Featherweight held up the last of the pictures and exhaled. Perfect. They’d all come out perfectly.
He buffed a hoof against his chest proudly. Really, though, was there any other option when he was involved?
He placed the developed photo on top of the finished pile and smiled. He decided to celebrate with a cookie. The only problem was his brother was in the living room, lifting weights, and if Featherweight had a cookie, he’d probably want one, too. Except Bulk Biceps could eat a lot more cookies than Featherweight could. And if he started on the cookies, they'd soon be out of cookies. And Featherweight knew he couldn't just make more; he'd used all the baking powder baking the last batch.
Featherweight scowled, but he was not to be denied his prize. He closed his eyes, leaned against the doorway, and thought.
Before he had time to put a plan together, though, the doorbell rang. A perfect opportunity! Not knowing or caring who was at the door, he slunk out and crawled over to the refrigerator. He'd have to walk; pegasi can hear wingbeats better than any other ponies.
His ears did pin when he heard the voice of Filthy Rich, but he quickly brushed it off. The cookie was calling him.
Like a spelunker, he reached the base of the fridge and slowly crawled his way to the top, his hooves balancing precariously in the handle and between the fridge and the wall. It wasn't long before he had reached the top. He reached out for his prize, and it seemed like the day was won.
But he had celebrated too soon; his rear hooves lost purchase on the slick fridge surface and he found himself sliding backwards even as he held the cookie jar tightly. Too startled to react or even to flap his wings and too intent on a cookie to let go of the jar, he toppled over backwards and crashed into the ground.
Bulk Biceps spun back around to see Featherweight sprawled out across the kitchen floor, surrounded by cookie bits and wearing the cookie jar as a hat. He lifted the jar from over his eyes (as cookie crumbs rained down on his shoulders) and grinned sheepishly at his older brother.
Bulk Biceps sighed and looked back at Filthy Rich. “He does tend to get himself into predicaments, doesn't he? He's a good kid. Dumb-” Here he glanced backwards. Featherweight, his mouth full of cookie, looked up, chewed once, made an attempt to swallow and gave what he hoped passed for a disarming smile, “-but a good kid,” Bulk Biceps finished.
Filthy Rich exhaled. “Be that as it may, the report that he took pictures of my daughter without her permission-”
Featherweight shot upright and waved both hooves back and forth, as if signalling an incomplete pass. He stepped backwards and motioned with his head, inviting him to follow. When they started towards him, he scampered back to his room and pulled out the stack of pictures. He held them out for Filthy to examine them.
He did so, and his eyebrow raised as he flicked through them. They were all candid shots, and all of them were of foals; but they were all high quality.
Well, from a foal's point of view, that is. Filthy sincerely doubted the picture of Snips and Snails posing with the Bearded Mare would win any photography awards; but they certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.
“He’s the editor of the Foal Free Press,” Bulk Biceps said with a hint of pride.
“So he is,” Filthy said dryly. He hadn't forgotten who had held that job previously.
Finally, he came to the picture of Diamond Tiara.
She was laughing uproariously as a cornflower blue magician in a ridiculous pointed hat pulled yet another dove out of nowhere and gave it to a very uncomfortable-looking silver filly, who looked as though she had enough birds on her already that they could have lifted her up if they’d all flapped at once. He cracked a smile and held them back out. “I'm sure she's just overreacting a bit,” he said. “Sometimes she has a different perspective on things, after all.”
After he'd left, Featherweight exhaled and turned to go back into his room… and bumped right into his brother.
He grinned, but Bulk Biceps was not fooled. “There's more pictures than that, huh?” It didn't even have to be a question.
Featherweight shrugged.
Bulk Biceps leaned down… and then grinned nervously. “Any of… you know…?”
Featherweight drew the outline of Fluttershy's mane with a hoof and raised an eyebrow teasingly.
“Yeah,” Bulk Biceps said.
Featherweight dug under a stack of old newspapers and pulled one out. Fluttershy, wearing a wide smile, was crouched down, introducing herself to a young golden ewe at the petting zoo.
Bulk Biceps reverently took it. “I'm gonna… deliver this,” he said, half requesting and half pleading.
Featherweight made a shooing motion. Bulk nodded and flew off.
Now that he was gone… Featherweight turned back to his stack of papers. He had some other things to do.
* * *
Diamond Tiara was hosting a fancy tea party complete with craisin and white chocolate chip cookies, and only the finest ponies were invited: she, herself, and hers truly.
So it was a bit of a surprise when there was a knocking at her window. She glanced over… and she scowled angrily as she recognized the pony there.
She aggressively threw open the window. “What?!” she demanded.
Featherweight held out an envelope. Squinting suspiciously, Diamond Tiara took it and dumped the contents out on the ground.
It was a negative of her mid-trash can offering. She blushed furiously and with a furious shriek, she stomped on it repeatedly, grinding it to little bits with the edge of her hoof. She looked up and smiled triumphantly… but Featherweight seemed to be ok with that. He shrugged and offered a winning (if slightly bucktoothed) smile.
Diamond Tiara squinted. “So… you're offering a truce?” she tried.
Featherweight held up a hoof. On one condition. He pointed at the plate of cookies and licked his lips.
Diamond Tiara scowled, but chose one to give him. Sure, it was the smallest, ugliest cookie there (which wasn't saying much; they had a high standard of cookies in the Rich household) and held it out.
Right as Featherweight reached for it, though, she dropped it.
He looked down, betrayed, and then looked back at Diamond Tiara…
And smirked.
A horrifying thought occurred to her, and the blood drained from her face. “That wasn't the only picture you took, was it?”
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Featherweight slowly shook his head.
Diamond's heart began to race. She looked down, as if hoping the pattern in the bedsheets could provide the answer she sought, and then looked back up. “I can offer you more cookies than you could-”
Her voice trailed off as Featherweight shrugged, holding the five cookies he had swiped. With a mocking salute, he turned and flew away, chuckling to himself and shoving cookies in his mouth as Diamond Tiara shouted desperate pleas, angry pleas, and then threats after him.
He hadn’t actually taken any other pictures of Diamond Tiara; but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Her paranoia would provide better revenge than just leaking a photo in the Foal Free Press next issue.
Some might feel that being so small and quiet would be a disadvantage; but Featherweight certainly didn't think so.
It was all a matter of perspective, really.