//------------------------------// // 11. Living on Love // Story: Buggy and the Beast // by Georg //------------------------------// Buggy and the Beast Living on Love Beets opened one eye and regarded the upside-down face of the changeling. It was both a testament to his growing familiarity of having a pony-sized bug in the apartment and his fatigue that the sight did not even raise his heart rate, although a quick glance at the clock from his inverted perspective did little to encourage any desire to crawl out from between the comforting covers. “It’s not even midnight,” grumbled Beets. “Wake me then.” “Up,” commanded the pesky pest. “I know it's your day off— well, night off. If I’m going to stay here any longer, I need you to do some things for me.” “Bye.” Beets rolled over and pulled the sheets over his head. “I’ll miss you. Not.” The world seemed to rotate ninety degrees as the Murphy bed lifted up into the closed position, which would not have been as bad if Beets’ tail had not been hanging over the edge when it closed. “Ow,” he muttered, feeling a little mushed and pinched. “I’m going to collect every scrap of cloth in this apartment,” sounded her voice, slightly muffled by the closed bed. “You're going to march it all down to the laundromat, wash it with real soap and a capful of your medicated shampoo to kill any bugs… I mean germs, and bring it back. While you’re gone, I'm cleaning everything the bedding touches, and I mean bed, cabinets, bathroom, and particularly that spider-infested pit you call a kitchen. You're going to get your bat-winged buddy to spray it down when I'm done and we’re going out for dinner afterwards while all of the spiders die! Do you understand?” “I want a divorce,” muttered Beets. “An annulment. A quit-claim. Maybe an exorcism.” “And after our dawn-dinner,” said the changeling with a particularly vindictive tone to her voice, “you have an appointment with Doctor Idiosyncrasy. Be a good little colt, and I'll let you take the elevator.” “Bitch,” grumbled Beets as the blood rushing to his head from his upside-down and squashed position was not making his temper any less. “And,” declared the changeling with great enthusiasm, “I’m paying for it.” * ♥ * “Insert two bits,” muttered Beets, trying to make sense of the industrial washing machine he had just stuffed his sheets into. “I did that. I’ve got the soap and fabric softener in, and a cap full of the medicated shampoo.” He checked the list the changeling had written out for him, grateful at least that she had not glued it onto his coat like he was some schoolcolt getting a letter from the teacher. One shove of the hoof later, the washing machine began to grumble away and Beets moved to the next machine. At least he did not have a lot of laundry, and some of it was easy to filter out before washing by dropping the more holey and changeling-seeming socks into the dirty laundromat trash can. Once he had all of the mindless mechanical minions chugging along, Beets settled down in one of the hard benches to wait out the results. Being shoved out the door meant he did not even have a cheap western or newspaper to amuse himself while waiting, but there was always the changeling detection spell which Special had been so determined he not practice. Boredom proved a better incentive than any amount of bits, and he had to admit a little curiosity to how much changeling magic had been used around town. After careful scrutiny of magical auras, he determined that the laundromat was very low on any changeling's list of places to cast mind-affecting magic, although a sleek nocturne pegasus who slipped in the door with a bundle of laundry gave him a rather curious look. “Hello there, handsome.” She squinted a little as she cocked her head to one side and looked Beets over from nose to tail. Her own tail was tied up in a tight pink bow, which made a shocking contrast with her soft grey coat and deep violet mane. There was even a hint of appreciation in her look which made Beets suddenly aware of his own gender and give a sudden snort of disdain. “What the heck do you think you're doing out of the apartment, dummy?” He lit up his horn again and let the changeling detection spell wash over the startled batwinged pegasus, only to stammer to a halt himself as the spell fizzled to an end with only a few dribs and drips of changeling magic detected. The nocturne mare recoiled almost all of the way out the door with a startled, “What the buck?” Her yellow eyes were open wide and very much not the annoying changeling’s, which was made only worse by a quiet sniffling and snort coming from the covered lump on the nocturne’s back. “Wait a minute, miss.” Beets started forward with one hoof held up, and quickly backtracked once he realized what he was doing. “I’m sorry I didn't mean to scare you and… is that a foal?” "I'm sorry," babbled the young mare, taking another step towards the door and escape. "I didn't mean to bother you." "I'm not… I mean you're not…" A stroke of genius or possibly incipient senility struck, and Beets continued, "I'm just doing laundry for my marefriend. I'm not even sure I'm using the machines right." "You've got a marefriend?" Although he had heard the words before, Beets had never actually heard regret in them, and the mare actually stopped retreating. She kept an eye on Beets while nuzzling the foal in the sidesaddle serving double duty as laundry basket, and once the annoying squalling had died down, turned back to him. "I'm sorry I yelled at you.” "Quite all right," said Beets. "Yell some more if you want. I deserve it for zapping you. They just taught us the changeling detection spell at work and I got carried away. You're not a changeling, by the way." "Really?" The disbelieving look on her face faded slightly and Beets still expected her to slip out the door until he left and the laundromat was empty again, but instead she seemed to be considering something, which eventually came out as a rapid, "Do you really know a spell for detecting changelings? And do you think you could cast it on the rat bastard who is sleeping on my couch and not going out to get a job?" Beets shook his head. "No, I'm pretty sure he's not a changeling. You didn't show many signs of changeling magic, and they leak onto whoever is around, so he's probably just… a jerk." That warranted a first on Beet Salad's account. She actually giggled at his weak attempt at humor, which did not blossom into a torrid love affair with love at first sight over the next hour at the laundromat, thankfully, but it did result in him loaning her ten bits for the washing machines and her assistance at unwinding and folding his sheets once the industrial dryer had gotten done twisting them into a giant knot. As they talked and folded, the cute little earth pony foal with the forgettable name happily toddled around the floor, trying constantly to get past their blockade of the laundromat door between attempts at eating bits of dryer lint. The time seemed to fly by until he left with the warm laundry on his back, waving goodbye to the young mare who was going back to just as annoying a houseguest as he was, only hers seemed determined to suck the life out of her bit pouch in addition to her love. Maybe changelings were not the worst type of parasite. His relative good mood lasted until he got home and Nectarine came darting out of the sky with a bag full of cans and the ruffled mane of a nocturne who had been practicing his favorite sport on his day off, most probably involving dirtying sheets instead of cleaning them. "Hey, Beets. Candy said you were looking for me. Something about spiders." After taking a deep breath and shaking his head, Beets said, "I don't know how you do it. All I have to do is mention something to a cute mare in town and it gets back to you before I could even walk home." "Cute mare?" Nectarine put his forehooves up on Beets' back and peered inside one of his ears. "I knew your bug was trouble. She ate your brain while I wasn't looking, didn't she? Oh, look. Your skull is full of little changeling eggs, just waiting to hatch. That explains a lot." "I don't think anything explains you, Nek." He opened the door with his magic and gestured his friend inside first, although once Beets looked around, he wondered if he had gotten into the wrong apartment instead. The air smelled of pine and bleach, and nearly every one of Beets' earthly possessions had been moved to one side of the room, leaving the kitchenette and bathroom looking almost naked by comparison. The changeling did not even look up when the front door opened, but was leaning around the corner into the kitchenette, waving a feather duster in her magic at the pile of kitchen objects sitting in the middle of the floor with little jabs and pokes. The two stallions stood side by side in the living room for a while, wondering about the thought processes of mares. Finally Nectarine spoke up, perhaps due to the knowledge that it was Beet Salad's apartment, not his, and the consequences would be something he could hide from. "So, why are you tickling the pots?" "I'm looking for a spider," hissed the changeling. Beets could see his friend's face light up, but before he could say anything, Nectarine stepped forward while digging around in his sidesaddle. "I was wondering why Candy said something about Beets looking for a spider. Normally he hates the little girls, but I brought over Arianie anyway so I could introduce you to her. If you're looking for a pet, you'll never find anything as loveable and as affectionate as a tarantula." The screaming started almost immediately. Beets sympathized, but as he was halfway out of the apartment door, his sympathy was limited. He held the door open after leaving, and true to his expectations, Nectarine was only a few steps behind him, still holding the hairy eight-legged monster in the flat of one hoof. "What was that?" he asked once the door was closed and normal conversation was possible again. "Did she scare you, my little fuzzy lump? You're just a little ball of adorableness, aren't you? Yes you are." "I told Candy I was looking to get rid of the spiders in the house, not add to them." Beets sighed as Nectarine continued to play with his gruesome little friend and the screaming from inside the apartment died down to short bursts of creative profanity. Several of the doors along the hallway opened and a few ponies actually poked their heads out to see what all the noise was about and Beets waved back to them with a quick explanation of, "One of my… friends was just a little startled by Nectarine's pet. She should be perfectly fine once she calms down." The sound of a lamp breaking inside his apartment made Beets wince, and he added, “It may take a while.” ~ ~ ~ ♥ ~ ~ ~ The restaurant was every bit as impressive inside as it was outside, making Beets feel very much like a lump of coal in the middle of a candy dish. The changeling had not spoken a word to him since their rather hurried departure from his apartment with Nectarine left behind to de-spider the premises with extreme prejudice. She had spoken to the cab driver in the universal language of bits, as well as the snooty pony outside the restaurant door, who had taken one look at her disguise and immediately became “Right this way, Miss Breeze” and “Our apologies for the wait, Miss Breeze” as well as “Your private booth, Miss Breeze.” “Miss Breeze certainly is a Very Important Pony,” grumbled Beets once the slender pony had excused himself, leaving the table bare of the important elements such as free breadsticks, menus, or even glasses of water. “Miss Breeze arranges for the mayor’s entertainment,” said the disguised changeling, looking like her sky-blue pegasus ponysona at the moment, only with her wings remaining fixed to the sides of her body without a single flick or stretch. “She is exceptionally good at getting discreet young mares for an evening or two, with no annoying aftershocks or little discussions with the press.” “I see.” Beet Salad looked around the booth, trying to figure out if there was some secret signal to getting a glass of water or even a menu. As it was after midnight, he had been surprised the restaurant had even been open, let alone the way they had just been able to walk in as if the bug owned the place, which upon further thinking, might have even been the case. The changeling was a world of surprises, just as different as a completely new pony every time he looked at her, although they all seemed to have the same acidic core. “Yes, I screwed him,” said the changeling. “He’s a fat slob with a cold heart, but he's got a lot of swing in this town. Little Breezy, the fake changeling queen, sucking up to the rich and powerful in order to grease the way for her little buggy drones.” "Sounds like a hard life." Beets ran a hoof across the mirror-like surface of the wooden table, which was probably worth more bits than he would see in a year. "Maybe you need a vacation. Get out of town. Travel the countryside. See the sights." "Catch a cold alone and die, you mean. The queen took all of the useful changelings with her to Canterlot, and left all of the rejects and freaks." "So all the big, bad changelings got their rumps whumped, and all of the nearsighted and frail bugs made out like bandits. Sounds like bugs and ponies are more alike than we realize." The rest of their late dinner went by without any more words being exchanged than absolutely necessary. The waiter recommended a spinach pasta dish with a Prench name, accompanied by Prench vegetables and Prench dessert, although Beets turned down the offer of a bottle of hard (and probably Prench) cider to go with the meal. In their present lightly-medicated state, he was unsure if the changeling should be drinking, but he was fairly certain if he started, he would not stop before the bottom of the bottle. Instead, he ordered grape soda water, which he had once heard was Fancy. It may have been Fancy, but it certainly was not Tasty. After a generally miserable time being had by all, the two of them slipped out of the restaurant. They left behind a pile of bits as cover, spread a few more to the bouncer at the front door to hail a cab, and then some more for the cab driver after the ride home. Nectarine had already departed, leaving behind the faint scent of chemicals and a short note, and thankfully taking his pet tarantula with him. Beets wondered if he would be interested in a bug trade. Ariane would at least stay in her terrarium and be less expensive to feed. "It's too late at night… I mean too early in the morning… How do you manage a night shift?" huffed the changeling. "The day's screwed around worse than a secretary." Beets shrugged. "On weekends, I go out drinking." "Screw you." The changeling dropped onto the Murphy bed with a creak of abused springs. "Even I'm not stupid enough to mix pills and booze. I’m starving. Why don't you pull out your guitar and serenade me for a while?" "Why don't you pull your head out of your plot and go screw yourself?" The changeling briefly lifted her tail before letting it sag down again, leaving it trail over the end of the bed as she let out a tired sigh. "Sorry. My ass hurts, I itch all over, and I'm just not used to this—" she waved one rear hoof around the apartment "—situation." "I'm sorry my palatial estate does not meet with your approval, Your Highness," said Beets as he plodded back to the bathroom. "Allow me to assuage your ass with a fine selection of recreational drugs. We have white pills with a blue end, and blue pills with a white end. Which would you like?" "I can’t decide which asshole I’ve got is more of a pain." The changeling remained sprawled out over the bed until Beets returned with a pill and a glass of water. "At least you're not as stupid as the stallions I normally—" "Screw for food," completed Beets. "Here's your pill." He held out his hoof with a pill on it, only to have the changeling recoil away as if it held a spider. "Hey, waiter! I ordered a white pill with a blue end on it. This one is clearly blue with a white end. Better," she added as Beets rotated the pill around. "I'm still not leaving a tip. The food at this place sucks worse than the frog restaurant." "I'm devastated," said Beets flatly. "My plans for running a buggy bed and breakfast are ruined." "More like a fat farm." The changeling regarded her sides, still covered in royal purple hoof polish. "I wasn't exactly the biggest mare in the office before. Now I'm going to look like a scrawny fashion model." Ignoring the bug's complaints, Beets browsed through his relatively small bookshelf in search of something he had not read several times already. He was trying to decide between a murder mystery which might give him some ideas on how to dispose of an unwanted houseguest and a spy novel where an army of Neighpon ninja turtles invaded Manehattan when the changeling tugged gently on his tail. "Look," she started with a bitter twist to her mouth and a certain reluctance to look Beets in the eyes. "I know we didn't start off on the right hoof. Or even the wrong hoof. And I don't want you to think I'm not grateful—" "Because you're not," said Beets, pulling out the selected book. "You changelings do all these terrible things to ponies and then vanish afterwards. You don't feel regret, because if you did, you wouldn't do it. The newspaper had stories on all of the cities your queen attacked over the years. Timbucktu. Minos. The Siege of Trot. Every time, Celestia kicks her plot and imprisons her somewhere. Every time she breaks out and goes on to attack another city. So don't think you're going to blink your big eyes and guilt me into singing for you." * ♥ * Beet Salad ran his hooves down the neck of the guitar and strummed a few chords. The loose tuning pegs were holding much better now, although the method by which the changeling had used to make them not slip was far more disgusting than he liked to think about. Changeling spit appeared to be the duct tape of the insect world, able to be formed into temporary shelters, hold prisoners, create traps, and repair musical instruments. If it came in various colors, the whole changeling hive could probably sustain its love requirements with purchased prostitutes by simply spitting into jars and selling the resulting disgusting product all over Equestria. "You've got a nice collection here," said the changeling as she leafed through Beet Salad's records. "A little jazz, a little rock, a whole giant pile of hayseeds with banjos, and one bagpipe quartet." She paused with the record half out of the sleeve. "Do I want to know?" “There’s a goat couple upstairs. Since the building used to be a warehouse, the walls and ceiling are fairly thick, but…” “So you play the record whenever they get a little frisky.” The changeling put the record back into the collection. “Kinky.” “More like useless. I think it encourages them. Did you find it yet, or—” “Got it.” The changeling removed a Dusty Withers album from its sleeve and placed it delicately on the record player before hobbling back over to the bed and collapsing on it with a deep sigh. “I’m exhausted. Go ahead.” “That’s not the deal.” Beets began strumming along as the first song started playing. “You wanted to hear me play so you can get a cheap meal off my emotions. In return, you have to sing for your supper. Nightingale up, or I put away the pick.” “I think I’d like it better if we kept you ponies in cocoons like we used to.” The changeling sulked as Beets strolled casually back into the kitchen and began to stick the guitar back on its pegs. “All right, all right. I’ll sing,” added the changeling. “Or just rub your hind legs together and chirp along with the chorus,” said Beets. “It’ll be the first time you’ve kept your legs together for a meal.” * ♥ * Three records later, Beets had to reluctantly admit the changeling had talent, along with a vocal range that would have stunned most opera singers. It was creepy to hear her sing along with the low tones of Henweigh Tweety one minute and the soprano of Cake Shrub the next, but she made every excuse imaginable to try to get him to join in. Finally, after what seemed like hours of playing along with his collection of tunes, the changeling took his guitar away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed with it. “I swear you’re a tough nut to crack, but I think I have a hammer to fit your head.” She strummed a few chords and readjusted the tuning pegs minutely before settling down into a country ballad. ♫ You sure gotta real nice cave, So don't take this the wrong way, from your lack of decorating taste, You've been alone too long Got no candles to help you read Or no mirror here to show my steed Do you know how bad a mounted bass Looks there on that wall? You need a mare around here, can't do it all by your self. To me it's painfully clear That you could use, a little help Someone to shriek at spiders Do the shopping, and call you dear Seems to me that you sure need a mare around here. ♫ (Parody of ‘You Need a Man Around Here’ by Brad Paisley) Beets sat and shook his head after the changeling finished strumming. “I have to admit, you’re good. So, are you full yet?” “Full. That’s a laugh.” The changeling floated Beets’ guitar back to him and flopped back down on the bed. “I’m a changeling. We’re always hungry, like some fat broad at the all-you-can-eat Chineighese buffet. I’ve got enough energy to get through a day or two, but I’m going to need to be plugged in and charged up sometime soon.” She lifted her tail and waved it. “Your brainy bug buddy seems fine,” said Beets, checking the clock. “Why don’t you find a nice healthy doctor to stable up with and bang his brains out for your daily dose like she does? Or even better, take a guitar out on the road and sing for your supper.” “In public?” The changeling swapped ends on the bed, giving a wide-eyed look at Beets with the end which he much preferred rather than the waving tail. “I’m a changeling, dummy. We hide from ponies, when we aren’t being dragged into their rooms and treated like a wounded dog.” “Speaking of treatments, we probably should get going.” Beets lifted up the guitar and went into the kitchen to put it away. “I’ve got my shrink appointment and you can have the bug banging doctor look up your plot.” “Do I detect some jealousy?” The changeling sat up in bed, all embarrassingly alert with only the absence of quivering feelers to make her look… No, there were a pair of fuzzy insectile feelers protruding over her head now, much as a moth might have. And they quivered. All the bugs in Equestria, and I get one with a sense of humor. Joy. “No,” snapped Beets. “I just… nevermind. If we leave now, we’ll have enough time to get breakfast at this little greasy spoon on the way.” “Already had breakfast,” said the changeling with a little burp as she switched to her pale blue pegasus form. “I could use a salad, though.” “I don’t think they have anything green other than the linoleum,” said Beets. “Well, let’s go somewhere else,” huffed the changeling. “I’ll buy. I still have a few bits left.” She dug around in the drawer next to the bed and pulled out a familiar bag in her teeth, which she then jingled once to weigh the contents. “That should do it, unless we go anywhere Fancy again.” “That’s my emergency bit bag,” said Beets. “What are you doing with it?” “Buying breakfast before your psych session.” She cast a set of mournful blue eyes at Beets, complete with trembling bottom lip. “The poor thing was just sitting in your sock drawer, feeling sorry for itself, so I thought we should take it out and show it a good time this morning.” * ♥ * “Good morning, Mister Beet Salad.” The short earth pony with the immensely thick glasses peered at Beets from over the top of them, her topaz eyes seeming to sparkle in the artificial lighting of the doctor’s waiting room. Idiosyncrasy looked slightly different than the last time Beets had seen her, from a small quirky smile at the corner of her lips to a pink bow tying her mane back. It took a little effort for Beet Salad to remember she was still a changeling, but it did not seem to be quite as important any more. “If you’ll come this way, we can get started.” “I swear everything is a sexual innuendo today,” grumbled Beets as he followed the disguised changeling psychologist down the hallway. “What is it with your kind — Gaah!” The white-coated changeling had flipped her tail up, exposing a very delicate portion of her anatomy before giggling and opening the door to the office. “I’m sorry, sir. Having Princess Cadence and Shining Armor as patients is making me a little… giddy.” “Sure it is,” said Beets with an exasperated huff. “You just flipped your tail to evoke an emotional response and see how living with a fellow bug is warping my mind.” “And what if I did?” Idiosyncrasy curled up on her chair and pulled out a familiar clipboard, which she held a pencil over while seemingly lost in concentration. “You’re supposed to be crawling into my brain to figure out why I’m so violent,” snapped Beets, “not trying to help your fellow bang bug get into my bed. Which she sleeps in. But not in that way.” Beets slumped in the couch and took a deep breath to continue, only to straighten up and cough. “Sheesh, Doc. What stinks?” “Alicorn pheromones.” Beets almost managed to hit the ceiling with the speed he left the couch. Once he had settled down on his perch on top of the bookshelf, he fixed the disguised doctor with a fierce glare and tried to think as many damaging emotions in her direction as possible. “You’re not going to tell me Princess Cadenza and Shining Armor have been…” He waved a hoof at the couch, which seemed somewhat oversized and possibly able to accommodate two, if a certain amount of contortion was applied. “No.” The changeling continued to scribble as Beets began to climb down the bookcase, although he stopped about halfway down to consider the changeling had not actually denied the accusation, but had merely refused to tell him. He deliberately climbed down the rest of the way and seated himself on the couch without saying a word and tried not to imagine any residual moisture under his flanks. The scratch, scratch, scratch of the pencil was the only noise filling the office as Beet Salad slumped in place, looking in all directions except for the changeling psychologist and her somewhat undersized disguise. Eventually the quiet got too much for him, as he assumed it would for her other patients, and he asked, “So, how many changelings are in Baltimare anyway.?” “Two.” “Hm…” Beets considered for a moment. “So that’s a ‘No, I’m not telling you’ I presume. It’s probably better if I don’t know. They’re probably scanning everypony they can get their hooves on, looking for changelings.” “They scanned my husband when he went to the bank,” said Idiosyncrasy. “He’s getting training from Prince Shining Armor tomorrow to learn the changeling detection spell, along with several hospital administrators. He said they already trained security at Town Hall, so Sultry won’t be able to go back to work.” “Wonderful.” Beets flung himself backwards on the couch. “Now I have an unemployed pest living in my home. Like having in-laws. She can’t even drop by the bank to pick up the money she owes me.” “You nursed her back to health, gave her a place to stay even knowing what she is, and loaned her money.” Idiosyncrasy made a mark on her clipboard. “You’re a terrible, terrible pony, Beet Salad. Next thing you’ll tell me is how you sing to her at night.” “Um…” Beets considered the doctor’s impassive expression. “Would that be bad? I mean not that I sing. To her. Or have her sing. That would be wrong. Right?” “Changelings use music as a mating signal,” said Idiosyncrasy, pausing and looking at the photos on the wall as if to recapture a memory. “It is a sign the changeling has sufficient love energy to survive a mating and the resulting pregnancy. The male will normally start by bursting into song in the vicinity of the potential mate, and then await a response. Sometimes the male will encourage the response by playing a musical instrument until the female is driven to respond, and eventually after a series of solos, the two of them draw near to each other and launch into a duet. It’s a very tender and intimate portion of our mating rituals.” Beets made a faint whining noise just barely within the hearing range of dogs and cats. Idiosyncrasy continued, “I can remember when Boney took me to the opera the first time.” She sniffed away a tear and briefly blew her nose on a tissue. “We almost had our duet right there in the opera house. It was so embarrassing.” This time Beets opened his mouth, trying to tell her to stop talking but unable to make a sound. “Of course since ponies and changelings are not fertile, we’ve never gone to the next step,” added the disguised changeling. “When a female changeling feels her eggs implant, she bursts out in an aria. Oh, it’s such a wonderful feeling. The whole hive just glows with released love.” “buck,” whispered Beet Salad. “But enough about me,” said the changeling, picking up her pencil again. “I know you’ve been going through a lot over the last few days. Have you had any unusual emotional outbursts which might preclude you returning to work tonight?” “Oh, buck.” Beets stared at the far wall. “Buck, buck, buck, BUCK!” * ♥ * “The market on the corner of Stallworth and Seventeenth, please.” The changeling who Beets was still trying to think of as Sultry Breeze settled back down on the cab cushion with a subtle wince and smiled to cover it. “So, ‘honey.’ How did your visit to the doctor go this morning?” “We… um… discussed the mating habits of insects,” said Beets, taking a quick look at the cabbie. He looked distracted and not listening to their conversation as they trotted along, but you never could tell. “I never knew the male bug started singing to attract a mate.” “Really?” The disguised changeling continued looking out the window of the cab as if there were nothing more interesting in the world than the sight of sleepy Baltimare ponies getting ready to start their day. “Yeah, really. Apparently if the bug wants to mate, he tries to convince the female bug to join in.” “You don’t say.” “And then if he gets the female bug to sing with him, they go make bug nookie.” “Really?” The disguised changeling sat and watched the scenery flow by until they were nearly at the destination. “By the way, honey. I’m leaving town in a few days.” “Yeah, you said so already,” said Beets. “Never to return.” “Good,” said Beets. “Ever.” “I suppose I’m not getting paid back, am I?” Beets sighed and looked out the window too. “It could be worse. Nectarine once had a mare clean out his bank account and take out a loan in his name before skipping town. He said it was still cheaper than hiring a hooker. As if he could ever afford to hire a hooker. Or needed one.” The changeling nodded and pulled a piece of paper out of her mane. “By the way, I kept the note Nectarine left. It’s a price sheet. Seems his cousin Candy is a prostitute. After I leave, you could have her over for a few days. Number seven seems to be reasonably affordable.” “What, I thought you would want me to have her over before you go so we could make it a goodbye threesome.” Beets’ suspicions about the cabbie eavesdropping were confirmed, as the stallion tripped over nothing in the street and kept trotting along, rotating his ears forward as if nothing had happened. “Look,” said the disguised changeling, leaning forward to put her mouth right up to Beet Salad’s ticklish ear. “In a couple of days, I really need to find a place to hide before… well, it’s embarrassing. I… Um… Moult. For a week. It makes me all helpless and… ugly. I’ve never done it outside of the hive and I really can’t do it at home because the elderly couple I stay with are very nosy and I have no idea what they’d do if they saw me all… naked.” “Why don’t you just go back home?” Beets eyed the disguised changeling, who was studying the floor of the cab as if the formula for eternal life were written on it. “You don’t want to go back there, do you?” “I’m small, weak and fragile,” said the changeling in his ear again. “As long as I bring back more love to the hive than I cost, I don’t get recycled into fertilizer. I barely got out of there the last time. The way I am now, they may just decide to harvest what little love I’ve got and throw out the husk.” “And I thought the beancounters at work were soulless abominations. You’re attempting to guilt me into sympathizing with you, right?” “Well…” The changeling looked away, remaining quiet until the cab had let them out and they were standing in the small parking lot of the market. Despite the early hour, shoppers were traveling in and out of the building with bags of groceries and squalling foals in tow. As long as they stayed next to each other in the parking lot, their conversation could be somewhat private, particularly when the changeling put her nose back into Beet Salad’s ear to continue talking. “I don’t want to owe you any more, but I can’t think of a way around this. I don’t know if I could make it all the way back to the hive, I can’t moult back in my place—” “Shut up and let’s get some groceries,” said Beets. “You can do whatever gross and disgusting thing you want at my place as long as Missus Spitonoikokýris doesn’t catch you and the rug stays clean.” “I’ll lay down some papers,” said the changeling. * ♥ * Other than food preferences, they didn’t exchange any more words until they had returned to the apartment with the groceries and closed the door. Only then did she add, “You know I’m just going to leave the moment I can.” “Yeah.” Beets placed the four bags of groceries down on his short kitchenette counter and started opening cabinet doors to put them away. “Nopony wants to be around me long. I’m used to it.” “Well, with an attitude like that, it’s no wonder.” The disguised changeling started pulling cans out of another bag with her hooves and putting them on the narrow sliver of counter remaining in a rather feeble attempt to help him, although after a few cans, she added, “There's always the cashier from the market. I know my emotions, and there was a whole lot of loving in her eyes. Not to mention her thighs. She just kept looking at you, breathing heavy, and batting her eyelashes like she wanted to take you for a ride.” “You, more likely. Petunia’s gay.” “Oh.” The ‘pegasus’ continued to pull cans out of the bag for him until the bag was empty and she was folding it up and putting it with the recycling. “You’re sure burning through your bits for me. I feel like a tick.” “I thought that’s pretty much what your kind do.” As much as she tried to hide it, the disguised changeling flinched before starting to pull groceries out of the second bag. “Yeah.” She nearly had the bag half-empty before she added, “I’ve never had anybody save my life before, though. I’m used to just scamming love.” “Won’t find much here.” This time she didn’t flinch, but snorted around the celery she was carrying and nearly inhaled a leaf. “Really? You want a hard place to find love, go hang around the city government for a while. Bunch of steaming narcissists in love with themselves, but more than happy to bend you over a desk if you lift your tail just a fraction.” She stole a quick glance at where Beets was floating vegetables into his icebox, getting only a shrug in return. “I didn’t vote for ‘em.” “You wouldn’t fit in with ‘em either. You’re like some weird mirror image of a politician.” “Thank you.” She folded up the second empty bag with a smirk. “No wonder your friend calls you Beast. You don’t even care when you’re insulted.” “I quit caring a long time ago.” Turning to put the bag into the recycling rack, the changeling slipped and nearly went down on one knee. Beets dropped the jar of pickles he was trying to fit into the ice box and bent down to look at the ankle she was favoring. “Are you okay?” As a response, the changeling beeped him on the nose with the ‘sprained’ hoof and grinned. “Liar. Never lie to an emotivore.” Sitting down on her rump, she held his cheeks in her forehooves and kissed him gently on the forehead. “You sure you don’t want a roll before I leave? It’s on the house.” He pulled away and picked up the jar of pickles from where it had rolled, deciding it would fit much better into the cabinets rather than the overstuffed ice box. “Don’t care if it’s free, ‘cause you’d just be screwing me to feed.” “Not that kind of on the house. I meant on top of the house. You know. With the weathervane.” She waggled one furry eyebrow. “You’ll never know what you’ve been missing unless you try.” “A long fall, an abrupt stop, and a broken neck.” “Party pooper.” “Yep.” They wordlessly worked through the third bag of groceries until the changeling turned and glared at him. “Look, I owe you.” He shrugged. “Write me a check.” “If you just wanted bits, you could have turned me into the guard.” “If I just wanted bits, I’d be a griffon.” There was a flare of green light lighting up Beets’ tiny kitchenette and when he turned to look, a smallish griffon hen looked back at him with her head cocked to one side. “So, is that it? You’ve got a taste for something a little more exotic?” Although her wings were still stuck at her sides, the disguised changeling brushed a feline tail up his flank and tried to run claws through his tangled mane while Beets shook his head. “Thought you said changing forms still hurt.” “It’s worth it.” Beets put a hoof on the exploring claw and fixed Buggy with his most serious glare. “Look, you crazy bug. I don’t want you getting hurt any more than you already are. Go to bed and change back to your normal shape. I’ll make some soup, we can read the paper, and go to bed, and not for sex.” “Oyster soup?” Buggy lowered her beak and cast the biggest, most mournful set of green eyes at him. He sighed and sat the can of oysters on the stove before continuing to put away the rest of the groceries. “Yea, I suppose, since you’re the one who wanted them in the first place. I’m having potato soup.” The kitchenette flared with green light again as the changeling shifted back into her normal form, still looking tattered and frayed where the shellac had begun to wear. She gave him a speculative look, which he ignored, and flicked a tail over his back, which he also ignored. “You’re a weird pony.” “Yeah,” he grunted while putting away the last bag of flour. “I know.” “And you liiiiike me,” the changeling added with a musical trill before prancing away into the other room. Beets did not reply, other than a brief grunt when he pulled the can opener out of a drawer and began to work on dinner.