everything. But the tall green pegasus stallion with the overworked mane didn't know her. He stared up the path towards the unicorn, and did so with momentary, fully-open confusion. His expression put Fleur in mind of a pony who had spent moons in preparing for a public speaking engagement, trotted into the proper auditorium at exactly the right time, and found himself facing the wrong audience. There was a certain visible question as to whether any of the words still fit and as far as she was concerned, the expression which summed it all up came with a light coating of slime. She wasn't what he had been expecting. But she was also all he had to work with, and she watched the two-toned jaw work a few times. Preparing the first sentences for launch. He smiled, and she longed to put a hoof through his teeth. Then he spoke, and Fleur changed her mind. A horn poke in the throat was much more suitable. She knew where he'd been born. Stratuston. A pegasus settled zone, one which was known for a number of traits -- and for anypony with working ears, the most common was possessing the ugliest accent in Equestria. Fluttershy, whose typical speaking volume had once lingered at a level of 'I'm almost sure she's talking,' had seen just about all of hers obliterated by time spent in Ponyville -- added to a years-long reluctance to communicate at all. Every so often, her 'the' would lose the 'h', and -- that was it. The stallion's solution had been to borrow a page from Rarity's book or, in the unlikely event that they'd actually met, outright stealing it. He'd decided how ponies would want him to sound. And then he'd invented a voice to match. One more layer between the pegasus and who he really was. She knew him, and she wanted him gone. At a minimum, and possibly just for starters. But he didn't know her. And so he spoke. "Hull-o!" he declared, and Fleur imagined what it would feel like to nail him to one. "Is my sister in?"