//------------------------------// // Chapter 39: Routine, Revalation, and Round up // Story: Hazy Days and Magical Ways // by Dogger807 //------------------------------// The castle had changed very little over the years, a true testament to the wizards’ creed of “good enough is good enough”. For a very long time, those in charge had been old men and women terrified of progress. They had hoarded their comfort and power and clothed it in the pretense of tradition. They had gone so far as to mandate the use of quills and parchment long past the point where their use was anywhere near practical. Again, they cited tradition, all the while ignoring the hypocrisy they displayed when they forced muggleborns to abandon their own heritage of using sensible biro and line paper. It was no exaggeration to say that those old conspirators were so desperate to hold onto the past that they were willing to sabotage their own children’s futures in an effort to do so. It was, therefore, ironic that that selfsame castle was a concentrated epicenter for the change sweeping the country. Already, there were classes being taught to help the students cope with the non-magical world. In the past, those of muggle descent told of the wonders of being in a magical shopping center for the first time. In the present, that wonder was matched by the purebloods gushing over the joys of having field trips to a muggle mall. In short, what was once an icon for stagnation had become the symbol for development. What’s more, the attitudes of the inhabitants were testaments to the adaptability of humankind, magical or not. This was proven by the fact that no one blinked twice at the entourage calmly making their way toward one of the exits. No one could claim that seeing ponies traverse the halls was now anything but normal. At the beginning of the year, such a spectacle would have stopped everyone in their tracks; today it didn’t warrant so much as a shrug. Nor was it notable that two of the ponies bore birds of prey on their backs, one a snowy owl, the other a fierce falcon. To be fair, the lama, unicorn mare, beaver, koala, and octopus that were tagging along still secured second glances, but that was as far as that went. As they walked, the pink . . . er, fuchsia pony said with some surprise in his voice, “Hey, wait a minute. I just realized it’s only us blokes this time.” Neville swiveled his head as he trotted with the octopus on his back. “You’re right,” he confirmed. “I can’t remember the last time one of the girls hasn’t been within shouting distance.” “Oh, good,” Ron said, herding the koala back toward the group. “It’s about time we had a break from them. We are becoming much too girly as it is.” “Girly?” Dean asked, looking at Ron. “In what way are we becoming girly?” Ron, in turn, gave him a deadpan look. “That’s rich, coming from Mr. Pink Boy. It is.” “Hey!” Harry warned as Dean responded with his customary “Fuchsia!” “Dean can’t help being pink,” Seamus started. “Fuchsia! Damn it!” “Language!” admonished Harry. “I don’t see how that makes the rest of us girly,” stated Seamus. “Can’t you see what you just did?” asked Ron. “A real bloke wouldn’t give a damn about . . .” The others said sharply, “Language!” Ron huffed. “See? Girly. Also, look at all the studying we do. We would have time for fun if the girls weren’t always nagging.” “Studying makes us girly?” Neville asked. “It’s almost like you haven’t met someone like, I don’t know, your brother Percy.” “He’s being nagged, too,” Ron countered. “Three wives and all.” “He was like that before he met them.” Seamus huffed. “Besides, I’m pretty sure they don’t want him studying as much as he does, which just goes to prove your point is pure bunk.” “Speaking of Percy’s wives,” Dean asked. “How are they doing? Living in Hogsmeade is probably still strange for them.” “They’re adapting,” Harry replied. “Gracious’ boss has stopped giving her a hard time whenever she corrects the prepared forecast. Although, she’s still complaining that the job wasn’t what she was expecting when she answered the request for a weather person. That, and I think she’s getting tired of flooing to the Burrow every morning to commute to work. Says Ron’s mum won’t let up on hinting about grandkids.” “Grandfoals,” Neville corrected. “Mrs. Weasley would call them grandkids,” Seamus observed. “Yeah, but Harry is telling it from Gracious’ viewpoint, and she’d use ‘grandfoals’,” Neville countered. “See?” Ron pointed an accusing hoof. “Right there. You started gossiping. That is girly by definition.” “We weren’t gossiping.” Harry snorted. “It was a valid question seeing as Percy’s wives were brought up.” “Keep telling yourself that,” Ron said. “I still say all of this studying is girly.” “I promised my mums I’d do the best I could,” Harry said sternly. “It’s not my fault you’re lazy.” “Lazy?” Ron managed to turn red despite being yellow. “You are the prime example of being girly, what with all the cooking you do.” “My relatives forced me to cook for them,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “It’s not my fault that I’ve developed a knack for it.” “Besides,” Seamus said, “if Harry didn’t do the cooking, Sweetie would find excuses to do it.” Everypony, including the full-grown mare following the colts, shuddered at that. “How can you mess up overnight oats?” Harry asked. “It’s impossible to mess up soaking oats in cold milk. I stood there and watched her incinerate it, and I still have no clue how she managed that disaster.” “Don’t remind me,” Neville whined. “I’m liable to lose my lunch just thinking about it.” “That’s nothing but an excuse,” Ron persisted, not letting the subject drop. “Apple Bloom can cook. She’s pretty good at it. Why aren’t you letting her do the girly work?” The other colts all groaned. “Ron, let it go. We’ve taken a vote, and neither you nor Apple Bloom are to make any comments concerning what boys or girls are supposed to be doing. You two are complete opposites, and your arguing is just plain irritating,” Seamus said. “Though, I got to admit, the look on Apple’s face when you tossed her was priceless.” Dean snickered. “Whatever possessed you to do that?” “Payback and all that,” Ron said. “Now, we’re even.” “You’re just lucky that Lavender got between you and Bloom after she hit the wall.” Neville shuddered. “I have the feeling you were about to have a firsthand example of just how fragile that wall was.” Harry shuddered as well. “Lavender’s scary. Her yelling about not throwing colts . . .” He shuddered again. “Her yelling is what impressed you?” Dean asked. “What did it for me was the big hole in the floor she made with Apple Bloom’s body.” “Nah.” Neville shook his head. “Apple Bloom shook that off like it wasn’t anything. The reason she looked so pathetic was the yelling. That hurt her a whole lot more than the pounding.” “Then the way Sweetie, Hermione, and Parvati tore into all three of you for using violence to prove your point . . .” Harry said. “And the fact you made Luna cry…” “Just so you know, Ron,” Neville growled. “If you ever repeat that feat, I’m gonna pull a Lavender and use you as a pickaxe.” “It’s official,” Dean said, looking at Neville with wide eyes. “All earth ponies have a thing for hitting poor defenseless surfaces with people who upset them.” Kreacher had been the house elf for House Black since time immemorial. He had seen more than his fair share of debauchery and perversion. However, nothing had prepared him for the level of disgust he now felt toward his current master. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he had no doubt that the master had lain with beasts, and that the perversion had spread to the rest of the house. The master’s cousin was living in sin with one who, by all rights, should be relegated to the Forbidden Forest. The pair had now sequestered themselves with what Kreacher could only assume was an egg. They had been most upset when he had suggested that they let him make an omelet with the offending object. Since then, the pair had refused to let it out of their sight. The rapping at the front door broke Kreacher out of his reverie. No one was expected that morning, and the notice-me-not charm should have warded off any casual callers. Intrigued, Kreacher prepared his most powerful repulsion charm and went to the peephole. The elf nearly lost his balance as he fell back in shock. Steeling his nerve, he looked again. The hulking figure in a red bellboy’s uniform was still there, squinting through glasses at a scrap of paper in his hands. Kreacher said harshly, “What do you want?” Looking up, the figure said in a rich baritone, “Gorillagram for . . .” He squinted at the paper. “. . . Nymphadora Tonks.” Kreacher half-breathed a sigh of relief. The lowland gorilla was not a hallucination. Curtly, he said, “Slide it through the slot.” The gorilla replied, “I’m sorry. This message needs to be delivered in person. The house elf was about to give a stinging retort when a wicked grin came to his lips. He could finally have a measure of revenge. That, and he wasn’t entirely sure what angering a five-hundred-pound gorilla might entail; he wasn’t in the mood for any serious cleaning. The tension in the honeymooners’ suite filled the room like a fog. In the middle of the bed, nestled in blankets and hot water bottles was an egg. A griffin cock and hen were on opposite sides of the bed, deep in study. The cock was perusing “Practical Poultry” when the hen flung “Breeding Better Balut” with a measure of disgust before picking up “Hopeful Herpetology”. The two jumped at the knock on their door. Kreacher said, “Visitor for Mistress Nymphadora.” Gordon and Tonks looked at each other. “Were you expecting anyone?” “Jinx!” The two shared a quick laugh before turning to the door. Tonks asked, “Who is it?” An unfamiliar voice replied, “Gorillagram.” Gordon asked, “What’s a gorillagram?” Tonks shook her head. “No clue.” The two shrugged and, in a flash of light, assumed human forms. After opening the door, they stumbled back as one at the sight of the messenger. So focused was their attention they barely heard when, with a hint of glee, the elf said, “Kreacher will let you be. Birdie and buggy be talking with walking rug.” They didn’t bother to acknowledge the small snap of fingers that advertised his retreat. The gorilla entered the room and closed the door. There were a few seconds of silence before, in a voice a few octaves higher than normal, Tonks asked, “What do you want?” Grinning, the gorilla took a pitch pipe from one pocket and a sheet of flimsy paper from another. Middle C came from the pipe as he blew. He pocketed the pipe and raised the paper to his eyes. His voice wasn’t all that bad when he sang, “I hear you from far away! Your constant yammering is driving me insane! Stop your moaning, stop your whining! All your worry is giving me a migraine!” The two stood and stared at the oddity, failing to find words for the situation in which they were suddenly immersed. In return, the gorilla glared at Gordon and then at Tonks before sharply saying, “What’s wrong with you? It’s just an egg! One. Egg. Not even a proper clutch!” Tonks blinked, open her mouth, thought better of it after reminding herself she was speaking to a gorilla and then asked, “What? How do you know?” “I can hear you screaming day and night. What sort of queen are you?” “She’s a queen of hearts,” Gordon said, “at least for me. Who are you?” The gorilla sighed and rolled his eyes. “What are they teaching the nymphs these days. All right, let’s cut the crap.” In a flash of green light, the gorilla was gone. An alto voice continued, “It’s time to chat changeling to changeling.” Gordon looked at the new form, then looked at his wife. “Can you do that?” Tonks shrugged. “I can turn into a griffin, a pony, and a pineapple. I don’t see why a gorilla would be off the table.” “We are having a conversation here.” The other changeling in the room said, “Let’s get on with it; my drones are getting annoyed with all my demands for aspirin.” The bonded couple looked at each other and then as one turned into their Equestrian forms. Chrysalis snarled at Tonks. “Didn’t your mother teach you the facts of life?” “Yes, but keep in mind,” Tonks replied, “humans don’t lay eggs!” Chrysalis groaned. With a crack of displaced air, a puzzled Hufflepuff first-year appeared. Looking around, she said, “What . . . Mother?” Chrysalis roughly pushed Clouded Hope next to Tonks. “You two, sit. It’s time for THE TALK.” Tonks looked at the little girl in shock. “How’d you get her through the wards?” With another roll of her eyes Chrysalis said. “House elf. If you want in somewhere, tell your house elf to talk to their house elf with promises of no harm being intended and Bob’s your uncle as the locals like to say.” “You have a house elf?” Tonks asked unnecessarily. Chrysalis snorted. “Have I got a house elf? Have I got a house elf? I have loads of house elves. Can’t get rid of them. They want to work and some enterprising nitwit, who shall not be named, got it in her head to form teams to make messes of houses just so the elves could clean up. I don’t know what to say. It’s a vicious cycle. My children throw outrageous parties. They are making a game of chucking breeding pairs of humans at each other. Then it’s free love for everyling. The next morning, the elves come in and clean up, all the while munching on the excess magic my children apparently leak.” “Sounds like a win for everyone,” Tonks said cautiously. “You would think so,” Chrysalis said. “At this point I’ve gone far past ‘too good to be true’, rolled right over ‘when is the other horseshoe going to drop?’ and am currently sitting in terror just knowing karma is waiting in the eaves ready to pounce.” “How dreadful,” Gordan said sarcastically. “You are too young,” Chrysalis said. “When there is this level of fun and games, the bubble has to burst at some point. Have you seen an elf on love honey? It’s amusing -- probably dangerous, too.” “Probably?” Tonks asked. “Definitely,” Chrysalis amended. “I’m cringing in anticipation over that one blowing up in my face. Then, you have the audacity to come along and start constantly crying over not knowing what was going to happen after a big burley male sticks his Richard in your private parts. I was a nervous wreck before you opened your mental mouth, and you sure aren’t helping any.” “That was somehow both crude and childish at the same time,” Tonks said sullenly. “I can be more graphic if you like,” Chrysalis said. “No, no.” Pinkie took another hoofful of popcorn out of the cardboard container she was holding and stuffed it in her mouth. “You’re skirting the rating as it is,” she said around her mouthful. All of the occupants of the room turned to stare at what was supposed to be an empty corner. “What?” Pinkie asked, reaching for more popcorn. The two girls accompanied by a pony watched the procession with wary concern. After the objects of interest rounded a corner, Ruby said. “That was about half of the first-year Gryffindors being followed by a zoo.” Shadow hummed. “It is my understanding that their house has a literal zoo when it comes to their familiars. I suppose it is just time for walkies.” “That would be my guess, and hope,” Ruby said. Gloria suddenly broke out giggling, drawing the attention of the other two females. “What?” Shadow asked. “Care to share with the rest of us?” “It just.” Gloria giggled. “I was marveling how the words ‘what could possibly go wrong with that?’ have been removed from all of our lexicons.” “A unicorn, a lama, a koala, an octopus, a falcon, and an owl followed five young ponies innocently down a corridor. That is the perfect beginning for either a joke or an incident report,” Ruby stated. “Aren’t you just being paranoid?” Shadow asked. The two human girls turned and gave the pony pointed stares. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me like I’ve just uttered the stupidest phrase uttered in the last fourteen moons.” Shadow stared back. The girls returned the unblinking gaze. “They are just foals.” Shadow reminded them. The girls didn’t break eye contact. “You are starting to scare me,” Shadow admitted. The girls’ lips thinned. “Should we be expecting explosions?” Shadow took a step backward. “Don’t jinx us,” Gloria snapped. “Yes,” Shadow noted. “You are definitely scaring me.” The two human girls still refused to blink. “Okay.” Shadow stamped a hoof in frustration. “Now you are just hazing me. Seriously, what could possibly go wro . . .” She trailed off when the door to the room they had been about to enter swung open and the Divination Professor hurried out, levitating a muggle fire extinguisher while displaying a determined look on her face. “Never mind,” Ruby said after the teacher rounded the corner. “It looks like things are well in hand.” “You would think that the actual fire breathing dragon would be responsible for the most fires around here,” Gloria said with a shake of her head. “If that pink one looks at you cross-eyed, you are liable to sprout flames out of your nostrils.” “I’m glad Professor Babbling did whatever she did to those extinguishers,” Ruby said. “I was getting tired of our potions classes being burn paste review.” “Soooo,” Shadow said, still staring down the hallway. “We were going to find somepony who might have a clue on what’s up with Ruby?” “Yeah,” Ruby said, looking into the teacher’s lounge as Professor Trelawney hadn’t bothered closing the door behind herself. “Professors Snape, may we bother you for a minute?” Shadow looked around Ruby’s legs and saw three adult humans sitting on a couch looking comfortable together. “Which one is Professor Snape?” she asked curiously. “They all are,” Gloria said cheerfully walking into the lounge. “That there ain’t quite right,” the large blonde human female said. “Ah’ve only helped out in Herbology class those few times.” “Lessons the students still praise as being invaluable,” Professor Severus Snape stated from his seated position between the two women. “It is a well-earned titled despite not being employed often.” “Ah have too many titles as it is.” The blonde Professor snape blushed. “Titles aplenty you do seem to cram, though the Whomping Willow just calls you Ma’am,” said the Professor Snape with a mohawk. “Lest we stray too far off topic,” said the original Professor Snape. “Why have you three decided to interrupt my personal time with my wives?” “Just a quick question,” Gloria said hastily. “A question that couldn’t wait until our normal class time?” An eyebrow was raised. “We aren’t exactly sure of how impactful it might be.” Shadow stared at the imposing human without a hint of fear and with more than a little hunger. “Better to check too soon rather than too late.” The blonde chuckled. “Ah’ve come out on the wrong end of that thar statement too many times ta argue. What has yer tails in a knot?” “It’s Ruby’s pony form,” Gloria said. “We think the ring she has malfunctioned.” “I share your concern. Better to ask than to burn.” The blonde professor sighed. “An’ the day has been going so well. Let’s have a gander at the disaster war dealin’ with.” Ruby took a deep breath, pulled her arms close to her chest and shrank. “I can see why you were distressed,” the male Professor said, leaning forward for a closer look. “Regrettably warranted is your fear. Never have I seen a pony so clear.” “She’s a crystal pony.” The blonde professor leaned back into the couch. “Nothing ta worry ‘bout.” The two other professors gave the blonde questioning stares. In turn she shrugged and gave a little smile. “My reputation is now blacked. My previous statement I retract.” “Your cause for concern has been addressed, you may leave.” The male professor looked pointedly at the still-open door. Lavender’s older brother Dale had found himself in a funny predicament, a wonderful yet still funny predicament. His employment fell well outside the realm of anything he had ever predicted. He was working for, of all things, ponies. In truth, the way he had gotten the job was unusual. His mother had barged into the sitting room where he had been calmly and innocently playing video games, told him to go to work, and then proceeded to stuff him into the new pouch the family owl sported. Ever since then he had been the shop assistant for Mystic Books. It started as easy work, too -- mainly shrinking packages for delivery. This evolved into being a sales person / delivery boy as he took over the bulk of the interactions between the shop and the businesses of Diagon Alley, an arrangement that earned him a hefty salary. Yet, the biggest perk of his new job turned out to be the owner’s niece, Crystal Cache. From day one, whenever they were not busy, the pony had demanded ear scratches and belly rubs, so much so, that he was finding that he spent a lot of time indulging her whims -- time where he enjoyed their many conversations while getting to know one another. If only she weren’t a pony. That’s how he found himself in the corner with Crystal crawled halfway onto his lap when the owl arrived. “Do not bother with the getting up -- either of you,” Mystic Books said with a grin as she trotted past the pair on her way to meet the bird at the counter. “After all, it must be true that I pay you to cuddle on the floor so that the customers may gaze in wonder.” “You have to admit, we do increase your custom by doing just that.” Dale smirked “Oui,” Crystal nuzzled Dale warmly. “So many voyeur. We should charge admission.” “So many times, I have been asked how much that service costs.” Mystic Books placed her horn on the owl’s pouch. “A human never need go hungry on the streets of Canterlot. All she would require is a sign that said ‘belly rubs two bits’. Ex dimittere.” After the pouch mimicked a Technicolor yawn, she continued. “Welcome, my friend. Have you come to collect your son? If so, you must first drag him out from under my niece.” Mrs. Brown got to her feet and smiled warmly at the pair in the corner. “They are still at it,” she observed. “Oui,” Mystic Books said. “Dale,” Mrs. Brown said, tossing something small. “Catch.” “’Ello Mum. What’s this?” Dale asked as he plucked the object out of the air. “Your sister’s ring,” Mrs. Brown said. “I had her owl it to me since she doesn’t require it anymore.” “A ring?” Crystal said looking at the object Dale held. “C’est fade. As you say, it is not impressive.” “Is this what I think it is?” Dale asked. Mrs. Brown nodded. “Put it on and think ‘pony’.” “Why would he . . . Magnifique!” Crystal enthusiastically hugged the new pony. “There now,” Mrs. Brown told her son. “You can’t say I’ve never done anything for you . . . besides, feed you, raise you, pay for your schooling, and, oh yes, give birth to you.” “Thanks, Mum,” Dale said, finding his hooves for the first time. “This is something I’ve been meaning to as . . . Woah!” He found himself moving backwards due to the hold Crystal had on his tail. “Come over here,” Crystal said with a mouth full of tail. “Tu es à moi.” With those words, Mystic Book and Mrs. Brown watched the door to the backroom slam shut. “Je n'y crois pas,” Mystic said. “You just gave my niece your son? Oui?” “Don’t kid yourself,” Mrs. Brown said. “They were at most only one or two days away from seeing how well they fit together as human and pony.” Mystic Book looked up at her human friend then back at the closed door. “You think?” “All he does is talk about her,” Mrs. Brown said after a pause. “Besides, I don’t know what all my friends are talking about. Finding a suitable daughter-in-law for one’s son isn’t that difficult. I’m one conversation and approximately two minutes away from achieving that goal.” Mystic’s ears shot forward and her head rose several inches. “That was a quick two minutes? Non?” “They must have skipped the conversation,” Mrs. Brown said. “Your niece is a screamer.” “So, it would appear.” Mystic agreed. The pair stood there watching the door to the backroom when the door to the outside opened and the bell announced customers – well, maybe not customers, seeing as the three unicorn mares who entered came forward with their ears pointed in the relevant direction and their eyes opened wide. They stopped, standing near the two females and joined the watch. “They are . . . enthusiastic. Non?” Mystic commented. “They’ve been holding it in for a couple weeks now,” Mrs. Brown said. “After the first month, don’t expect this level of activity more than once or twice a week. After another couple months, even that will die down. Maybe once a week from that point forward.” The eight mares in the shop all looked at the lone human with varying levels of shock. The stallion baker from next door, gave a sidelong glance with envy as he jotted down orders for refreshments. “I still cannot believe you just gave her your son and said go have fun.” Mystic shook her mane in disbelief. “I’m sure it was a lot more mutual than that.” Mrs. Brown said as fourteen pairs of pony ears refocused on the door. “Yup, she is definitely a screamer.” “You seem to be . . . most pleased with yourself,” Mystic said. Mrs. Brown shrugged. “Your niece is a good person. Exactly what Dale needs in his life. Besides, she will keep him in line.” Whatever, Mystic was going to reply was cut off by the front door opening admitting a pair of royal guards. “We’ve reports of somepony screaming bloody murder,” One of them said as they rushed toward the egress to the back of the shop. There they slammed open the door. Pausing after they took one look inside it was a few seconds before stoically one produced a video camera. Stunned, his partner needed another moment to recover his senses sufficiently to cuff the other on the back of the head. The videographer said, ‘What? It’s evidence.” With one burst of telekinesis, the other dragged his partner out of the shop closing the door behind them. “Celestia didn’t have those imported from the human world for that.” “Carry on,” said the videographer before they left and twenty pony muzzles turned away from the spectacle of the retreating pair. “Is this not a bit much?” Mystic asked glancing at the clock. “His father was much the same in our youth,” Mrs. Brown said as the noises emitting from the backroom died down, guaranteeing she had the attention of the twenty-four mares in the store. “Is so?” Mystic asked. “You will be introducing me to your husband? Non?” “Sure, I talk about you enough that he already . . .” Mrs. Brown stopped mid-sentence and threw the pony a weird look. “Oh!” “You seem surprised,” Mystic said. “It’s just. Well . . . Humans don’t . . . I mean I like you . . .” Mystic’s ears shot back towards the doorway. “Et encore?” “She’s still a screamer.” Mrs. Brown sighed as the thirty or so mares watched the door. One of the others took an eraser to a chalkboard she had set on an easel. “Three minutes even! So close and yet so far. New odds, everypony! Who wants a piece of the action?” “You do not want me to meet your stallion?” Mystic asked, her ears wilting as she ignored the distraction. “No! No!” Mrs. Brown shook her head. “I want you to meet him. You’re my friend. It’s just that what you were implying . . . I don’t even have a problem with that. It would be a good present for him, and I may have indulged when I was younger. But you have got to remember with the mess magic makes, if we did that, it would be for forever.” “I understand,” Mystic said. “I have always been as you say a mare by herself. There is no place for one like me next to a stallion.” “Don’t say that. There are plenty of stallions that would love to be with you,” Mrs. Brown said. “Non.” Mystic shook her head. “I have not had the pleasure of kissing one, let alone being that near one.” “You’re kidding me,” Mrs. Brown said. Mystic shook her head. “Wow!” Mrs. Brown said. “This really is a different world. I mean, there was this one time where I may have had too much to drink and woke up in bed with three of the ugliest blokes I have ever laid eyes on.” All forty-two equine heads snapped to stare at her with their mouths hanging open. Only years of muscle memory kept them from dropping their cake and cider. “And you are never to tell my husband I said that,” Mrs. Brown said firmly. “Three at once?” Mystic asked in awe. “I told you I was drunk. You know, as in too drunk to remember.” “Three at once?” Mystic repeated in awe. “Okay. Okay. I may have remembered,” Mrs. Brown relented. “I may even have enjoyed myself at the time. But I’m serious. You can never tell my husband about that.” “Three at once?” Mystic repeated in awe. “And they may not have been that ugly, even without the drinks in me.” “By yourself?” Mystic asked. “It’s all in the past. Forget I even mentioned it,” Mrs. Brown said with a little panic in her voice. Suddenly, the door to the backrooms slammed open and a distressed voice called, “Mum! Come quick! Crystal just passed out for no reason!” The eyes of forty-five mares couldn’t have gotten any wider had they tried. Mrs. Brown sighed. “Were you using a pepper up!” “I have a few in the back for emergencies,” Dale admitted. “I may have taken one so I wouldn’t disappoint her.” “Well, enervate her and give her one! She’ll be fine!” The door to the back slammed shut. The bookie announced, “Five minutes, thirty-seven seconds!” A collective groan of disappointment came from the other forty-seven mares before they turned their attention to the two having a conversation. “Mystic.” Mrs. Brown had some pleading in her voice. “Non. Non. I shall not be telling your husband about your conquests.” “Thank you.” Mrs. Brown gave a sigh of relief. “Really? Three at once?” “Yes,” Mrs. Brown sighed as she looked around. “When did it get so crowded in here?” More than half a hundred heads turned back towards the door at the sound of excitement coming to a head. “Fifty seconds!” Grinning, Mystic held up a slip of a paper with that time. “How?” asked Mrs. Brown. Mystic replied, “I knew she had it coming.”