Changing Lives

by Eakin

Two Steps Forward

TWO STEPS FORWARD

Right, so where was I?

The corner of the final page of Aunt Wind’s journal is more or less pitch black with the ink I’ve let drip from the tip of my quill, which is patiently waiting for me to make up my mind as to what to write next. It doesn’t really make sense that this page would be different than any other page, especially with the other, currently blank journal that arrived from Canterlot the other day waiting for me in a nearby drawer. Aunt Wind’s doing as well, I’d assume. It would be nice if I could end the book with some variation on ...and then I realized that I’d actually made some itty little bit of progress towards not completely bucking up my life at every possible turn. Go out on a high note.

That rules out writing about Kicky, I suppose. Those pages mostly end with ...and then she slammed the door in my face and continued giving me the silent treatment. The first couple times she pulled that I spent a couple pages ranting about how unfair she was being. The more I think about it, though, the more I’m starting to think it hurts so much more because she’s not actually being unfair at all.

There’s work, but that’s pretty blah. Blossom’s been scarce, which hasn’t really helped me on attacking the problems between her and Kicky from that end. I don’t think Aunt Wind needs to read about me doing paperwork. Whatever my big breakthrough is supposed to be, I don’t think it takes the form of ...and then, having attained a transcendental understanding of airborne particulate limits vis a vis residential-zoned breeze formation and the notarized forms certifying Ponyville’s conformance to acceptable parameters, I found inner peace.

I could write about my mother. Those pages don’t really have endings, because to get to the point where I’d need one I’d have to know where to start first.

The quill ends up dropped back into my inkwell and the cover of my journal snaps shut without making any real progress on any of it. Transcendental or not, I actually do need to review the Weather Bureau’s guidelines on particulate limits before tomorrow’s windstorm we’ll be blowing in from the west. With my luck, the Mayor ends up looking just the wrong way at just the wrong time, and demands that I be personally called to account for the grain of sand that ends up in her eye. It’s been that kind of week.

Before I can, though, I need to undo a particular quirk of Rainbow Dash’s filing system. Specifically, how any pile of papers with a binding occasionally end up routed to the bookiest place she can think of; Twilight Sparkle’s library. Our guidance manual disappeared three days ago, which means it’s probably been card catalogued to within an inch of its life by now. So it’s a detour I’m not really in the mood to take of what’s in theory one of my days off, but I also can’t think of anything better to do this afternoon so away I go. At least having a leisurely glide through town on the way goes by pleasantly enough that it can’t be a total waste of a trip.

The pony leaning against the far wall of the library idly tossing a softball to herself as I walk in isn’t the mare I expect to see. “Azalea?”

“Cloudy?” She looks just as surprised to run into me.

After the initial surprise fades, I figure out pretty quickly that she’s got a more obvious reason to be here than I do. “I’m not interrupting anything special between you and Twilight right now, am I?”

She lets out a long, weary sigh that sounds like it’s been building for a while. “Nope. I wish you were.”

“Hey, I enjoy a good show as much as the next pony, but I didn’t realize you two were into the voyeurism thing.”

“Not like that,” she says. She catches her ball one last time and plants it firmly on a corner of the oaken floor. “I came by thinking she might like to go out to the park and toss a ball around, blow off some steam since she’s finally done with all the magic work she and that that Star Twirl guy were working on. Maybe dust off that baseball bat up on her wall while we’re at it.”

“Sounds like a nice afternoon.”

“I thought so. She said she’d be up in five minutes.”

I shrug. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Azalea shakes her head. “That was an hour and a half ago.”

“So... where is she?”

She gestures over towards an out-of-the-way door and starts trotting over to it. “It would probably faster to just show you.” Curiosity piqued, I follow her over to the door and down the flight of stairs behind it. I had no idea the town library even had a basement, much what looks like some sort of crazy mad science lab, with extra mad. Several countertops, each one partially obscured by stacks of paper along with what I can only assume are some sort of odd magical experiments at various stages of completion. “I have to say, Az,” I say as I pause to study a diagram that could just as plausibly chart the migratory patterns of some local honey bees or give instructions for reattaching severed limbs to an unconscious animal depending on how I squint at it, “your fillyfriend is more than a little bit creeee....” The sound catches in my throat as my eyes continue down to another part of the room, initially obscured by some papers that weren’t actually caught in a random crossbreeze but rather suspended in a field of unicorn magic, where a familiar purple figure is hunched over a desk scratching her quill away at the paper in front of her. “Creeeeee.....aaaaaaaative?”

“Don’t worry,” says Azalea, wings ruffling with irritation as Twilight continues to write... whatever it is she’s writing. “Hi hon, are you about ready? It’s been more than five minutes.”

“Uh huh. Which wouldn’t make any sense, even given the sophistication of their design. You’d still be constrained by the base metal’s capacity to channel that sort of energy. The only way the math would work is if it’s a new alloy entirely, but Luna never mentioned... using...”

When she’s gone a few more seconds after trailing off into silence, I glance over at Azalea. “Did I miss something?”

Instead of answering me, Azalea’s eyes harden into a glare. “Cloud Kicker is here.”

“Mmhmm. Nopony credible would ever publish these in this state. If Star Swirl was seeing effects of these magnitudes the p-values at this sample size should have been way better than zero-point-thirty-eight. Where did I put that page... with...” An unseen drawer springs open and her magic swaps some of the papers on the desk with others from inside before it shuts again just as quickly.

“I thought maybe I’d take her upstairs and have sex with her on your bed.”

“That’s nice. Did I miss something in the geometry of the gem carvings? If I’m postulating an interaction with dimensionally shifted leylines there’s got to be some... not having a focus wouldn’t...”

“Unbelievable,” says Azalea, stomping a hoof and turning back towards the stairs.

“If it helps, I’m absolutely a hundred percent onboard with the Twilight’s bed thing.”

“It doesn’t help.” She lets out a very long sigh. “The sad thing is that I knew this was what I was getting into. She pulled a stunt like this on our first date.”

“Does it happen a lot?” I shuffle forward a bit so I can glance over Twilight’s shoulder at what she’s writing. I can’t make heads or tails of any of it, and if Twilight notices my presence she doesn’t even flick an ear in acknowledgement. “I’m not a relationship expert, but that seems like it should be a warning sign for... well, something.”

“I don’t know what to think about it,” Azalea sits on the floor next to a wastebasket full of discarded rags and crumpled pieces of paper, her shoulders slumped. “Spike told me once that if you leave plates of food and pitchers of coffee near her, she can stay like this for entire days at a time.”

I study the back of Twilight’s head for a moment, while she crumples up one page of notes into another ball and flings it behind her without so much as a glance back. I only just pull my face away in time as it whips past me and drops perfectly into the basket Azalea’s seated next to. “And you’re okay with this?”

“Do you think I shouldn’t be? She’s passionate about things. Some of those things are pretty out there, I’ll admit, but...” she sighs again, but this time a dreamy smile spreads over her face afterwards. “It’s not like it’s coming from a selfish place. If I shook her out of it right now and told her she’s been blowing me off, she’d be more upset about it than I am. And sometimes she’s thinking this hard about me and how we can be happy together. That feels really good after, well, everything.”

I raise an eyebrow at the word choice. “Does she know about everything?”

Instead of answering, Azalea bites her lip. She glances around the basement just to confirm there’s not anypony else down here other than the three of us, though I guess the third is debatable. “TwilightIusedtobeachangelingandonlymovedheretspyonyou.” She winces and squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for whatever comes next.

“Okay. So then how does the crown enter into it? It still seems reasonable to assume some sort of control mechanism, but it would have to be capable of receiving... which implies a degree of hierarchy...”

Slowly but surely, one of Azalea’s eyes begins to reopen. When Twilight lapses back into silence, the other follows suit. “Well, glad that’s done.” She turns and breaks into a full gallop towards the stairs before finding enough restraint to slow to a quick canter.

“Az, that doesn’t count,” I call after her. Since she shows no sign of stopping all I can do is follow her back up to the library’s main room. When I do catch up to her she’s sitting near one of the bookcases, staring at nothing and trembling all over. “You have to tell her for real.”

“I know,” she says, “maybe in a couple of days. You saw how busy she is; it’ll keep.”

“Sure. Right up until it won’t.” That doesn’t sway her, or even get her to look at me. “My gut tells me that nothing’s going to go wrong when she finds out.”

“You don’t know that.” She spins around and presses herself right up against my chest, wings flared and face so close I can feel bits of her spittle hitting my cheek. “You don’t. You can’t. After what you did to Kicky and Blossom maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to decide what’s the right way to tell somepony about this sort of thing, don’t you think? This is all scary for me and I try to do it anyway because of course I know she deserves the truth, but I have to do it right. Things have to be right when I tell her. Because if I get this wrong... I can’t even think about what that would mean.” Once that’s out there between us Azalea shrinks back away from me, diminished. Her eyes occasionally dart away to focus on nothing in particular, chasing figments of her imagination. “You know what? Let’s take a walk. I was going to spend this afternoon with Twilight, but that’s clearly not going to happen. So let’s go meet some other friends instead.”

She doesn’t wait for my answer before she’s marching away again for the front door. I glance back at the basement wondering if it’s worth calling down to Twilight that we’re leaving, but I’m not even sure she knows we were here in the first place. “Wait up!” A few flaps of my wings give me enough speed to land right by her side and match her pace, which is quicker than usual as the library fades into the distance. It’s only when we turn a corner a few streets away that she slows down to a more reasonable pace. “So who are we meeting?” I ask, proving that Azalea isn’t the only pony here with a sore spot she doesn’t want to talk about.

“Scootaloo’s having lunch over at Reuben’s,” she begins, “she’s meeting with... well, there’s somepony who showed up a couple of days ago at my doorstep and needed a place to stay. I know things didn’t end that well the last time you saw her, but cut her a bit of extra slack, okay? She’s had a harder transition than most of us...” she trails off as two stallions pass us, chatting to one another, “...you know.”

It doesn’t take me all that long to run down the list of possible ponies she might be talking about. “Wait, Bon Bon? Other Bon Bon?”

“Sweetie Drops. Do not call her Bon Bon.”

I slow for a couple paces, letting Azalea get a bit ahead of me. From what I remember of that night at the bar, Sweetie Drops didn’t have anything against me in particular. That doesn’t excuse the way she treated everypony else that night, though. Not by a long shot. “Twilight’s okay with you shacking up with another mare?”

“We aren’t ‘shacking up,’ she’s using my guest room. But I haven’t told Twilight. That conversation would lead into... other things I haven’t told Twilight. So when I’ve been seeing her, it’s mostly at the library.”

“And you don’t think she’s going to notice that?” Even as I ask, I’m flashing right back to the mare in the basement we just left. “Nevermind.”

“Yeah, I think I’m probably in the clear. It’s a risk, but it’s one that’s worth taking.” We round the corner and spot the back of Scootaloo’s head. Azalea stops short. “This was supposed to be a nice lunch, and she brings her?”

I assume that she means that other mare at the table next to Scootaloo, giggling at some comment the young filly must have just made. We restart our walk over to the table and I study her, trying to place where I know her from. When she glances over in our direction, a little spark of excitement and recognition appears in her eyes too. She shifts her head and lets her orange, rail-straight bangs obscure her view for a few paces, but then tosses them back and returns my look with full force. And what a promising look it is! That’s a look that could lead to all kinds of fun and exciting places, if I can just remember this mare’s name. It’s driving me to distraction.

An awful lot of distraction considering I completely miss noticing the chicken seated across the table until it starts squawking it’s head off.

The mare glances over to Scootaloo, who turns around and waves when she sees us. “Yes, I know it isn’t,” she says to Elizabeak as we approach close enough to hear.

“Buck buck bu-squawk!”

“No. Look, even if she were trying to pass as Kicky, I don’t think it would be to sow mistrust between us and engineering a chain of murderous betrayals to slowly eliminate us one by one, only revealing her grand plan as she strikes the coup de grace on the last survivor.”

“Bwawk?”

“No plan. You’re just projecting.”

“Squawk!”

“Maybe she has a point, Scoots,” says the other mare, “I’d say Cloudy’s earned a turn being the replacer instead of the replaced.” The mare gets up from her seat, showing off the same cream-white coat as Bon Bon has and even the same triplet of wrapped candies for a cutie mark. That’s right about where the similarities end, though. That mane must have taken an entire apothecary's worth of products to wrangle its natural bounciness under control. Bon Bon’s always had a little bit of extra pudge on her, a professional hazard of spending so much of her time within easy reach of sugary treats. Whatever physique she may have inherited, I certainly can’t say Sweetie Drops still has that same padding. It’s all been melted away, and going by the way I can count her ribs when she turns her side to face me she didn’t stop there. “Didn’t think you were going to make it, Azalea. Great to see you again, Cloudy.”

“Twilight’s busy. Hope you don’t mind being plan B.” She gives Elizabeak another glance. “I thought it was just going to be two of you.”

“I figured as long as I’m here, the more the merrier, right?” Sweetie Drops takes a sip of her iced tea. “And now that you and Cloud are here, it’s practically like we’ve got the whole crew back together again. Heck, Azalea’s even reporting in on Twilight’s whereabouts! Just like old times. Speaking of, how is our sixth holding up these days? Is he still keeping a low profile?”

The corner of Scootaloo’s eye twitches, just a hint of a snarl appearing on her face. “That pony is doing just fine, because nopony who lives here is careless enough to go around dropping potentially identifying personal details.”

If her anger is meant to make Sweetie Drops feel chided or ashamed, it doesn’t work. “What, because I said ‘he’ in front of somepony who’s not in on the details? Cloud’s basically inner circle as far as I’m concerned; we all owe her one as far as I’m concerned.”

That makes me blink a couple of times. “Me? Why would I be ‘inner circle?’”

Sweetie Drops nudges her chair over towards me, close enough to lean in and drape a foreleg over my shoulder. “Don’t be modest. You’ve gone above and beyond to save the lives of every pony at this table, and we’re all grateful for it. Some of us are very grateful.”

“Squawk!”

A flash of irritation appears on Sweetie Drops face as she leans away from me to glare at Elizabeak. “I did say every pony, didn’t I? If you’re going to be obnoxious about it, maybe I should consider her not going out of her way to save your life another point in her favor anyway.”

“Play nice, both of you,” says Scootaloo. I'm sure she's doing her best to give a withering stare at both of them, but it doesn't have the full effect coming from a grade-school filly. she drops it anyway as a waiter appears to take Azalea and my orders, going quiet until he’s out of earshot again.

“So last I heard you were in Canterlot, right?” I ask. “What brings you back to Ponyville?”

Sweetie Drops wraps a foreleg across her chest to idly rub her other shoulder. “Canterlot didn’t work out. Neither did Las Pegasus, actually. So I'm passing through on my way to Baltimare. There’s a cooking school there looking for somepony to teach confectionaries. The Bureau set me up with a provisional position there for the next semester.”

The other ponies are nodding along, so I guess I have to be the one to ask. “Sorry, who set it up for you?”

Azalea chuckles at my confusion. “I guess we did kind of forget that you weren’t Kicky for a second there. After the invasion attempt, Canterlot threw together a bunch of ponies from different parts of the government to come up with a way to fold us into society. Presto, the Bug Betterment Bureau was born.”

“Bug Betterment... that’s what they called it?” I ask.

Scootaloo shakes her head. “I think the official name is something like the Committee for Integration of... wait, was it integration or immigration?”

“I thought it was ‘Development Opportunity’ something,” says Sweetie Drops.

“That’s later. After the ‘Growth and Renewal’ part,” interjects Azalea

“Anyway,” says Scootaloo, “the point is that what they came up with was dumb, so the nickname stuck instead. Ponies in a nutshell: great at mercy, terrible at naming stuff.”

Sweetie Drops scoffs, though quietly enough that I don’t think it’s for any of our benefit. “Some of them aren’t all that great at mercy, either.”

“Squawk.”

“You’re just mad that you don’t qualify for any of the benefits.”

“Wait, hold on,” I say, holding up a hoof to forestall whatever bickering is about to develop between Scootaloo and Elizabeak, “how have I never heard of this? They must have done some kind of outreach if you girls all found out about it.”

“Oh, they did,” says Scootaloo, “or rather she did. Kind of a one-mare effort.”

“Huh?”

“Luna,” say Azalea and Sweetie Drops in tandem. After a glance at Sweetie Drops and a nod in return, Azalea continues. “The nightmares right after were bad. I was right in the middle of one of them where everypony in town had just found out what I used to be.” She shudders. “Long story short, they’d just cornered me in a dead end, and there she was. One sweep of her wings and they all poofed away, and it was just us while she told me what kind of services I’d be eligible for, and what would be expected of me in return.”

“Me too, same nightmare even,” says Sweetie Drops. “She must have some way to key into exactly that scenario. Maybe she’s even the one giving it to us in the first place.”

“Right,” says Azalea, with sarcasm dripping from her voice. The waiter reappears with our meals. Interesting as this all is, it’s not enough to completely distract me from the prospect of sugar beets and bell peppers slathered in stone-ground mustard on a fresh bun. Sweetie Drops gets an even more immense sandwich than mine, which is already big enough that I’m not sure I can manage it in one sitting, and she doesn’t wait for the waiter to put down the little bowl of corn kernels in front of Elizabeak before she starts ripping into it with gusto. “The Princess must have put that into all our heads, because it isn’t something we were already worrying about.”

Sweetie Drops holds up a hoof to buy enough time to swallow a mouthful before responding. “Just saying, it’s an awfully convenient carrot-and-stick setup for her pitch. Nice new pony body you’ve got there, what a shame it’d be if it were horribly murdered.”

“Well, I told her to go buck herself,” says Scootaloo, who’s ordered some sort of soy nugget meal off the foal’s menu. “No consequences as far as I can tell. Not even any snide comments when I eventually did go to them after I accepted that there wasn’t any way back into the hive.”

“Squawk!”

“Sure, Liz,” says Scootaloo, “I’m sure the only reason she didn’t show up for you is because she was quivering in that royal jewelry of hers that you’d be too terrible an opponent for her to manage. The chicken thing had nothing to do with it.”

“Okay, so they help you out here and there, I get that,” I say. “What did you say Luna wanted in return, though?”

“Not a lot,” says Sweetie Drops, wiping away a bit of sauce from her chin. “Basically the same laws everypony else follows. No special oath of fealty to the crown or anything. A few ponies who we absolutely can’t keep our pasts from, and a couple of questions about what we knew about things like changeling outposts near pony towns. Mostly out of date by now, but I know at least some of them got pushed back.”

I try not to look over at Azalea, but fail resoundingly. “What sort of ponies did they make you promise to tell?”

She looks right back. “Not the one you’re wondering about. If I were married to her it would be different, but the Princesses aren’t interested in meddling in my dating life.”

Scootaloo catches the looks passing between us. “Still haven’t told Twilight then?”

Azalea sighs, scrunching up her face for a second before releasing the tension with a long exhale. “No, I haven’t told her.”

“Good,” says Sweetie Drops. “Don’t.”

“What do you mean, don’t?” I ask.

“Which part of it do you not understand? Azalea has a good thing going, and you just want her to throw it away? The guilt will fade, trust me.”

“I told you it’s not that simple,” says Azalea. I gulp down another bit of sandwich, with the growing feeling that this isn’t the beginning of this argument between the two of them. “For the sake of argument, let’s say I could even get away with it without Twilight Sparkle, probably the smartest and most voraciously inquisitive pony I’ve ever met, figuring it out. What about my old friends? What about my family? They don’t even know I’m alive. I want to see them again.”

Sweetie Drops shakes her head. “You might think you do, but you don’t. What you have with Twilight here is real and what you think you’ll have with your family is a figment of your imagination. Want to know what happens if you ever see them again? You get to watch them look at you and wonder what this cheap copy of their real daughter is, and what it’s doing here talking to them. They’ll even twist the knife and be polite about it, and of course they’ll never actually say anything, but they’ll know you aren’t the one they want and you’ll know that they know. And if you throw away Twilight for that you’ll know what it feels like to be really, truly alone.”

Azalea listens with a look of utter terror spreading over her face as Sweetie Drops speaks. “Even if they did, I won't feel right unless I try.”

“Because they’re a part of you, right?” ask Sweetie Drops. She waits for Azalea to nod in confirmation. “Well then that part of you isn't compatible with the life you want, and it has to go. You aren't hanging on to the important parts of your other past, so you know you can pick and choose. Just cut it off.” Azalea’s mouth moves like she wants to respond, but instead of speaking words all she can do is tremble.

“Okay, I think this little chat has gone far enough,” says Scootaloo, both hooves planted on the table.

“Well gee, sorry I actually care enough about Azalea to warn her that her pipe dream could blow up in her face. Maybe the reason she’s scared is that a part of her knows that I’m right, and it's trying to keep her from making the biggest—”

“ENOUGH!” Scootaloo’s bellow silences not only Sweetie Drops mid-sentence, but a number of the other tables around us too. Even Elizabeak shies away from her glare. “You’ve made your point. If Twilight flips out and lights half the town on fire when she finds out, you’ll have earned the right to work an ‘I told her so’ into the eulogy. Satisfied? Anypony else feel the need to weigh in on how Azalea should handle her fillyfriend?”

“...squawk.”

A smile twitches at the corner of Scootaloo’s mouth, and a bit of the angry tension flows out of her posture as she leans back into her chair. “I don't think killing her is going to help, much less desecrating her corpse that way afterwards. Besides, I think Azalea’s more than satisfied getting to do that to the living Twilight on a more or less nightly basis.”

We return to our meals in silence for the next few minutes. After everypony’s had a chance to cool off, there are a couple of half-hearted stabs at making small talk. It’s tough to know just how much berth to give to the subject of Twilight, though, and they mostly fizzle out. It turns out to be Scootaloo's description of a recent trip into the Everfree she took with Fluttershy that fills the rest of our time. The filly sounds outright enchanted with the place, if a little too eager to describe the effects of some of the more dangerous toxic plants while we’re trying to eat.

Begging off on paying for her meal on the grounds that pretty much all the bits she had left are already committed to her new place in Baltimare, Sweetie Drops mooches her meal off of Azalea and I before the three of us leave together. Wandering without much direction in the opposite direction, Sweetie Drops is the first one who addresses the tension between the three of us. “So I think I got a little bit carried away back there.”

“Really? You think?” snaps Azalea, not looking at her.

Sweetie Drops ears flop down against the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt too, and I think you’re setting yourself up for a lot more pain than you realize. I’ll drop it for good, though, if you’ve made your decision.” Azalea turns to look at her, opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it with a shake of her head and keeps walking. “Listen, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Twilight will be fine with it. I mean, she’s basically perfect, right?”

“No.”

Sweetie Drops’ ears perk up. “No what?”

“She isn’t perfect,” says Azalea, still not looking at either of us. “I get how she looks like she is from far away, and I fell for it too. Savior of Equestria and all that. I don’t mean just the eccentricities, either, though she’s certainly not lacking in that department. There are scars and some real darkness in her, so much of it that the first time I got even a glimpse of it I ran screaming.”

“And then came back later,” I say, trying to keep Az from slipping away into her memories of that episode entirely. I can’t see that improving anything.

“Because she’s worth it. And I know Scootaloo’s being facetious when she says she’d burn down half the town, but that potential is in her. She’d do that and a thousand times worse if you pushed her hard enough. Granted, ‘hard enough’ is beyond anything I can even conceive of, but still. And I think it’s starting to dawn on me that she’s giving me power over that. Me! I knew she could kill me a dozen different ways with her magic. Better than most ponies considering that it was just about a year ago when Chrysalis shoved a complete threat assessment on her straight into my mind. Then we started dating, and when we broke up I found out she didn’t need magic to destroy me at all. A couple nasty remarks about how easily she could replace me could work just as well. And what if that’s reciprocal? She cares about me, seems to think I’m actually pretty great. It took me a while to actually believe that, but now that I do it’s all gotten scarier in some ways.”

“Really,” says Sweetie Drops. I think she’s actually trying not to come across as skeptical or sarcastic, she’s just bad at it.

“When I tell her, and I am going to tell her, it has to be the right way. I’ve been on the other side of what it can feel like to hurt somepony with something like that, and I won’t be the kind of pony who’s careless enough to let that happen. If for some reason I actually did want to hurt her, I can’t imagine a much better way than just dumping that information on her and not being able to explain it in some way that answers all the questions she’s going to have.”

“That’s true,” I say, jumping into her developing monologue. “So don’t start with telling her. Get some practice first so you’ll know what to say.”

Azalea scoffs. “Practice on who? You’re going to pretend to be Twilight?”

“Cloudy roleplaying as Twilight, huh?” says Sweetie Drops. She tilts her head to the side for a moment, goofy grin on her face. “That could be kinda hot, actually.”

“See? Ringing endorsement from Sweetie Drops, so it must be a good idea.”

Azalea looks back and forth between the two of us on either side of her. “Maybe... maybe if I tell another pony who isn’t Twilight, that would work too? That might be easier to manage.”

“Whoa now, I don’t think—” Sweetie Drops’ objection is cut short when she catches the glare I’m giving her over Azalea’s back. “Who were you thinking of telling?”

“Probably Blossomforth, she reacted pretty well to Kicky.” Sweetie Drops just scoffs. “I mean at first, before all the other baggage came up. And I’d probably tell... um...”

She goes silent, and something passes between her and Sweetie Drops. “...Oh. Them.”

“Yeah. If you’re okay with that. Are you?”

Sweetie Drops throws her head back and laughs like that’s the funniest question she’s ever heard. “Why would I care what you tell Lyra or Bon Bon? I’m just sorry I won’t be there to see the look on their faces. I’ll be busy with... I’m going to be pretty busy.”

“I’ll take care of everything,” I say as Sweetie Drops flounders. Fortunately, Azalea doesn’t seem interested in pressing the question of just what’s so important that she won’t be able to be there. “We can invite everypony over at my place and tell them there. Come on over early and we’ll set things up however you want to.”

Azalea smiles. “Thanks, Cloudy, I think I can do that.” She glances up from the conversation, spending a moment getting her bearings. “I think I’m going to go back to the library, actually. Maybe if Twilight’s ready to come up for air we can still have a nice afternoon together after all, and I think having a plan for telling her eventually will take a load off my mind.”

“Or you could tell her now and skip all those other steps.”

Azalea shakes her head. “Nope. Plan’s good. Twilight would want me to stick to it if she knew. Wouldn’t want to let a good plan go to waste. Want to come over with me? Come to think of it, what were you even coming over for in the first place?”

I smack a hoof into my forehead. I completely forgot that I was going to grab that weather manual we’re going to need. The responsible thing to do would be to pick it up so that Rainbow or Blossom don’t have to.

“If you’re heading back towards your place instead,” says Sweetie Drops, tossing a sheet of her mane over her shoulder and cocking her head a bit as she winks, “I’m heading back to Az’s house myself. Wouldn’t mind having somepony walking me there since it’s on the way.” The responsible thing looks a whole lot less enticing in comparison.

“It’s not really on the... way...” Azalea trails off, looking from Sweetie Drops to me for a moment, then back again before she lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “Nevermind. If I do end up spending the night at the library I might not see you before I head to market tomorrow morning. Just don’t forget that you promised to do some cleaning up while you’re staying here. I don’t need to get stuck cleaning up your messes. Any of them.”

“Reading you loud and clear. Cloud, shall we?” She turns around with a little extra vigor and flick of her tail, looking back expectantly.

“Have fun with Twilight,” I say as the two of us trot off together.

Nothing really needs to be said, but Sweetie Drops speaks up anyway. “I’m glad Azalea has you here looking out for her. I know we don’t see eye to eye on the Twilight thing, but at least you’re the sort of mare who gets it.”

“Gets what?” I ask. I guess we can hold off on the flirty banter for a few more minutes, although that’s one of my favorite parts of this. Actually, most parts of it can qualify as my favorite part. I’m just a true connoisseur in that regard.

“The whole ‘family and old friends’ thing she’s working through,” says Sweetie Drops. “I’ve been there. You feel like you have to care about what they think. Like you owe it to them, or you expect that they owe it back to you. Even the Bureau buys into it. They have pamphlets with tips on how to reintroduce yourself to other ponies and everything. Then when it all goes south it’s somehow your fault. She deserves better than to have to go through all that, she just doesn’t realize what she’s in for.”

I frown. It’s a pretty dark way of looking at things, but then again I don’t have a major changeling complex like she does. Okay, I don’t have the same kind of changeling complex at she does, at least. “Help me out here, because I still don’t see what it is that I ‘get’ that everypony else doesn’t.”

“It’s not obvious? You get that you don’t have to care about anypony you don’t want to. Nopony has the power to reach into your head and make you. For example, I’m sure some ponies get judgy about your reputation as being kind of loose, but you don’t let that slow you down, do you?”

“No, of course not, but that’s just talk. It’s not like it means anything.”

“Exactly,” says Sweetie Drops with a triumphant nod, “I think for some ponies, sleeping with somepony else comes with all sorts of expectations that don’t actually make sense. That’s why you have rules, isn’t it? Because ponies get attached when they shouldn’t, and from there it’s only a matter of time before they get hurt. That’s what Azalea’s doing; she’s getting attached when she shouldn’t.” She shakes her head. “They’re so quick to decide that one pony has to care about another one. I don’t think that’s a decision they get to make, no matter what the circumstances.”

I take a moment to process that. “You’ve seen Bon Bon’s family? When you were talking about what Azalea could expect from hers—”

“I don’t owe them anything,” says Sweetie Drops, cutting me off mid-sentence. “Everypony at the Bureau talks about it like ‘oh, how could you not care about them when you have so many memories of growing up with them,’ but there’s no reason for it to work that way just because those memories are there. At least I’m honest about it. I’m not some mare who’s telling a pony she’s the love of her life one day and trying to cave her skull in with a streetlamp the next.” She huffs, then sniffles a bit and wipes at her eyes. “Just like you and your family. I only know what Bon Bon knew and a couple details that Kicky’s shared, but you didn’t let them dictate anything to you. They tried to tell you how you should feel about the Guard, and you were smart enough to realize that you didn’t have to care just because they did. So obviously on some level you get where I’m coming from.”

I don’t respond for a couple of blocks, and Azalea’s house is coming up fast. It’s hard to articulate why she’s wrong, exactly, if she even is. Maybe I just want her to be. And when I open my mouth to try and formulate my objection, she takes the opportunity to press her own mouth onto it. Discussion time is clearly over.

Her tongue slips past mine and she reaches up to wrap her foreleg with my mane, refusing to break the kiss as she pulls and stumbles the rest of the way to Azalea’s front door. She gasps as her back smacks into it and I fumble for the doorknob. I keep trying to push it open, but she’s so eager to pull my hoof back down to her flanks it’s a constant battle. On my fourth try the latch catches. Sweetie Drops’ weight against the door flings it open and sends us both spilling into the house. Sweetie Drops comes out of the two-pony scrum on top, and pauses to savor the moment as her back legs kicks out to shut the door behind us. “I told you earlier that I appreciated everything you’ve done for us, didn’t I?” She shifts her weight and lifts me just far enough off the floor for my pinned wings to open up and wrap around her. “You’re about to find out just how appreciative I can be.”

As afternoon shifts into evening, and from there to sundown and even later into the night, I discover that she’s very appreciative indeed.

Comments

[A Joe in the Bush]

Oh hey, it's back.

I love Scootaloo and Elizabeak. They're interactions are the best.

[ThePonyBlues]

She lets out a long, weary sigh that songs like it’s been building for a while. “Nope. I wish you were.”

seems a little off key

next chapter weeeee!

[Wydril]

Oh my god, you're not dead!

[Jorb]

The prophecy told of this day...

[livinthelife]

Great insight there, Sweetie. Cloud is totally the most with it and together mare in Equestria.

[redpandapaw]

It's alive...

It's ALIVE!

[TheGreatEater]

Scootaloo and Elizabeak are awesome! And it's great to see this fic finally getting a few chapters.

7656529

I know! Isn't it great that he's still alive ..

[anonymous browser]

Well, not one but TWO updates after such a long pause, wow that's cool. I think I might re read the whole lot from scratch. I don't want to have forgotten something key from only a chapter ago and have these ones lose some impact as a result.

[Mocha Star]

Yay, it's back with a vengeance.

[Cursed Quill]

Minor error

squawking it’s head off.

its

[PoniacDeville]

So glad that this is back and is good as ever! Very excited to see the eventual conclusion here.

[DouglasG610]

Sixth? He? I can't even guess...

[arancaytar]

Specifically, how any pile of papers with a binding occasionally end up routed to the bookiest place she can think of; Twilight Sparkle’s library. Our guidance manual disappeared three days ago

I don't know the first thing about books. Pretty much all I can do is look at something and tell you if it's a book or not. This manual? Book.

[arancaytar]

An awful lot of distraction considering I completely miss noticing the chicken seated across the table until it starts squawking it’s head off.

The mare glances over to Scootaloo, who turns around and waves when she sees us.

Presto, the Bug Betterment Bureau was born.”

They originally considered the Conversion Bureau, but apparently that was taken.

They’ll even twist the knife and be polite about it, and of course they’ll never actually say anything, but they’ll know you aren’t the one they want and you’ll know that they know. And if you throw away Twilight for that you’ll know what it feels like to be really, truly alone.”

You're kind of an asshole, SD, you know that?

[tsaukpaetra]

Poor Sweetie, so jaded.