The Cutie Mark Allocation Agency

by Hoopy McGee


Simmer and stir

Glumm was feeling… well, pretty glum, all things considered. Being a Field Agent wasn’t much of a job, granted, but he’d been able to find some small amounts of satisfaction by thumbing his nose at those higher up the ladder than he was. And, in spite of the frustrations he felt daily, whenever he did manage to give a colt or filly a new cutie mark, the joy they felt was enough to warm his crusty old heart.

And now he was going to get fired. And the maddening thing was, out of all the things he’d done in the past that should have gotten him fired, it was something that wasn’t even his fault that would see him out the door!

Glum sat on the increasingly-wobbly barstool, sullenly nursing yet another ginger ale. Around him, the hubble and bubble of gnome life faded in and out of his consciousness. CMAA employees made up the bulk of the clientele of this bar, mainly due to its close proximity to headquarters and the cheapness of the drinks, both of which were big selling points for Glummwriggle. It certainly wasn’t the decor; there were layers of filth on the floor dating back to the founding of Gnomington itself.

The conversation of two gnomes at a table behind him caught his ear as he drank. Concluding that eavesdropping was at least marginally better than wallowing in his own thoughts, Glumm listened in.

“Eh, I was only out there for a couple of weeks,” one of the gnomes was saying. “They were a bit short-staffed, is all.”

“Yeah, and the first thing that happens when you get back is a Rainbow Dash event,” the second one said with a snickering laugh.

“Hey, now, it weren’t all fun and games out in the Hoofington branch, either!” the first gnome whined.

Glumm snorted angrily into his ginger ale as he took another drink.

“Like it’s so hard out there,” the second gnome replied dismissively.

“I’m serious! I had one case, weirdest case I ever saw or heard of!”

“Do tell?”

Glumm’s world came to a quick stop. Something was very wrong. It took his mind a moment or two to identify what it could be before his admittedly-somewhat-fuzzy reasoning skills finally zeroed in on the core of the problem.

Somehow or other, he slowly came to realize, his glass was empty. He scowled into the glass and considered buying another. However, the ginger ale that was working its way through his system had other ideas. The strange alchemy of strong drink swamped the the portions of Glumm’s brain that regulated self-control and self-preservation, while at the same time adding fuel to the fires of resentment and self-righteous indignation.

Glum stood unsteadily, belched loudly, and straightened his pants. A moment later, he was out the door, a gnome with a mission.

Still, there was a nagging feeling he’d forgotten something. He leaned against a helpful streetlamp for a moment before giving a shrug. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t all that important.

~~*~~

It’s entirely possible that Tinseltoes had, at some point in his short life, found himself in less pleasant places than in the bathroom at the Whole in the Wall pub. However, as he gingerly tried to clean his hands and exit without, and this was very important to him, actually touching anything, he was hard pressed to think of a single one that even came close.

Finally, with the creative use of elbows, the toes of his boots, and the sacrifice of a handkerchief, he managed to leave the restroom with hands that felt suitably clean. His momentary sense of triumph was immediately displaced by the large gnome-shaped space at the bar that no longer contained his inebriated uncle.

Reminding himself that there was no need to panic quite yet, young Tinseltoes made his way up to the surly bartender, who was busily making certain that the glasses were all equally dirty.

“Excuse me,” he said.

When the bargnome ignored him, and then also ignored Tinseltoes’ urgent throat-clearing, he grudgingly pulled a few coins out of his pocket and placed them on the bartop.

The bargnome was suddenly able to register Tinseltoes’ presence. “What can I do fer ya?”

“Did my uncle leave?”

“Old Glummy? Yeah, just a few minutes ago.” He reached for the coins, only to scowl thunderously as Tinseltoes cupped his hand over them.

“Where did he go?”

“No idea,” the bargnome said irritably. “May ask them as is over there,” he added, nodding towards a pair of gnomes in CMAA uniforms. “They might’ve seen somethin’.”

“Right,” Tinseltoes said. He was about to take his hand away when another thought occurred to him. “Why is the ‘Whole’ in the bar’s name spelled with a ‘W’?”

“Well, it’s a pun, isn’t it?” the bargnome said. “The whole thing is in the wall.”

Tinseltoes was ordinarily a very easy-going gnome. Very little got under his skin, which was something that, oddly enough, irritated most girls he’d ever tried dating. However, that particular statement brought his eyebrows knitting together in a fashion that the bartender decided was a little unpleasant. When the young gnomed leaned forward, the bartender leaned back out of pure reflex.

“Did you know,” Tinseltoes said intently, “that puns are the lowest form of verbal humor?”

“Er, no?”

“Well, now you do.”

He took his hand away from the small pile of coins on the bar, which the bargnome scooped up in spite of his previous intimidation.

“Very good, young sir,” the crusty older gnome said, his voice suddenly respectful.

Tinseltoes ignored him, his focus on the two gnomes speaking loudly at a small table nearby. As he approached, he heard the tail end of what sounded like what might have been an interesting story.

“She took one look at it, said something about it not being the one she wanted, and fainted dead away, right there on the spot!”

“You’re joking,” the second gnome scoffed. “I’ve never heard of a young filly not even wanting their cutie mark.”

“I wish I were,” the first gnome grumbled as he scowled into his glass. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork I had to fill out afterwards. Something about a duplicate name, and…”

He trailed off as he noticed Tinseltoes standing there.

“Er, something I can help you with, lad?”

Tinseltoes put on his best apologetic smile. “Terribly sorry to bother you, but my uncle seems to have wandered off. I’m a little concerned, because he’s had quite a lot to drink. You haven’t any idea where he might have staggered off to, have you?”

“Ah, terribly sorry, youngster,” the second gnome said. “All I can remember is him saying something about ‘showing them’ as he wandered off.”

“Ah, I see,” Tinseltoes said, maintaining an expected level of politeness even as alarm bells rang in his ears. “Well, thank you very much. I’ve, ah… I’ve got to go.”

As he bolted towards the door, he heard one of the gnomes say to the other, “There’s a good kid, looking out for his uncle. Did I ever tell you about the time…”

Tinseltoes exited the bar and scanned the street frantically left and right for his uncle. No sign of the older gnome. With a sigh, Tinseltoes took off at a brisk jog, hoping he’d find Glumm before he did something that put his career in even further jeopardy.

He was young and in decent shape, with long legs for a gnome. So, he might have had a chance, if only he knew the streets in this part of Gnomington a little better. Instead, he quickly found himself hopelessly lost.

~~*~~

Chief Tallywaddle steepled his hands under his many chins, a gesture that he had intended to look intimidating. It might have worked, if it weren’t for the fact that his head looked a bit too much like an overripe apple to really pull it off.

On the other side of his incredibly cluttered desk sat two very nervous Counselors. Tidwiddle looked just about ready to wet himself. Figgwaggle, on the other hand, looked like he was perfectly calm, though the effect was spoiled somewhat by the prodigious amount of sweat soaking into the collar of his very expensive suit.

“So, what is the explanation for this?” Tallywaddle demanded imperiously.

Figgwaggle arched an eyebrow. “Would you care to clarify what ‘this’ is, sir?”

“This!” Tallywaddle reached into his trash bin and pulled out two folders, one pristine and one rumpled. “Two folders, both for the same filly, but with different motivations written in the Counselor’s notes!”

He waved the folders at the two Counselors. Tiddwiddle leaned back as if they were diseased. Figgwaggle raised his other eyebrow and reached out to snag them. As the Chief leaned back, the Counselor glanced through first the rumpled folder, and then the pristine one. Then he passed them back with a very careful look on his face.

“Obviously this first one was an early draft,” Figgwaggle said. “It happens sometimes. New research shows that the initial analysis was wrong, and an updated form is filled out.”

The relief that washed over Tiddwiddle’s face as his compatriot lied for him did nothing but inflame the Chief’s anger. He threw the two folders back in the waste bin and rose from his seat, his face like a thunderstorm.

“I am not a fool!” he bellowed. “When a Counselor changes his notes, it requires a form 10-77a, Revision to Counselor Notes, not an entirely new folder! Where’s form 10-77a, Figgwaggle?” He leaned down and snatched the two folders out of the bin again and waved them in Figgwaggle’s direction. “I don’t see them in here, do you?!”

Figgwaggle recoiled in his seat before rallying. “I, uh, well, you’ll need to ask Tiddwiddle about that. He’s the one that filled out the second form. I had nothing to do with it!”

“You bastard!” Tiddwiddle cried.

“Enough!” Tallywaddle pointed a trembling, sausage-like finger at Figgwaggle. “Tiddwiddle already told me you were involved.”

“You bastard!” Figgwaggle cried.

“Enough, I said!” Tallywaddle sighed and put the folders down on his desk before slumping back down in his chair. “I’m going to level with you two. This is already enough to start an inquest. And, if the investigation goes the way I think it will, you two will be out on your ears before you can blink twice. And that’s only to start with. It will get much worse, believe you me.”

The Chief leaned forward and began shuffling through several of the piles on his cluttered desk, all the while muttering, “Where is it, where is it?” before a triumphant shout of “Ah-ha!” as he pulled a large book out from underneath a pile of urgent, though still unread, reports.

The two Counselors exchanged a nervous glance as the Chief thumbed his way through the nearly-pristine book. Upon finding the section he was looking for, Tallywaddle held the open book out towards the two Counselors while tapping on the pertinent section with an index finger.

“See? This is a total failure of our charter. If the investigation decides that this issue is big enough, we have to inform our client.” He let that information sink in, watching with some satisfaction as the faces of the two Counselors rapidly drained of all color. “That’s right, gentlemen. Celestia herself would have to be informed. And you know how… touchy she can get when someone messes too much with her ponies. Remember the Empire of Spideria?”

After a long pause, Figgwaggle ventured to say, “No?”

“Exactly,” Tallywaddle said as he snapped the book shut, making the pair of them jump in their seats. He replaced the book on his desk and sank back in his chair. “So. I think it’s best for everygnome if she simply… doesn’t find out about this. Do you understand?”

It took a few seconds for the pair of them to get what he was suggesting, after which they tripped all over themselves to assure him that they did, in fact, understand completely.

“So,” Tallywaddle said, reclining in his seat. “Start at the beginning, and leave nothing out. Tell me everything.”

~~*~~

The underground roads of Gnomington were a marvel of modern technology. Lined with cobbles, and with excellent drainage, the roads were level, clean and dry. During the day, a series of cleverly aligned mirrors reflected daylight into the tunnels. Right now they were lit by gas lamps on posts that cast the entire area in a flickering yellow glow. The faint but omnipresent smell of rotten eggs was a small price to pay for that.

Had Glummwriggle been asked, he would have assured the asker that no, he wasn’t drunk. He’d been drinking, certainly, but he wasn’t drunk. If that hypothetical person had then pointed out the way he swayed and stumbled as he walked along, he would have told them that he was simply tired. It had been a long day, after all.

And, assuming these answers hadn’t satisfied the questioner, who then went on to mention that he was slurring his words when he spoke, then Glumm would have mentioned that maybe certain hypothetical people should mind their own damned hypothetical business.

Glumm felt oddly disappointed by that nobody was around in order for him to make these arguments.

“Unpaid shuspenshun, ha!” Glumm said angrily. “I’ll unpay him, that fat… hey, watch it,” he said to a lightpost that had suddenly leaped out in front of him. A friendly wall leaned over and kept him from toppling into the street. He patted the bricks gratefully. “Thanks.”

Glumm’s brain may have been addled, but his feet knew the path between the bar and the CMAA headquarters intimately by this time, leading him weavingly but unerringly back towards the office. Once there, though, the whole of him was at a loss. He stood in the middle of a gently-swaying hallway, trying to remember where it was he was heading. Something about being yelled at, he remembered.

Resentment smoldering in his chest and ale sloshing through his veins, Glumwriggle set off with every intention of making things much, much worse.

~~*~~

“Obviously, then, the first order of business is to destroy that box,” Tallywaddle said. The other two gnomes nodded fervently. “Burn it, if you have to. Not a trace to remain, you understand? Not. A. Trace.”

“Yes, sir!” both gnomes replied in tandem.

“Alright,” Tallywaddle said. “Now that I know the ‘how’, all I need to know is the ‘why’. Why do all this? Why this risk?”

The two Counselors exchanged an embarrassed glance.

“Well, sir,” Tiddwiddle said, “You know the annual Counselor’s meeting banquet up next month?”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that…” Tiddwiddle trailed off and looked at his fellow Counselor for support.

Figgwaggle sighed and shrugged. “Whichever gnome gets the most successfully completed cases before the meeting gets to sit at the high table and make a speech.”

Tallywaddle felt like he was missing something. “And..?”

“And they also get a nice plaque,” Tiddwiddle said. He added, “With their name on it, and everything!”

Tallywaddle gaped at the pair of them, who at least had the decency to look sheepish. “That’s it?!”

“Well…” Figgwaggle looked at Tiddwiddle, who shrugged. “There’s also a private bet between the pair of us.”

“Loser has to buy the winner lunch!” Tiddwiddle said with a grin, which wilted under the heat-lamp of the Chief’s glare.

Tallywaddle shook his head slowly. “All this risk. All those destinies, changed. For what? For a nice dinner, a plaque and a lunch?”

Figgwaggle cleared his throat, flushing a deep red. “Well, now that you put it like that, it does seem a tad… disproportionate?”

There was no response that Tallywaddle could make to that. With a groan, he slumped forward and rested his head in his hands. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between the three of them before Tiddwiddle finally cleared his throat.

“Um, sir? What are we going to do about the girl?”

Tallywaddle looked up, mind awhirl with the disaster that was threatening to swamp him. “Girl? Oh, young Claribelle. Of course.”

Thick fingers drummed on the one clear spot on the cluttered desk as he stared blankly at the wall. Finally, he sighed, leaned forward, and pressed a button on his intercom.

“Nina, dear?”

His assistant’s voice crackled back a moment later. “Yes, sir?”

“Could you send for Mister Shadeswell, if you would be so kind?”

“Oh, my,” Figgwaggle whispered, his eyes wide.

There was a long pause before Nina’s voice came back over the intercom. When she did reply, there was a little quiver of fear. “Yes, sir.”

Icy silence reigned in the Chief’s office for a very long and uncomfortable moment.

“Isn’t… isn’t that a bit far, sir?” Figgwaggle eventually managed. “I mean, I know she’ll cause troubles, but… Shadeswell?”

Tallywaddle shook his head. “It’s a pity, I know. But that girl knows too much. She needs to be… removed.”

“O-of course, sir.”

Another uncomfortable silence spread between the three of them. Finally, Tallywaddle snorted and shook his head.

“Alright. We know what we have to do. Get to it, right?”

“Yes sir!” the two Counselors said in unison as they stood. Then the two of them practically ran out of the office.

Tallywaddle leaned back in his chair and massaged his temples. Shadeswell. He couldn’t believe it had come to this. Sometimes being in charge wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

~~*~~

Clari was in her element. Boxes didn’t talk back, and folders didn’t schedule endless meetings. All there was to do was organize, organize, organize, which was something she was very good at. And once a thing was sorted, she would see that it stayed sorted.

It was the closest thing to heaven she’d yet encountered.

She was humming a happy tuneless tune, something that she made up moment to moment as she sorted, filed, labeled and recorded. It was all just about perfect.

If she hadn’t been so focused, she might have noticed when the shadows in the room seemed to darken. Still, the tune trailed off as she shivered, the room suddenly feeling colder than it had a moment before. A sense of desperate unease crept up on her, and she started glancing around nervously, feeling like a fool even while unable to shake the sense that someone was watching her.

When the silence of the Records Room was broken by the sound of a shoe scuffing across the floor, Clari shrieked and jumped practically halfway out of her skin. She spun to see a tall figure, dressed all in black, looming up behind her.

“Excuse me,” a mournful voice intoned from the dark figure. “Are you Claribelle?”

Clari had her hand pressed to her breastbone to keep her heart from beating its way out of her ribcage. “Y-yes?” she managed after a moment.

“Name’s Shadeswell, Miss,” the figure said before reaching into it’s jacket. Clari flinched when the hand came out, even though all that it was holding was an envelope. “This is for you.”

Clari reached out a trembling hand and took the letter.

Shadeswell tipped his hat and said, in doleful tones, “Sorry about this.” He walked towards the entrance to the Records Room and, a moment later, was gone.

Once her pulse returned to nearly-normal levels, Clari felt able to open it. It contained a single page of paper with only a few lines on it. Clari read it. Then, unable to believe what she’d read, she read it again.

“Fired?” she said, disbelieving. “For insubordination?!”

Her pulse began climbing again, though for different reasons this time. Also, her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched as her mouth settled into a thin line.

When Clari was finally able to speak once again, her voice came out in a furious grating growl that was diametrically opposed to the happy, lilting voice she usually affected.

“Heads are going to roll for this,” she vowed.