//------------------------------//
// Some Love For Trouble Shoes 
// Story: Some Love For Trouble Shoes 
// by OCisbestpony 
//------------------------------//


Some Love For Trouble Shoes



“Just my luck...” Trouble muttered as he scratched the ticket. The bit he used somehow managed to fly out of his mouth, ricochet off the wall, hit that rusty nail that was holding that wall in place (promptly causing the wall to fall down), hit and roll on the floor, land into the yawning mouth of a snake, then get caught up by an Eagle that just so happened to fly in through the hole in his ceiling and fly off with the snake in its talons. Said bird would later feed its chicks, causing said bit to be deposited into the stomach of one of its chicks, which chick would then fail to fly back to the nest when it was kicked out because it was too heavy, thus causing it to become the first Dodo bird to hit Bridleway and sing and dance its way into the hearts of quadrillions of ponies for billions of years to come, thus cementing its place into history.

On the bright side, he had at least scratched off enough of the last number to be able to read what it said. Though he doubted that would mean much. After all, the past 13 tickets be bought didn't come to much. Well, they came to a total of about 40 bits (which was most of his last paycheck), but that was beside the point. The point was that all of them had been duds. Every last one.

Though there's always that chance that this one might be different. After all, most of the numbers were his lucky numbers (can one have more then one lucky number?). He'd scratched off: 13-66-6-1-and the last number was half of an 8. He'd always liked the number six. He was never fully sure why, but he did. It always seemed, rounded (rounded, really? What does that even mea-)and lucky.

He let out sigh as he left his home and made his way to Appleloosa. At least they no longer treated him like a criminal. That was awfully nice of them. In fact, from time to time, the odd pony might even come up to him and offer him a hug. Though that usually ended poorly. Mostly because poor Trouble Shoes would usually trip and fall over and land on the poor hugger. But the moments when there was no falling and only hugging were nice.

He walked into town some time later. It was getting on in the evening. The sun was about to touch the tops of the mountains, and had begun to glow that soft orange that it always did before it disappeared for the night. Ponies were slowly walking about, lazily basking in the last hour or so of the sunlight. He noticed the odd shop or two closing, and that even the Mild West dances were winding down. However, the place he was interested in was still open, and would be for some time yet.

As he made his way across town, he was confronted by one of the buffalo that occasionally wondered into town. They often stopped to chat with him, if for no other reason then because he was almost the same size. This one, named Big Hoof, was one of the friendlier ones. He often enjoyed talking to the various ponies in Appleloosa, and made a point to know each pony who lived there. This was something the ponies found to be rather strange, but far from unpleasant. Unbeknownst to the ponies, this was mostly because he was rather ironically named, and thus was the only Buffalo smaller then Trouble Shoes aside from Little Strongheart.

What the ponies also didn't know was who he was related to. “Hello Trouble Shoes!” he waved and smiled rather enthusiastically as he caught sight of the stallion. 

“Oh, hello...” Shoes responded, lacking emotion.

“Good to see you in town. Where're you headed?” he asked, opening his eyes and looking at him, smiling happily. Such was his trademark. Always smiling, always happy.

“The Saltblock...” Shoes answered rather unenthusiastically.

“Lookin' to get a few licks? Mind if I come along?” he asked, his tiny tail whipping back and forth.

“Nah, I'm just givnin' this here lotto ticket to the bartender. Hopin' my luck might change for once, though I don't think it will...” he said sadly as he continued walking to the block (as he was fond of calling it).

“You never know! This could be your lucky day!” he chipped rather happily.

“I doubt it, hasn't worked so far.” Shoes shrugged

“Awww, come on. How many times have you tried this?” he asked, walking beside Trouble Shoes.

“Thirteen.” Shoes sighed.

“Then this'll do it for sure!” he smiled, and even hopped slightly for emphasis.

“What makes you say that?” Shoes raised his head slightly, daring to hope just a little that he was right.

He shrugged. “Hopeful thinking.”

Shoes let out another sigh and hung his head again. He didn't even bother to raise it up when he walked through the doors. As he made his way to the counter, he could hear the sounds of ponies unwinding from a hard day's work. There was an old honky-tonk that played in the corner, and he could hear a dancer or two in another. He rather liked the feeling in the air. Though, it didn't last long after he walked in.

The whole place went quiet at once, save a note or two that got hit before the player stopped as well. He didn't have to look up to know that it because of him. Sure, he had gotten a job as a Rodeo Clown, but he was still the cause of many an accident. And sometimes, it takes some ponies awhile to get over what they used to think about other ponies.

“Hello Shoes.” The owner said politely, though somewhat wearily.

“I got another ticket.” he said, raising his head to look at the stallion. He reached into a saddle bag and pulled it out, then paused. “Uh, Big Hoof? Could'in you give him my ticket for me? I don't wanna accidentally break somthin'” he said, hoofing his ticket to Big Hoof.

“Still gotta get those chairs fixed...” the owner mumbled under his breath.

“Sure!” he took it, then promptly handed it the owner, who set it aside and pulled out a small crystal ball.

“Okay, winning numbers should be comin' up any moment now...” he said as all three of them looked into it. “An't no point in you two lookin', only I can see it. And the numbers only appear at 6 o' clock sharp!” he waived a hoof to signal to them to back off a little, which they did. “Okay...” he narrowed his eyes and peered deep into it. “Alright everypony! Here's today's winning ticket number!” he announced, causing what few conversations had started up to stop. “First number is: 13!”

A few shouts of excitement came from the crowd.

“66!”

Many of those turned to boos.

“6!”

Some began to weep, while a small number whooped and hollered gleefully.

“1!”

And then the glee turned to anger, and a flipped table or two; save for one pony who simply pouted as hard a her little pony face could pout.

“8!” he shouted, and Trouble Shoes ears perked up, as well as his head. A large smile cross his face.

“Did you just say 8?!” he said, rather excitedly.

“Sure did. The numbers are, again: 13, 66, 6, 1, and 8! Anypony here a win-HEY! PUT MY TABLE BACK RIGHT!” he shouted and pointed a hoof at a suddenly sheepish looking stallion.

“Me! I got it! I got the winning ticket!” Shoes shouted.

“See? LUCKY DAY!” Big Hoof beamed.

“Let's take a look here...” the owner said, picking up the ticket.

“I-I can't believe it! I actually won somethin'! Maybe my luck's finally changin'!” Shoes simply couldn't control himself, and began dancing in circles.

“Take it easy big guy! You might break something!” the owner shouted, causing Shoes to stop (though it did nothing to lessen his excitement). “Okay, let's see. 13, 66, 6, 1, and...” he peered closely to look at the number, then shook his head. “Sorry big guy, but this an't a winner.”

“What? What do ya mean? That's an eight right there! Look at it!” he said, pointing at the half-concealed number.

“No…” he shook his head again, “that's an upside-down three. Sorry buddy.” he shrugged.

Trouble Shoes looked at him dumbfounded. He snatched the ticket quicker then the owner could react, and then scratched the ticket on one of Big Hoof's horns.

His jaw dropped as, sure enough, he saw that last number was indeed an upside-down three. His head then sagged once more, and he let out a deep sigh. “Just my luck...” he mumbled as he turned around, and walked out of the building.

*****


“I'm tellin' ya, the poor guy has the worse luck!” Big Hoof said to Thunderhooves, who simply nodded as he looked into the tribe's nightly bonfire. “I mean, not only is he the clumsiest pony I've ever seen, he just can't win anything. You know, I think the only good thing that's ever happened to him was when he got hired to be a rodeo clown. And I'm pretty sure he got that because of those three little fillies he talks about from time to time.” Thuderhooves continued staring into the fire, clearly deep in thought, clearly. “Like, he's a nice guy and all. Doesn't deserve all that bad luck. I guess he really is unlucky. Like, after that loosing ticket, he somehow managed to not only break the floor, but the doors and even that awful noise-maker they call a honky-tonk! And it was the darnedest thing too...” Thuderhooves' eyes closed a moment, and he slowly lowered his head, then jerked it up suddenly. It was clear to Big Hoof that the chief had thought deeply about it and must have come to a revelation. However, he wasn't done talking just yet, “So, the floor broke, and somehow this crack snaked along the ground until it hit that thing, and wouldn't you know it? It just so happened that just under the building there was a long shaft right where that thing sat! Fell right into it, and out of sight. Luckily for the pony playing it he saw it coming and jumped out of the way, but figured the odds, right?” Thunderhooves had completely closed his eyes and his face was now resting on the ground. Big Hoof was impressed. He'd never seen his chief in such deep contemplation before! He nodded his head. He knew telling the chief every single detail of his day in Appleloosa was a good idea. He was glad he thought of it. “So, I really feel bad for the guy, ya know? I kinda want to help him, but I have no idea how. What do you think Chief?”  He asked, looking at him as he rolled over to the side, snoring loudly. Huh. Did he fall asleep? “Chief? Chieeeef! CHIEF!” he cried.

Thunderhooves eyes shot open with a start, and he rolled over onto his hooves. “Huh? Uh, oh, sure. Yes. Let's do that.” he said, blinking rapidly and shaking his head. “Wait, what were we talking about?”

Big Hoof put a hoof to his chin in thought, and swished his tail back and forth a little, “Do you think my father could help?” he asked, looking to the sky.

“Huh? Uh, sure? Yes, go ask him.” Thunderhooves nodded, all too happy to have Big Hoof go talk another buffalo's ear off for a while.

“Great! I'll go do that. Thanks Chief, you're the best!” Big Hoof smiled as he stood up and walked off.

Thunderhooves blinked a few times. “What was that all about?”


*****


Normally, buffalo don't have much  to do with those who practice 'medicine', and by 'medicine' they usually mean buffalo that read bones, smoke, etc. This tribe, however, was a little different. Well, kinda. What happened was that many, many, many, many, many moons ago, Big Hoof's father's father's father's father's father wondered into the herd and more or less attached himself to it. Ever since that day, Big Hoof's family had been reading fortunes, predicting the future, and giving 'blessings' to the buffalo of the tribe. None of the other buffalo put any stock into these things, but they're too polite to say anything. Plus, his family pulls their own weight, so having them around doesn't really hurt anything. That, and they also make great storytellers, so at least they keep the young calves entertained.

To Big Hoof however, all of it was very real. After all, the curse that his family carried of only producing a single male each generation still held true (save that one little incident a couple of generations ago, but they don't talk about that)! So, it was with great eagerness, and a hint of pride, that he entered into his father's tent to ask his advice.

“Hey dad!” he shouted from the entrance, surprising the poor bull.

“AH!” he cried, dropping a potion he was working on, directly into a pile of bones that then scattered all over the tent. They both froze. They both knew better then to disturb the bones until they had stopped moving. They both stood, frozen, watching and waiting until the last little bone had finally come to a rest. Then, slowly, carefully, and standing on his rear hooves, he turned to look at Big Hoof. “Son, read the bones. What do they say?” he asked. He was getting on in years, and often took opportunities like this to help prepare his son to fill his role one day.

Big Hoof looked around. There was a bone on his bed, near where his neck lies. Another bone was lodged in the ceiling, near the hole where the smoke escapes through. Two had manged to land on his father's forehooves, and another had planted itself in the hair on his forehead. Finally, one more had managed to land in the center of the tent, and was still rapidly spinning.

“Okay, I got this dad! Let's see… the bone on your head means that yo-” he started with a grin.

“THE ORDER! You have to read them in order!” his father corrected (sounding slightly crazed, like perhaps he was missing a few screws).

“Oh! Right! Sorry about that!” he looked at them again. This was always the trickiest part. He looked them over again, and noticed that one was missing. “Hey, dad, where's the,” he paused as he considered 'the order' he had to read them in, “second?” he ventured, at which his father nodded his head very gently, “I'm getting the hang of this! But yeah, where's the second one?”

The old bull narrowed his eyes in thought. “Ah!” he said. “Look behind me, in the potion I was making. It may have landed there!”

Big Hoof made his way across the tent, careful to not disturb the bone that was still spinning in the center of it. As he peaked around his father, he saw that, sure enough, the 'second' bone was sitting in the bottle that his dad had been using for the potion. He then thought hard about what it all meant. He looked to his father. “Okay, so, if I got this right, the first bone is the one on my bed, and the second is the one … on your head!” He said, sure of his answer.

“Good! Keep going!” he father smiled.

“Okay, so, the third and forth are the ones on your hooves, right?” he was a little unsure if they counted as one or two.

“Just the third, this time! Remember, sometimes many bones can be one bone, and one bone can be many bones!” he said, his eyes looking slightly crazy (though that was perfectly normal for him, so Big Hoof thought nothing of it).

“Gotcha! Okay, so the forth is … the potion! Then the fifth is the spinning one, and the last is the one near the smoke hole.” he said, looking up.

“HA! That's my boy!” his father declared proudly. “Good, good. Now, what does it all mean?”

“Hum.” he looked down at the spinning bone as he took a seat. “So, I'm gonna say something. Then, you're gonna get an idea from what I tell you, right?” his father nodded. “Okay, then you're gonna make something. Uh, a … potion! You're gonna make a potion! And that potion’s gonna do something really fast.” he paused as he looked at the spinning bone. “No, it's gonna make make something happen really fast. Something that normally takes a long time. Like YEARS!” he gasped as he thought of that. “And then,” he looked up, “That's gonna cause something to … escape? No...” he paused, hard in thought as his father's eyes grew larger and larger as he eagerly waited to hear his son say what came last. “Set … FREE! THAT'S IT! It'll set something free!” he declared.

“THAT'S MY BOY!” his father cried, throwing his forelegs around his son in glowing pride (and sending the little bones on his forehooves flying). “I knew you could do it! I'm so very proud of you my boy!” he grinned, looking somewhat silly with a large bone still poking out of his forehead. “So, what are you here to tell me?” he asked as he let him go.

Big Hoof beamed with joy. He was getting better at this. “So, I have this friend, named Trouble Shoes. He's got to be the unluckiest pony I've ever met. He's a really nice guy, but things just keep going wrong! I wanna help him out, ya know? But I can't think of anything.” he looked and scuffed the floor with a hoof.

“Hum.” His father cocked his head and flicked his tail as he looked up in thought, “What was the last good thing to happen to him?”

“Well, he became a rodeo clown after those three little ponies help him out.” Big Hoof mused.

“Nothing before or after?” he asked, his face getting rather close (which, again, was completely normal for him).

“Well, his job's going alright. Likes it plenty. But nothing else besides that.” he shrugged.

“I see...” his father sat back and thought. “Then I think to change your poor friend's luck, we'll need those little ponies. And I think I have an idea how to do that...” he turned and looked at the bottle. “Yes. Some distilled luck should do the trick. Though the little ones will have to give it to him. But how?”

“Oh! I have an idea dad!” Big Hoof hopped up excitedly. “What if we have them give him a winning lotto ticket?” he beamed.

“Well, we'll need a ticket, as well as a few other things.” he nodded. “Yes, this should work. Son,” he pointed a hoof at the entrance, “go and get a ticket, I'll get to work making a potion of luck. When you get back, I should be done. If that's the case, then-”

“We dip the ticket into the potion?” Big Hoof asked.

His father shook his head. “What? Are you insane?! No! We put the ticket on the ground then pour the potion on top of it!” he shook his head. “Kids these days...”

“Why are we gonna do that?” Big Hoof asked, his head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“You said we have them give him a winning ticket, yes?” his father said, one eyebrow rising higher was most likely healthy. Big Hoof nodded his head rather vigorously. “And do you think simply dipping the ticket will do the trick?” Big Hoof put a (rather small, since all four of them were rather small) hoof to his chin. “No! Of course it won't! So we have to MAKE it a winning ticket!” he nearly shrieked hysterically (of course, this too was normal, but it still made their neighbor's skin crawl whenever they heard it, like right now).

“But, won't pouring the whole potion on it be too much? I mean, what happens if they touch it?” Big Hoof looked at his father worriedly.

“Huh? What?” His father looked at him confused. “What are you talking about? I've been doing this longer then you've been born! So stop givin' me lip boy and got get us a ticket! And with any luck left over, this will hopefully put an end to your friend's woes!!”

“Sure thing dad!” Big Hoof gave him a salute, and bolted out of the door. 



*****


“Well that didn't work!” Scootaloo said, trying yet again to remove tree sap from her feathers. The small river not far from Ponyville in which they were trying to clean themselves was not quite doing the job.

“How did we even get covered in tree sap?! We were making snow clouds!” Sweetie Belle squeaked.

“I dun know, but I reckon it had somethin' to do with that bottle of pancake mix we threw in.” Applebloom thought out loud.

“Well, I think it's safe to say we're not gonna get our cutie marks in blizzard making.” she said dejectedly.

“Well shoot, I was sure it was gonna work...” Applebloom hung her head.

“Perhaps we needed to add more applesauce?” Sweetie Belle ventured.

“I doubt it,” Scootaloo responded, “we did add thirty jars.”

“Well, now that's busted, whatta we gonna do now?” Applebloom asked, looking between the two of them.

“Anypony know where we can find five hundred buckets of tar?” Scootaloo said with a 'I have a plan' grin.

“Letter for Applebloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle!” A voice shouted from behind them, causing all three of them to jump.

“A letter?” they said, looking up at the bank. There stood a stallion in a blue uniform.

“Yep. Uh, where do you want me to put it?” he asked, looking at the three rather wet fillies.

“Just over there.” Applebloom said, pointing a hoof at where their stuff was lying on the ground (comprising mostly of Scootaloo's scooter, helmet, and Applebloom's ribbon).

“Sure thing!” he saluted. He placed a small envelope on top of the scooter, then left.

“A letter?” Scootaloo stretched her neck to get a better look at it from the water.

“Who do you think it's from?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“No idea. But I'm gonna take a look, since I'm the cleanest an' all.” Applebloom said as she got out of the river, and shook herself dry. She walked over to the pile, picked up the letter, and eyed it strangely. “It doesn't say. It's just got out names on it.”

“That's weird.” Scootaloo said as she tried to clean one of her pinions.

“Think we should throw it away?” Sweetie Belle asked, a bit nervously as he tried to squeeze some sap out of her tail.

“No way!” Scootaloo turned to look at her. “A letter from a mystery pony? This had adventure written all over it!” 

“Or even our cutie marks!” Applebloom exclaimed, suddenly all too happy to open it. She grabbed it with her teeth and a forehoof, and ripped it open. She turned it upside down and shook it a little. Out fell what looked like a short letter, and a small ticket. “Huh?” Applebloom was rather confused.

“What is it?” Scootaloo asked excitedly, now abandoning the water, and her attempts to further clean the sap off her. Sweetie Belle followed right behind her.

“Looks like a letter, and somethin' else.” Applebloom raised an eyebrow as she picked up the letter. She looked at it, cleared her throat, and read what it said. “Applebloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle. Your friend Trouble Shoes is having a bad day. Get this lotto ticket to him, and that will change.”

“A lotto ticket?” Scootaloo raised an eyebrow.

“Oh! I know what that is!” Sweetie Belle said. “You buy one and scratch off the numbers on it, and everyday, at 6, ponies who like to play pull out this little crystal ball, and look in to it.”

“A crystal ball?” Scootaloo looked at Sweetie Belle.

“Yep.” she nodded. “It shows the numbers that won that day! And if you win, you get a life-time supply of bits!” she said rather proudly.

“Wow Sweetie Belle. How'd you know all that?” Applebloom asked, her face a bit surprised.

“Oh, that's easy. Rarity buys them all the time! She usually buys like, 6 or 7 of them.” she shrugged.

“6 or 7?!” the other two looked at her even more surprised.

“Yep. 6 or 7. Everyday.” she nodded.

“Wow. Has she ever won?” Scootaloo asked.

“If she did, I don't think she'd be workin'! She'd live in some kinda gemstone palace or somethin' like that!” Applebloom said, her eyes becoming dreamy and distant. 

“A gemstone palace...” Scootaloo said, her own eyes drifting off into the distance.

Sweetie Belle cleared her throat. “Yeah, that's not gonna happen. Rarity's never won, not even once. No pony wins that thing. That's kinda the point.” She said. “Anyway, we gotta get this thing to Trouble Shoes, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, you're right.” Applebloom nodded. “It'll be good to see him again. It's been awhile. Wonder how he's doin' these days...”


*****


Terrible. Simply Terrible. Well, okay, not THAT bad. After all, he did have a job he liked. But, that's about as far as that went. His house was still a wreck, his luck still sour, and his life still lonely. Though at least there were a few ponies that were warming up to him. Most of them were his fellow clowns, but there was the odd pony or two were fairly nice to him. Like Sheriff Silverstar. After nearly arresting him close to twenty times, the two of them have struck up something of a friendship, if not a little bit of friendly rivalry. Though most of that was Trouble running and Silverstar chasing. But at least at this point Silverstar was smiling rather then yelling (well, okay, he was still yelling, but it was in good fun).

It was during one of these chases that the three fillies found him. He nearly ran them over, but thankfully somehow managed to trip on a caterpillar that was slowly making its way across the ground (it was uninjured). He flew through the air over their heads, then crashed into the side of a large horse-drawn carriage that was then sent flying into the side of a nearby building that then collapsed into another mysterious chasm below it.

All five ponies simply stood there and watched as yet another large hole opened up into the earth, and swallowed the poor building on top of it.

“Sorry about that...” Shoes said, looking at Silverstar, who sighed and hung his head.

“An't your fault Trouble Shoes, again.” he shook his head. “Well, I'd say that's the sign. I'll see you tomorrow.” he picked his head up again, tipped his hat, and walked off.

“What in tarnation is he talkin' about?” Applebloom looked at Shoes.

“That's how my visits to town usually end. Some building gets sucked into a giant hole in the ground, and so we take it that means we've had enough fun for one day.” he shrugged.

“Wait, are you saying that's NORMAL?” Scootaloo's eyes went wide.

“Nowadays it is.” Shoes shrugged yet again.

“Wow. You really ARE bad luck!” she said, her eyes going even wider.

She let out a painful yelp as her two friends both elbowed her ribs. “Don't listen to her Trouble Shoes!” Sweetie Belle smiled.

“Yeah! You an't bad luck! Just, uh, a little clumsy!” Applebloom smiled.

Trouble Shoes looked at the three of them for a moment, then cracked a smile. “Sure is good to see the three of ya again. What brings ya to Appleloosa?”

“We're actually looking for you!” Scootaloo said.

“Really?” Shoes said, a bit surprised and pleased as well.

“Yep. We're selling lotto tickets, and figured you'd like one!” Scootaloo smiled.

“You're selling lotto tickets?” Shoes raised an eyebrow.

“Yep!” Sweetie Belle grinned.

Shoes thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? Don't make much difference either way.” The three of them beamed at each other. “How much you sellin' them for?”

Then the three of them froze. They had forgot to figure out a price. 

“300 bits!” Applebloom shouted.

“What? No way! There's no way he can afford that!” Sweetie Belle shouted at her.

“How do you know?! He's a rodeo clown now, he might be rich!” Applebloom shot back.

“Not likely!” Scootaloo said, getting jabbed yet again by the other two.

“Uh, could you give us a moment?” Sweetie Belle smiled awkwardly as she grabbed her two friends and turned around.

“300 bits?! Are you insane?” Scootaloo shouted quietly.

“Well, I don't know how much these things cost!” Applebloom shot back.

“Usually around 3 or 5 bits.” Sweetie Belle said calmly. Both looked at her for a moment. “What? I told you, Rarity picks these things up all the time.”

“Okay, so 3 or 4 bits. Which do you think it should be?” she asked.

“How about three and a half?” Scootaloo asked.

“Can you do half a bit?” Applebloom raised an eyebrow and looked up.

“I don't think so...” Sweete Belle shook her head.

“How about three bits and a hug?” Shoes answered.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good dea-WOAH!” Applebloom started to say when all three of them jumped back from Shoes, who had simply walked into and joined their huddle.

“Deal?” he asked.

The three fillies looked between each other and shrugged. “Deal.” Applebloom said, holding out a hoof towards Scootaloo. The little pegasus pulled out the ticket, hoofed it to Sweetie Belle, who then hoofed it to Applebloom, who then hoofed it to Trouble Shoes. 

Trouble looked at it for a moment, then hoofed a bit to each of the fillies. “There ya go. Three bits. One for each of ya.” he smiled.

“Are you gonna scratch it?!” Sweetie Belle asked excitedly.

Shoes laughed. “I was gonna ask for those hugs first, but sure. Got a bit I could borrow? I just ran out.”

The three fillies rolled their eyes, and each offered their bits. Shoes grabbed the closest one (Applebloom's) and scratched away. Normally, he liked to scratch each number individually. This time however, he did all three at once (wait, three?).

Thus, was he surprised when, rather then numbers, he saw their faces on it instead. “What? What is this!? You little fillies tryin' ta cheat me?” he said, suddenly a little irritated.

“Huh? Whatta talkin' about?” Applebloom asked, quite surprised.

“This an't no lotto ticket! This just has your faces on it!” he waved it in the air.

“What?” All three said in surprise.

“That don't make no sense!” Applebloom said, looking to the other two. Scootaloo then looked at Sweetie Belle, and Applebloom followed suit.

“What?” she said defensively.

“Did you know about this?” Scootaloo accused her.

“No!” she squeaked.

“Are you sure? You did know an awful lot about these here ticket things...” Applebloom's eyes narrowed.

“Just because I know how it works, doesn’t mean I did anything to it!” she shot back.

“Well how did our faces end up on a ticket then?” Scootaloo said, still accusing poor Sweetie Belle.

“I don't know!” she shot her an angry look.

“Girls! Calm down. Let's figure this out.” She said, motioning for them to join her in a huddle.

Trouble Shoes looked at them with a raised eyebrow. He guessed that they were either putting on a really good act, or they really didn't know what was going on. He shook his head and looked down at the ticket. Oh well, might as well finish scratching that nasty stuff off. If nothing else, it'll be a nice reminder he can frame and put on his wall (behind a steel cage).

As he removed the last fleck of nasty, the ticket suddenly glowed, catching Shoes completely by surprise. The three girls turned around to see what all the fuss was about when suddenly, they were surrounded by a bright light. The bright ball that was the three girls hovered in the air, amidst their decelerations of surprise (which were drowned out by the sounds of powerful magic filling the air). 

Shoes watched, his jaw hanging, as the ball began to spin at speeds that would have even the fastest of tornadoes feel dizzy (oh, and let's not forget the magical lightning!). The air was filled with a building crescendo of crackling, popping, and even the odd explosion as the orb grew brighter and brighter. Finally, it was too much to look at and Shoes had to turn his head and cover his eyes.

Then, all at once, all was still.

He hesitated a moment, afraid to look and see what had become of his little friends. Then he turned and removed his foreleg to see what fate had befallen the poor, hapless fillies.

Before him, slowly descending to the ground, were three beautiful mares.

His jaw dropped to the ground (literally, since, you know, he's a cartoon horse and he can do that). S-Scootaloo? Applebloom? Sweetie Belle?! “Wha-wha...” he was so dumbfounded that he couldn’t even speak. 

They were so pretty.

As the three of them touched down they looked between each other. “I feel weird.” Scootaloo said with a deeper voice, looking at her now much longer legs.

“Me too...” Applebloom said, stumbling slightly.

“W-what happened?” Sweetie Belle asked wide-eyed as she looked at herself then her friends.

“I don't know. Trouble Shoes, are yo-” Applebloom looked up at him then stopped. The other two paused as well, then looked at him as well.

He hadn't changed. At least, as far as the rest of the world was concerned. For these three fillies however, he had changed quite a lot. Not longer was he the massive bumbling giant they knew him as. No, now he was gorgeous. For some reason, he looked so much more different then before. He was no longer just a pony, he was a stallion!

The three of them stood there, transfixed, with their eyes all staring at him. He suddenly felt a little nervous, having them stare at him like that. They weren't saying anything. Just staring at him (granted, the staring would have been mutual, but Shoes was outnumbered 3:1, so that kinda broke his revere). “Uh, girls?” he said quite hesitantly.

“So handsome...” one muttered.

“So strong...” another whispered.

“I really like his mane...” a third said quietly.

At this point, Trouble simply didn't have a clue what to do. On the one hoof, he wanted to shake them to knock them out of it, on the other, he did kinda liked that look they were giving him. He shook his head. No! They only looked like mares! They were still little fillies, and this must be a trick! It would be just his luck too. He walked up to them, amid their gazes of awe-turning-into-admiration, and shook all three of them.

That did little to change the looks on their faces.

“Uh, help!” he cried, turning around to look back at the crowd that had begun to assemble.

“What's the problem?” Sheriff Silverstar said as he made his way through. “Oh my,” he paused as he caught sight of the three mares, “Pardon me ladies.” he cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. “So, uh, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, a bit more formal and with his chest puffed out.

“Well, I got this here ticket from these little fillies here...” Shoes pointed at the three of them.

“Son, those an't no fillies, I can tell ya that!” he said, his voice clearly full of admiration.

“They are! They gave me this ticket here, and after I scratched it, they suddenly turned into that! It's gotta be a trick or somethin'!” he said waving the ticket in the air.

“Well, I don't know much about magic, but I'd wager somepony in this here crowd does.” Silverstar looked around, and then pointed. “You there, Doctor! What do you think?”

The unicorn that he had pointed at shook her head. “I don't know exactly what happened, but I can tell ya that I can sense some mighty powerful magic. And it an't no trick magic, I can tell ya that much!” she shook her head again.

“Then what is it?” Silverstar asked.

She looked at them carefully. Her eyes closed and her horn glowed softly. “I'm not a scientist, but I knew a filly that was. I'd say that this here is time magic. That or...” she paused and her face scrunched in thought. “An aging spell.”

“WHAT?” all three mares replied, now looking at her.

She took a step back in surprise. “I-uh, yeah. An aging spell. An't many ponies that can do that. Last I heard the last one who could do that died a long time ago!”

“Can we undo it?” Applebloom asked.

“Unless you can find who did it, 'fraid not. On the plus side, you'll be like that all the longer for it.” she shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Well, I reckon, iffin you were fillies, you'll stay the age you are now longer then most ponies. I suppose you'll just get to be young and pretty longer then most.” she shrugged.

“Well, that's not all that bad...” Scootaloo said.

“I guess not...” Applebloom said quietly to her hoof (she had brought it to her mouth for thinking).

“Does that mean we have to get jobs now?” Sweetie Belle asked. The other two laughed. “I'm serious!” she almost squeaked.

“Well, I don't know about that. But you ladies are welcome to stay here in Appleloosa for as long as you like as far as I'm concerned.” Star said with a gentle-stallionly bow. “Now if there an't nothin' else to see, git on now! An't no need to be blockin' the street!” he made some waving motions with his hooves, and the crowd dispersed (rather reluctantly truth be told).

“Well, now what?” Scootaloo asked.

“Uh, maybe we should head home. Maybe Princess Twilight might be able to help us out.” Applebloom suggested.

“Good idea!” Sweetie Belle said. “Although I sure hope Rarity doesn't see me like this. She'd probably yell at me or something.”

“Uh, can I still get that hug?” Shoes asked. While he may have mixed feelings about this whole thing, he still wanted that hug.

The three of them looked between each other, then smiled. “Sure.” Applebloom said.


As the four of them hugged, they felt a little something none of them had felt before. They weren't sure what it was, but it sure felt nice. “You know?” Applebloom said, “How do y'all feel about takin' the long way home?” The four them looked between each other, then nodded.

And they did.

The End