Happiness Is What You Make Of It

by Nameless Narrator

25

“Alright, Greyscale. I may have found a hole in our plan,” says Tender Feather as we approach the manedressers’ the doctor told us about.

“Mmhm?” I still can’t speak over the muzzle made of mesh wiring holding my own stitched muzzle together. To be honest, I don't think it hampers my ability to communicate too much.

“I don’t know much about dyes, but I’m pretty sure they shouldn’t go onto freshly stitched wounds.”

“Mhmm,” I circle my foreleg around my muzzle, then rub my barrel.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. If we just leave your muzzle grey and dye the rest, it should good be enough for the time being, and when we can finish the rest, we will. You’re a smart pony.”

You’re a smart changeling for understanding me.

“Mhmm,” I tap on Feather’s side.

“Yeah, I’ll do the talking. Don’t worry.”

We enter the rather small shop accompanied by the clanking of a bell above the door. The main room is packed with variously coloured wigs, strands of mane or tail hair, bottles of shampoos and the desired dyes. Across the room from the entrance sits a counter with a small dark red earthpony mare with blond mane watching us. The final feature of this place is a closed door next to the counter leading further into the salon.

The mare just watches us as we approach.

“Umm, hello,” starts Feather, “A friend of mine recommended this place for a full-body makeover.”

The manedresser’s, if it’s her behind the counter and not just a store clerk, expression thaws, she jumps up, and walks around to shake both my and Feather’s hooves. I notice her cutie mark of a happy theatre mask.

“I always love when a word of mouth sends customers my way. Name’s Fresh Coat, what can I do for you?”

“My friend here needs to look different. A lot different.”

Fresh Coat circles around me, running a hoof through my mane, coat, and finally swishing my cropped tail around.

“Considering the muzzle, I suppose you need it quick,” she says, betraying she’s done this more than enough times for various ponies. The doctor sent us to a proper place, because a pony who can’t keep her mouth shut around ponies who need to disappear… disappears herself. Well, it’s not like I want to cause trouble. In fact, I want to stay out of trouble as much as I can. Maybe the ponies who mistook me for somepony else will get tired or think I’ve left Canterlot.

I nod.

Fresh Coat asks, “Both of you?”

“No, just him,” answers Feather, “Few guys mistook him for somepony else, and we need some time to figure out what to do about that.”

“Mmmmhm,” grins Fresh Coat, “Good one, but I’ve heard better. You should have come up with a more unique excuse, but that’s none of my business. Once you pay up, I’ve never heard about you or your story. Anyway, do you need the disguise to last?”

“As long as possible. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, and the more time we have the better.”

Fresh Coat waves a strand of my mane around.

“Then we can’t make any drastic changes which would cause contrast between the growing hair and the already dyed. Damn, you must be running from somepony vicious,” she adds after leaning to my muzzle and examining it.

“I suppose it would be pointless to try to persuade you that we aren’t in the wrong here, right?”

“Yep,” nods Fresh Coat, “The less I know the better,” she stops messing around with my hair, rushes towards one of many filled shelves, and returns with a bottle with its contents looking like light brown cream, “How about this one for the coat? Turning grey into light brown fading to faint pink should last around a month. As for mane.... mane mane mane...” she mutters, looking around again, “why not go for blond? Those aren’t exactly quiet colours, but nopony seeing you would think that it’s, well, you.”

Feather gives me a long, thoughtful look, and then nods.

“Not bad, actually. How about that, Greyscale?”

I shrug. Looks aren’t my speciality. If two mares think I wouldn’t pass as downright silly, then I should go for it. Especially when disguises are one’s job, and the other one’s life.

“Mhmm,” after pondering it, I follow my shrug with a nod.

“Waitwaitwaitwait,” Feather recalls something, “how about his muzzle? It won’t get infected, will it?”

“Oh no, don’t worry. The dyes are natural and magically treated. They actually promote the healing of skin and hair growth. I used those on patients with fresh scars and nopony has ever complained. Anything else?”

“No,” says Feather, “How long will it take?”

“From half an hour to an hour. Unless you need it REALLY quick, but that costs extra.”

“No, that’s alright. I’ll have the time to go grab my money. How much?”

“Hundred and twenty bits.”

“Ffffffffuuu- that’s a lot...”

“Silence isn’t cheap, and neither are the neutral dyes. Trust me, if your friend here was healthy, it would be half the price.”

Feather turns to me.

“Greyscale-”

“Mhmmhmm mmhm hmmhmm,” I try to say that we can go without the disguise and that I’ll just have to be more careful.

“-ah screw it, you earned more than that,” Feather shakes her head and points her hoof at Fresh Coat, “I’ll be back with the money within an hour. You can keep him here as security deposit.”

“Mhmmhm?”

“Of course,” Fresh Coat nods and pats my head, “Follow me to the back room and we’ll start creating your new visage. Unfortunately, I can’t do anything about the mesh muzzle. That’s gonna be a dead giveaway anyway.”

“Mmhmm...”

“Let us worry about that,” says Feather, “You just make sure Greyscale looks nothing like himself when I come back.”

“Don’t worry about that. I could make him look like a zebra if he wanted. Or maybe I’ll just do that if you’re not here with the money soon. Wink wink!” she exaggerates the words with actual winking with the subtlety of a rolling ox cart.

“Well, I know when to get lost,” chuckles Feather and leaves.

When the doorbell tolls and the store door shuts, Fresh Coat opens the one next to the counter, “Come on. Your overprotective friend took much of our time, and we have a lot to do.”

“Mhm.”

The back room is vastly different from the storefront, but also strangely similar. There are full-body mirrors scattered all over the walls, two turning chairs standing next to counters with shampoo and dye bottles, and a tub by the opposite wall into which Fresh Coat ushers me.

“Alright, just sit tight and let me do all the work.”

“Mhmm.”

As warm water starts to flow over me from a nozzle Fresh Coat holds in her mouth, I close my eyes and just breathe in and out.

“Don’t worry, most of the dyes are of my own making, some are even magical.”

“Mhmmam?”

“Hey, if you want a proof they work, I’m actually a zebra.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“Granted, the booty gives it away, so I can’t pretend to be a unicorn or a pegasus, but who am I to deny my blessings.”

“...”

“Not a chatty one, are you?”

“Mhmmm!”

“Oops, forgot about that for a moment. My bad, force of habit,” she pats my head, “Alright, let’s focus and make the work worth twice the price.”

I try to push myself out of the tub. I can’t make Feather go bankrupt!

“Mmmhm!”

“I’m not actually going to charge you more, calm down,” she pushes down against my back.

“Mmmm...”

“Fine, no more messing around, you panicky fellow.”

She doesn’t say anything more, only keeps humming.

***

A high-pitched toll makes me twitch.

“Hmh?” I realize I was kinda drifting off under Fresh Coat’s ministrations. She combined applying the dye with a massage everywhere aside from my muzzle. The real one, I mean. She took the mesh one off and very carefully dripped the dye all over my own, using paint brushes to gently apply it to the stitched areas before putting the one doctor gave me back on.

“Your friend is here. She’s early, are you in a hurry?”

I shake my head.

“Good. I don’t want to use the mane dryer. It’s better when the dyes naturally soak and dry. Just stand here like this and it should be done in ten to fifteen minutes.”

My legs are kinda wobbly, but I comply. Fresh Coat has been massaging me even after we were done in the tub, saying it was to give my new colours lasting value. Speaking of which, I look NOTHING like myself. She cropped my mane, made a short braid out of my tail, and I genuinely couldn’t recognize myself when I first looked into the mirror.

I CAN recognize myself now, which is good because I won’t get worried when I pass by any glass surface anymore. I mean, me invisible and a completely new pony in my reflection instead? I could forget for a moment and think I’m a vampony and somepony is following me. It’s a longshot, but I get confused sometimes.

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you already had another customer!” I hear Tender Feather entering the room, "What did you do with Greyscale?"

“Mhmmmhm mm mm!” I point to my muzzle over and over.

“I know, dummy,” she rolls her eyes.

“Mmmpf,” I wipe my forehead. Don’t scare me like that. On the other hoof, the disguise is sure to work now, since it somewhat fooled a changeling, and they have change in their name so they know what they’re doing.

Fresh Coat covers her mouth, chuckling.

“Alright, you’re all paid up, and I have an appointment lined up in twenty minutes. I don’t want my customers to see each other, so as soon as you’re dry, I’d like you to leave.”

“Oh, how come?”

“Well, I’ve had cases when two ponies who were hiding from each other came in succession. Some would say bad luck, I said a great time to implement a new privacy policy.”

“Alright, mind if I sit down?” asks Feather.

“The carpet, please. I don’t want hair on my announced client’s chairs.”

“Fiiine. We’ll just wait. Right, Greyscale?”

“Mhmm,” I nod.

“As you wish,” Fresh Coat shrugs and leaves, likely for the main counter.

Tender Feather sits down, looking straight at me.

“Mmmhm?”

“Just checking if she was worth the bits. I’d say yes, since you look like a totally different pony.”

I smile, and immediately stop when I feel sharp tugging all over my muzzle, “Mmmm...”

“Don’t be sad. The doc said the worst part will be over in few days. Anyway, what’s the plan now?”

A good question. It’s evening, and I’m exhausted from the morning beatdown. All I really want is to lie down and sleep, but staying in the same place Tracker and Strain found me isn’t a smart idea.

Come to think of it, Feather found me in the morning after returning super late from her shift and hasn’t slept since.

“Mm mmmh mmmm!”

Tender Feather frowns.

“Okay, this won’t do,” she rushes off to the main room and after a hushed conversation returns with a notepad and a pencil which she gives to me, “Here you go. Courtesy of Fresh Coat,” she lowers her voice, “For that price she should be rubbing my hooves and feeding me while we’re talking.”

“Mmmmh?”

Feather rolls her eyes and points at the notepad. Right. Right. Can’t understand. I take the pencil in my hooves and write.

’Feeding. Hungry?’

“I didn’t mean it. Granted, I could go for a meal, but we’ll sort that out later. I’m used to pulling all-nighters. Well, all-dayers in this case.”

I move in to nuzzle her neck, but she leans away.

“Don’t rub the dye off. As I said, we’ll have time for that before I go to work.”

That makes sense. Alright, what now?

’Move. Box.’

“Got any place in mind?”

I do, actually.

’Pizza shop. Warm wall. Smaller dumpster.’

“We’d lose some overhead cover like that, but the umbrella should still be fine, and if the place is warmer we could find some newspapers- actually if the doc doesn’t mind me paying up a bit later, I can go shop for some planks. We could build our own little place!”

I deeply doubt the guards would allow that. I’m sure there are some laws against building a new hous- shed in the streets. Although… parked carts are fine and we wouldn’t take much more space.

’Box first. Then see what we need.’

“That makes sense,” nods Feather… and yawns, “Whoa, where did that come from?” she yawns again, blinking out of sync, “I don’t feel too good all of a sudden.”

Ignoring her weak protests, I sit behind her and hug her.

In few short moments, I feel now familiar creeping cold slowly spreading through me. She must have been far more tired than she said. Oh well, few splatters of creamy dye are a low price for staving off hunger.

“Alright, enough, Greyscale,” says Feather after few minutes and stands up. My head spins for a moment, which sorts itself out after few deep breaths, “I think we should go if we’re to move the box and-” she yawns again, “-ah dammit!”

’Three hours sleep. I move box tomorrow.’

Feather gives me a weak smile.

“That’s exactly why you’re the smart one here.”

After an exchange of goodbyes with Fresh Coat, we leave. Rest is what both of us need.

***

When I wake up, the sky is already steel grey, which could mean anything, but the ponies I can see rushing around on their way to work when I peek out of my alley clearly convey it has to be late morning.

Okay, plans for today - move our ‘house’, visit the soup kitchen, and then wait for Feather here to show her where we’re going to live from now on.

My muzzle is itching like crazy, but I don’t feel the numb pain from yesterday anymore.

Mustn’t... scratch…

Aaaaaaa, it itches too much! I vote to bring back the numb pain.

Anyway, I mustn’t interfere with the doctor’s stitching.

My stomach grumbles.

Huuuh, food. I’ll have to sort food out somehow. I can’t just chew, can I?

When I try to open and close my muzzled mouth, I feel only slight tension, nothing exactly unpleasant.

Well, I can always give it a shot in the soup kitchen. The stew is more liquid than chewy bits.

Alright, don’t get distracted! Let’s move the box first.

Loading our living crate onto my back is a chore and takes time. Thankfully, Feather and I don’t have that much stuff. The blanket, the towels… Stitches in pieces.

Why did they have to rip Stitches’ head off? He couldn’t owe them money no matter what.

On the other hoof, I now know I’m completely fine aside from my muzzle. Didn’t the ponies who attacked me say something about broken ribs?

I poke my barrel while trying not to drop the full box. It doesn’t feel unusual in any way, and I can breathe with ease…

...and some wheeze. My muzzle is a bit stuffed. Oh well, it’s snowing so I can understand that.

Onwards to the pizza place!

Without breaks, I find the warmer alley and drop my cargo there. I need to wait few minutes pressed against the pizza shop’s wall while I dry the sweat out, and when I stop dripping I set our home up again.

Move the crate behind the dumpster - check.

Try pulling the lid out - check.

Hide Stitches’ bits under the blanket - check.

Done.

That didn’t take long.

Various bells and clocks toll from towers all over the place, signalling my shift in the soup kitchen will be starting soon. I do have enough time to get there if I hurry up. After patting Stitches’ separated head, I move out. My quick pace gets me there soon enough, and I slip past the line of waiting ponies through the side entrance.

Now I just have to wash my hooves, grab an apron, do my shift, and then tell Blizzard I won’t be able to work here anymore. I like this place, but if Strain and Tracker followed me before ambushing me I don’t want to give them a clue to my new visage.

I move behind the counter, take my place next to the vats, and unsteadily grab the ladle with my forelegs. Hmm, that’ll take some getting used to.

I plop the ladle into the vat-

“Hey hey hey hey hey, that’s for staff only!” I hear behind me. It’s Blizzard, first peeking her head through the kitchen door and then storming towards me. I take my mesh muzzle off, experimentally open and close my mouth, and say:

“Eets mee, mees Bleezerd.”

So, talking is only mildly unpleasant. Good to know.

Blizzard is examining me from all sides. The manedresser must have done a really great job, so I add:

“Greyscale, mem.”

Blizzard leans towards my muzzle and furrows her brows.

“Holy moly, Greyscale. Did an elephant sit on your face?”

“Nou, mem. Too ponees beet me up end-”

“EHM,” she nods to the waiting line of the homeless, leans to my ear, and whispers, “Not now, Greyscale. We’ll talk after your shift.”

I nod. My muzzle is healing up somewhat alright, and there are hungry ponies waiting for me to move my plot. On top of that, using the ladle with my hooves is going to slow down the process anyway.

It does. First few bowls take painstakingly long to fill, since I splatter the stew over the counter, but by my sixth or seventh I get back into my pace. The grumbling ponies waiting for me stop muttering in annoyance when the queue starts moving properly, and soon after I can enjoy my routine as if nothing bad happened yesterday.

Hours pass quickly, and with my shift ending in the early afternoon, my replacement comes in, takes his own apron, and I’m free for today. Usually, this is when Blizzard gives me a bowl of stew to eat, then packs a second one and sends me off home. This time, however, she’s waiting for me at the corner table in the kitchen.

“So, what happened?” she asks as I sit down.

“Umm, sum ponees tought det Ai owd dem monee end beet me up reely bed, den Fedder found a gud doktor woo deednt maind her paying for mee end fiksed mai muzzel, but he sed det Ai shud luk deeferent end Fedder paid for a meikover-”

“Wait, what? That’s a bit too much at once. Who or what is ‘fedder?’ No, first, do you owe somepony money? Physically attacking ponies in debt is illegal, attacking anypony I mean.”

I shake my head.

“Ai dont nou, Ai dont reemember borroweeng monee. Sum laydee geiv mee a beet becuz Ai smelld bed,” I remember something far more important than my broken muzzle, “End dey brouk Steeches...”

“Your plushie?”

“Dey reeped his hed off. He deednt do anyteeng-”

I squint at Blizzard’s hoof on my nose, her long fetlock hair tickling it. I do the smartest thing I can-

“Achoo!”

-which is sneezing.

My whole muzzle stings now.

“Ewww!” Blizzard leans away, looking at the mess of snot and blood now coating her underhoof. She wipes it off with her own apron, “Anyway, you should tell the guards, Greyscale.”

“Ai kant, mem. Steeches sed dey wud go after mee too. Hee sed gaards wudnt be mai frends enymore, end Ai laik Eklips end Grey Shrain end Peersing Heet beeing mai frends.”

Blizzard frowns and looks me straight in the eyes.

“I’m not one to shove my nose into other ponies’ lives, Greyscale, and you’re a bit… strange, but my best advice is to talk to the guards no matter what. Look, if some unknown ponies attacked you for no reason and bashed your muzzle in, which is what happened from the wounds I can easily see, they will find you again. Unfortunately for you, if movies are at least partially based on reality, then next time it won’t end with just a broken muzzle. Listen to me, and tell the guards.”

I hate to disappoint her, so instead of answering I just poke my chest.

“Ai luk deeferent nau so dey dont faind me.”

Blizzard shakes her head.

“You talk exactly the same, you are still helping me here, Celestia bless, and while the colours confused even me and I see you daily, I doubt they’ll be enough. Go tell the guards, Greyscale.”

I’m quiet for a while. She’s right. Not with the guards, but with me having to change my routine. I’ve been pondering this since the morning, but I guess nothing good lasts forever.

“Ail hev to stop workeeng heer. Aim soree.”

“Good.”

Uhh, what?

Blizzard catches my surprised look at her.

“That came out wrong, sorry. Look, Greyscale. You’ve been a blessing in a strange disguise. You helped me when I needed it, and I didn’t have to do any paperwork. Thanks to you, I now have a replacement ready without having to overwork anypony else here. If you need to leave, you can. I won’t be mad. In fact, I really should be thanking you for the few weeks.”

Phew, so I didn’t mess up so hard she was just waiting for me to leave and being too polite to kick me out. Now comes the hard part.

“Umm, ken Ai… ken Ai com heer to eet sumtaim? Ai meen not eech dey, but...” how not to offend her? “Uance a week?”

She raises her eyebrow.

“Too weeks?” I try to make myself look smaller and smaller the longer her silence lasts.

“Greyscale-”

“A month?” I give it a final shot. A warm meal once a month plus crusts and leftovers I can find isn’t THAT bad since it’s free.

“Greyscale!”

“Soree,” I lean backwards at her raised tone, “Ai nou. Nou werk, nou fud.”

She smacks the side of my head. Not painfully, but it gets my attention.

“Greyscale! This place helps the needy. Of course you can come here every day like each of the ponies waiting by the counter. I just won’t give you the leftovers you get now. One portion per day and you’ll have to stand in line like everypony else. If you decide to volunteer again at some point in the future, of course, we can talk.”

“Yor d best.”

“Don’t you dare start crying right now!”

I’m a strong pony! Strong ponies don’t cry when real awesome ponies are unexpectedly nice to them.

Wiping my totally not wet eyes, I nod.

“Good,” Blizzard nods, “I’ll go get you some stew. Do you want extra vegetables?”

I shake my head, pointing to my muzzle.

“I see. Well, I’ll get it ready and pack you some for later.”

“Tank yoo.”

***

It’s been three rather unlucky days since I stopped working in the soup kitchen. First, it’s snowing a lot again. Second, my muzzle still itches like crazy, although it doesn’t hurt anymore. And last, my job hunting hasn’t yielded any results yet.

The good part is that I don’t need to rummage through trash for food anymore since I keep coming for stew every day at different times so that I’m harder to track. Feather came up with that idea. He must be a pretty smart changeling to know everything about not getting caught. Anyway, I still look into bins from time to time just in case, but only the top and only after I’m done looking around and talking to ponies.

The last place I asked around told me where the upper Canterlot job office was. Unfortunately...

“I’m afraid we don’t have and opening for somepony with cleaning and food serving skills at the moment, mister Greyscale,” says the official lady at the Employment Office, “If only you arrived in summer, we always need seasonal workers at that time of the year. Anyway, that concludes our initial session,” she gives me a laminated card with her name and time she’s at work, “Come back in a month, and we’ll see if I’ve managed to find something suiting your experience. Oh, one last thing - have you tried asking door to door in restaurants or bars? We only have documents from those places which tell us they need ponies on their own.”

I nod.

“Ai deed. Noponee wonted mee.”

She gives me an encouraging smile.

“Don’t give up. I’m sure you’ll find something eventually. I’ll do my best here on my end, and you keep looking, okay?”

“Okey, mem.”

“Good. See you in a month, mister Greyscale.”

“Goodbai, mees-” I look at the card, “Morneeng Glou.”

With a long sigh, I leave the Upper Canterlot Employment Office.

What to do? What to do? I guess it’s time to move to lower Canterlot with my job search. Perhaps I should have started there, since there are more earthponies there and the whole place is less ‘noble’, but I wanted something close to my box.

Speaking of the box, evening is drawing close and I’m tired from walking around all day and asking ponies if they need help. I should turn in for tonight, eat the last remains of Blizzard’s old reward stew, and resume looking tomorrow. Yeah, that sounds like a reasonable idea.

I push through the snow with my protective towel on my back. Nopony bothers me, since all those who pass by are preoccupied by getting out of the frost as quickly as possible. Feather in his changeling form peeks out from underneath the blanket, rubbing his eyes.

“That doesn’t look like the expression of a pony who achieved all of his life goals today.”

“Noponee wonts mee,” I shove the snow down from the dumpster lid above our crate, take the umbrella, shake the snow off of it as well, and put it back. Then I wipe my hooves with my towel before sitting into the box with waiting Feather and bits of Stitches.

“Then I have good news for you. I completely forgot to tell you when I returned in the morning, but a… caretaker spot opened up in the brothel. Are you up for it?”

Caretaker? That sounds difficult.

“Doo yoo teenk Ai ken doo dat? Ai kant feed enimels. Wait, wai do yoo need enimels?”

Feather chuckles.

“You’d be surprised what some clients- nevermind. No, I mean caretaker as in a janitor, plus some specific chores we need done.”

Oooh, that’s way better.

“Oh shure, I ken kleen stuff!”

“Great, then you’re coming with me this evening,” he looks around, “Damn it, it’s already evening, isn’t it? I don’t have another hour or two of sleep.”

“Ai teenk yoo start at ten, rite? Yoo ken rest for uan moar hour eesy.”

He rubs his head.

“Ehm, can I have a breakfast, please? Yesterday was rather hectic, what with the caretaker getting kicked out.”

“Wot deed he doo?”

“Curious, eh?”

“Ai wont to know wot not to do.”

Feather stares at me.

I hug him. He’s a good friend, and I don’t mind being a tasty snack, especially when it only means me being a bit cold and woozy for a while. Or few hours if he’s hungry. Or passing out if he’s really starving.

Aaanyway, not a big deal.

With both of us under the blanket and Feather lying firmly in my embrace, he explains:

“Well, it turns out he’s been taking pictures from shoots and selling them. Then he sometimes stole the girls’ underwear and jacked- sold it as well. Don’t worry, if you do what they tell you then you should be alright. Can you operate a camera?”

“Nou,” I admit.

“Good. For once, that should count in your favor. The job isn’t easy, but it pays surprisingly well.”

“End wot wud dey wont me too do?”

“As I said, janitor stuff. Cleaning rooms mostly, either after client having a session with one of the girls, or the studio after a shoot. Then it’s about taking care of the building itself, leaking water, working heating and everything. Oh, and sometimes you need to help the girls during a shoot.”

“Laik wit wot?” I furrow my brows, rather worried about my skills and chances of getting the free spot, “Ai dunno wot to do wit mares.”

“Oiling them up, moving furniture, anything the photographer wants,” Feather takes a break, “I can sense you’re growing worried. It’s gonna be alright.”

“I dont nou how to fiks a heeter.”

“It. Will. Be. Alright.”

Well, he works there. Who am I to argue?

“Okey.”

“Good. Now let’s get some rest before tonight. I’m getting the feeling both of us are going to need it.

***

”

I expected Tender Feather’s workplace to be by the mountainside. To my amazement, he brought us to a clean, three-story building in the east part of Canterlot. I was a little nervous when I could see in the distance the high walls separating Canterlot castle proper from the rest of the city, but that evaporated quickly when we entered the brothel because by then I was EXTREMELY nervous about pretty much everything else.

Stop shaking, legs! We need to be in our best shape to get this job. We don’t know much, but we can learn! The basics, I mean, not the real smart pony stuff.

The entry hallway is inlaid with wood, dimly lit by lamps set in the holders on the walls, and a red, soft carpet spans the floor everywhere I can see. A receptionist’s desk sits on the right from the entrance, with a fetching young pegasus mare on a chair behind it. She looks at me, gives me a shockngly friendly smile, and waves at Tender Feather.

“Evening, Feather,” she says in a cheery, squeaky voice, “Did you bring a friend, or a client?”

“Just a friend, Honey. I told him about the free caretaker spot and he jumped on the opportunity. He might not sound like it, but he’s pretty crafty.”

‘Honey’ raises her forelegs up, then rushes from behind the desk and starts pumping my hoof up and down.

“Oh thank stars! I wasn’t happy about what Pipe was doing, but damn did he keep this place from falling apart. Anyway, Honey Glaze is my name, mister...”

The name fits pretty well, because her coat looks like running honey, brown fading into yellow. Similar to mine actually, only with far richer colours. And her mane is blond, almost white in places.

“Greyscale, mem. Nais to meet yoo.”

Honey Glaze stops shaking my hoof and gives Feather a confused look.

“Huh, now I know what you mean. Doesn’t sound like it, eh?”

“Honey-” Feather rolls her eyes.

“Well, whatever. Greyscale, if you do a good job, I don’t care ‘det yoo tolk laik dis’.”

Honestly, that was a pretty good impression.

“Yoo shud not doo dat too mush. Ponees wud tink yor me.”

Honey Glaze chuckles and gives me a quick hug.

“If you get the job,” she whispers into my ear, “I’ve got some pipes that need cleaning.”

“Chrys- Celestia dammit, Honey!” Feather stomps her forelegs.

“Whaaaat?” Honey Glaze asks innocently, “The heater in my and Nettle’s room broke two days ago. I’m tired of showering downstairs in the studio,” then she winks at Feather, “Also, jealousy will give you wrinkles.”

Jealous, of what? Does Feather like showering downstairs and can’t, because Honey and her friend are there too much?

“Honey, stop confusing the poor guy. Can’t you see he’s already nervous as it is?”

“Well yeah, that’s why I’m trying to loosen him up a little. I don’t want him to get all shaky in front of Whisper. You know how she can be.”

Feather actually stops the original answer coming from her open muzzle, and sighs.

“Yeah… thanks.”

“No problem. Anyway, I like chatting with you, but you should go. Some foreign bigwigs came to Canterlot for the big celebration in the castle, so we’re expecting their entourages to stop by. Whisper said we should be ready for scenario five.”

“Minotaurs, griffons, and diamond dogs? Oh dear...”

“Five, Feather, five.”

“A dragonpony or a real dragon transformed into a pony, are you kidding me?! Isn’t that Whisper’s speciality?”

“Nope, she’ll be busy with a group of minotaurs later, so you’d better get yourself and hopefully our new helping hoof here ready, or you’re fetching the barrels with fireproof lube on your own.”

“Damn it!” Feather waves her foreleg in front of my very confused self, “Greyscale, let’s go. We need to get you to the boss.”

I’m still trying to process the quick conversation that has just happened.

“Arent dragons beeg? How do dey fit een d door?”

“Them fitting through the DOOR will be the last of my problems, LET’S GO!” Feather pokes my chest few times while turning her head to Honey who returns behind her desk, “Thanks for the heads up, Honey.”

“No problem. See you later, Feather. Hopefully you too, Greyscale.”

“Bai, mees Hunee Gleis.”

I follow rushing Feather through the hallways, unable to take in many details. Few blurry mares and stallions greet us as we pass by, go up to the top floor, and then stop in front of a simple wooden door to catch our breath.

The only thing on the door is a small plaque reading “Wet Whisper”.

My heart is pounding and I’m gasping for air. I know it’ll last only a moment since we haven’t been running for long, but-

The door opens.

“Yor byooteefull...” I mumble, completely stunned by the mare who robbed me of all control within a blink of an eye.

The towering earthpony mare whose visage completely paralyzed me walks out, giving me a measured stare. She must be an ex-guard, soldier, or something, I don’t know, but she MUST. I can see her amethyst gown slide over what can’t be anything other than muscles under her grey coat fading into dark blue. She’s not wiry, or the bodybuilder type, from her every slick, fluid movement I am just fully aware that her perfect hourglass curves are underlaid by musculature. Compared to Feather’s disguise or Honey downstairs, she’s a mature lady, likely around forty, the image of which her pure white mane only intensifies. She’s like Blizzard, Chiseled Chin, and Grey Shrine put together, but with an added stereotype of an amazon queen in the mix.

She’s gorgeous, overwhelming, almost radiating power and confidence, and absolutely terrifying.

“Feather, you have an appointment in room twenty-four in ten minutes,” her voice is only a little deeper than a usual mare’s, but firm and clear as that of a trained singer.

“Umm, yes, Whisper. I’ll get right on that. By the way, this is Greyscale, and I told him about the caretaker opening and-”

Wet Whisper is only half a head taller than me, I’m not a big pony, although she simply feels like a giant.

“I can take care of him, Feather.”

“Yes yes yes, but please, he’s a little-”

“He can talk himself, can’t he?” Wet Whisper shuts Feather up and leans down to me, “Can you?”

Don’t shake! Don’t shake! Don’t shake!

Alright, phase one failed.

Stop shaking! Stop shaking! Stop shaking!

Recovery strategy failed.

“Ai- Ai- Ai- Aim not gud et- et tolkeeng. Dey told mee Ai wud hev to fiks teengs. Ai- Ai fiksd a bed uans. Den a shaur. Den moar teengs. Eet wos een d barraks wit d gaardponees. Den Ai-”

She raises a hoof without letting her yellow eyes break contact with mine.

“Feather...”

“Yes, Whisper!” Feather trots off.

Wet Whisper looks away and turns around, her tail flicking my cheek.

“Come in,” she invites me into her office.

The place is surprisingly simple, comfortable, well-lit in comparison to the dim halls outside, with few odd choices of decoration I don’t understand. There’s Wet Whisper’s desk with an open binder in the middle and not much special about it aside from a slowly burning red and yellow feather inside a glass jar. There are shelves full of binders lining the back wall, and one entire bookshelf on each side wall dedicated to-

I look away, only to catch Whisper’s firm stare.

Well, one bookshelf is full of stallionhoods. I mean, no, not ‘stallion’ as such. I mean, some are, but there are tons more of… various species maybe? I haven’t seen any other than mine before, but this is a logical guess. Not ripped off and bleeding ones, so I suppose they’re replicas made from some flexible material. The bookshelf on the opposite wall is, in the same manner, filled with tubes containing holes. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize even from here what those are. Out of sheer curiosity, I look from side to side and try to match them.

Hah! The stallion one in the same spot as the mare one. Wet Whisper is an organized pony.

Hm… no matter how hard I try, I can’t find a reason for there being a wooden X bigger than a pony with some leather straps hanging from it next to the stallionhood bookshelf.

“Are you done?” asks Whisper, already sitting behind her desk, and nods to the second chair across from her. I sit down.

“Komfee,” I open up with a compliment. The chair is soft and supports my back. Comfortable and healthy, I like that.

“Good. Now, what did Feather tell you?”

No stuttering, Greyscale! She’s terrifying, but ladies in charge you’ve met until now were firm but fair. Aside from Chiseled Chin, though, she was evil. Calm down, if you play your cards right, you might get a janitor’s closet to sleep in instead of the crate outside. Granted, that would leave Feather alone, but at least he would have more space there and you would see each other every night anyway.

“She told me yor past kaerteiker stoul sumteeng from heer end dets wai hee wos keeked aut.”

“That was a part of it,” Whisper nods. Wohoo, one point for Greyscale! “Normally I wouldn’t ask this, but do you know what this place is?”

“A broffel, mem. Yor workers sleep wit ponees for monee.”

“Do you have any problems with that?”

“Nou mem, wai wud Ai? Det wud bee laik being med at ponees woo sell fuud for selling fuud. Det maiks nou sens.”

She nods. Yaaaaay! Wait, now she’s going to want me to show what I can do, which isn’t much. Naaaay…

“As for your work experience, Feather said she had a friend who could repair things.”

I raise my hoof.

“Yes?” Whisper stops.

“Ai deed sum meikshift reepears een d barraks, but Ai hev never fiksd enyteeng komplex, mem.”

“What repairs?”

“Ai fiksd a broken bedfreim. Den Ai fiksd lou presshure een d shaur becuz of a leeky paip. Dere were sum smol teengs leiter too, but mostly Ai hed to go buy nyoo parts if sumteeng got broken. Ai wosnt reely a reepear ponee, but a kleener, mem. Ai just deed eet becuz ponees faund aut Ai deed eet for free before dey cud bring een a reel reepearponee.”

“So you don’t have any education pertaining to this position, nor years of practical experience. Hmm, I’m not sure-”

She stops when I raise a hoof again.

“Yes?”

“Aim cheep.”

She chuckles, which is the first sign of emotion from her.

“Money isn’t exactly an issue for me.”

“Ou,” I look down at the desk. She clearly CAN afford somepony good, “Tank yoo for yor taim-”

“However,” she raises her voice, “while the girls can last through some inconveniences for few days, our photographer is a rather temperamental sort and refuses to do the menial tasks on his own. Tonight, we need to continue our photo shoot of ‘Big Bouncy Plots from Zebrica’. If you can go down to the studio and help him by moving stuff around, making him a drink, and doing whatever annoying little things he wants, we’ll talk again later.”

“Okey. Ai kant fiks a kamera, thou.”

“Not your job.”

“Okey.”

“I’ve got some time on my hooves. I can show you where to go or I can send somepony with you.”

“Yoo, mem. eef eets ol d seim to yoo.”

“Oh?”

“Dis ees yor pleis. Plus yor beeg end prettee end scaree end yoo seem to nou a lot.”

I just had to say something dumb in the end, didn’t I?

“Big, pretty, and scary, eh?” she lowers her voice and leans a bit towards me, “Do you like that?”

At least be honest if you’re not smart enough to talk your way out of this one!

“Yes, mem. Yoo remaind mee of Grey Shrain. She beet up a bunch of bed guys woo hurt mee end odder payshents. Only yor a bit younger end,” I wave my hoof around, “rounder, but still stronk, laik yoo cud breik mee but also hug me teel Ai sqeek laik a rubber duckee.”

The corners of her mouth curl upwards.

“Flattery will only get you so far, Greyscale. Follow me, and we’ll see how you fare tonight.”

Flattery? I only tell the truth.

Is that… weird?

***

“Move the right spotlight to the left!”

“Okey.”

“Move the left spotlight to the right!”

“Okey.”

“My right, not your right!”

“Okey.”

“MY my right, not YOUR my right!”

“Uhhh, wot?”

“Faster!”

“O...key?”

“Hmmm… still not good enough.”

“I’m traying, meester kamerapon-”

“HAH! Raise the lamp a little!”

“Okey.”

“Don’t HOLD the whole stand up, there’s a dial on the side right under the lamp.”

“Oooou, kraftee.”

“Now put the stand where it was before you picked it up.”

“Okey.”

“To the left!”

“Okey.”

“No no no no! MY left, not YOUR left! How many times do I have to tell you.”

“Well, sumtaims eets yor left end-”

“Less talking back, more moving!”

“Okey.”

“Hmmm… that’s better. Alright, the lights are satisfactory. Now go grab the bucket.”

It hasn’t been na easy evening. Wet Whisper sent me down to the cellar, which turned out to be a well-furnished studio complete with electric lights, dressers full of clothing varying from gowns to some weird leather straps and corsets. A pony with a camera wearing a colourful shirt snatched me before I could get any explanation and started ordering me around.

I don’t really mind, I just wish he wouldn’t yell so m-

“Don’t stand there like a tree! I’m not paying you to reminisce about your foalhood, so grab the bucket and brush and go go go! We’re on a schedule here.”

“Okey.”

I’m not going to mention that I haven’t been paid yet. Besides, if I want to get some bits eventually, I need to work through this. Anyway, as I said before, I don’t really mind. It’s warm here, definitely better than if I was in the box outside.

With the bucket handle in my mouth and the brush stuck to its rim, I turn to the photographer and shrug.

“Wot nau?”

He facehoofs.

“Have you never seen a saucy photo or a movie?”

“Ai uance wolked bai a restohrant wit ol d sawsees-”

“Nope!” he raises a hoof, “I’m not dealing with this. Show some degree of competence and go lather the mare with the oil before I kick you out of here!”

Oh, did I forget to mention there are three of us here?

There is a mare lying on a couch on the set around which I’ve been moving the spotlights for the past twenty minutes, silently reading a magazine. Clearly, she’s far more used to this situation than I am. The mare is grey with black stripes all over her and somewhat chubby. Her coat hair is shorter than that of any pony I’ve ever seen. Her mane is cut to a mohawk, and her tail is cropped into only a small duster, even shorter than mine. Her features are kinda strange for a pony, perhaps she’s not from Canterlot? On top of all that, she’s wearing a bunch of golden necklaces on her neck and bracelets around her fetlocks.

“Yea, mon. My ears are already ringing, so come here with that brush and get swinging.”

She rhymes! And right on the spot.

“Waaau, ar yoo a poet, mees?”

“No, slow one. Now it’s time to get your job done.”

She just keeps going!

Enough messing around, Greyscale! The pony with the camera looks really mad, and you have a job to do. Show some professionalism.

I trot over to the couch, shove the brush into the sticky and clear oil, and…

...what?

“Wot do Ai do nau?”

The photographer’s eye twitches, he puts a hoof to his chest, and takes a deep breath.

“Such incompetence.”

“Aim soree, eets mai first dey.”

“EXCUSES! All I’m hearing are excuses!”

“E-hm!” coughs the grey lady, pointing to one side of the couch her hind legs are dangling from as she stretches over it, “Slow one, here is your spot. I am sure stallions are interested mostly in my plot. Lather it well, and make it slick. My posterior is plush and soft, but just that won’t do for a buyer’s di-”

“OIL! NOW!”

“Okey,” taking the dripping brush into my mouth, I shake it a little and turn around so that the oil sticks only to the hairs, and run it across the mare’s flank. Her cutie mark is a weird squiggly drawing, which I have no clue what represents. She smells nice.

Focus! She has no interest in you other than if you’re doing your job well. Mares are real ponies, and real ponies are for real ponies.

Calming down, I keep going with long brush strokes from her barrel down to the dock of her tail…

...and lower.

“Aim not shure were ken Ai touch yoo, mem. Ai dont teenk Aim aloud to touch mares down dere without permisshun.”

“Do I have to toss the bucket at her myself?!” yells the photographer.

“Sweet you are, slow one. You have my permission to get the job done.”

Her tail flicks from side to side as I oil the mare’s privates, then move onto her belly and keep going until-

“Enough! That’ll do. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

The mare sighs and puts down the magazine she’s been reading all the time through my ministrations.

“Okey,” I take myself and the bucket away. I’m pretty certain that whatever is supposed to be on the set, it’s not me.

With no more orders directed at me, I just grab a towel from the supply closet, sit down on it in the corner, and watch.

“More seductive!”

“Spread your legs!”

“You’re a flower in the desert, not some common daisy! Give me a steamy look.”

“Move to the left!”

“Your left, not my left!”

And it goes on and on. The mare doesn’t complain, only rolls her eyes or chuckles from time to time, and acts exactly according to the instructions.

Eventually, the door clicks and Wet Whisper arrives, her eyes darting from me to the ongoing photoshoot. She doesn’t say anything, only closes the door quietly behind her and watches. Soon after, the photographer says “Done!” and turns to Whisper.

“How was the provided assistance?” she asks.

The stallion rubs his head.

“Incredulously incompetent-”

Awww, I tried my best, but I guess this is a job where you need a lot of experience, since the shoot looked important.

“-however acceptable.”

Wet Whisper leans her head backwards and blinks several times.

“Al- alright then.”

“With that, I bid you goodbye.”

“See you tomorrow for the next shoot,” Whisper nods.

The photographer leaves, the oiled mare stretches and yawns, and Whisper walks over to my corner.

“Hmm, I guess that means I’ll be seeing you tomorrow as well, Greyscale. If you’re still willing after this display.”

“Weit, yor not kickeeng me aut?”

“Sharp Lens must have been pretty satisfied with you. He normally just screams at ponies. On top of that, the shoot is done on time for once. I must say - good job.”

“Umm, tank yoo?” I’m so confused.

“Zemi, any complaints about our new helper?” Whisper looks at the mare. Zemi? Strange name. She really can’t be from around here.

“Slow, he at first might seem, but as gentlecolt him I deem.”

“Alright, everypony seems satisfied with your performance, Greyscale. However, we are far from finished.”

I raise my hoof.

“Yes?”

“Ken Ai wosh up? Aim ol stickee end mai huufs slipperee. Eets okey eef Ai kant becuz Ai ken gou to d fawnteen end den come bak-”

“You not only can, you are required to. Can’t have you running around oiled up. Zemi, show him where the showers are down here, will you? Then send him to my office.”

“He looks worried, but I’m not mean. I will return him to you sqeaky clean.”

“And no funny business, he’s still going through an interview. Save that for later.”

“Don’t worry about me, I only tease. The most he might get is a firm grip and squeeze.”

Wet Whisper nods and leaves. Zemi nods at me, beckoning with her hoof to follow her. Behind the studio, there’s a short hallway with several doors, one of which Zemi opens and we enter a tiled square room slightly sloping down towards a central drain. There are multiple nozzles coming from all walls, presumably for a comfortable full-body washing. This place is big enough for three ponies to easily fit inside, but the way it’s laid out somehow feels like it’s made for only one pony with all the comfort and freedom they may want. On the other hoof, it’s only a shower, no bathroom, nothing more, just a really big shower.

Zemi walks inside with a swaying gait and immediately slides a glass pane in one of the walls to the side with a ton of various bottles behind it.

I should stop looking, shouldn’t I?

“Come inside. You’ve seen all there is to me already, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Eets okey, mem. Ai ken weit eef yor een a hurree.”

“Whisper hates to be kept waiting, and I soon am to be with a customer ready and willing. This way we can both be done in time, and I don’t mind a little brush here and there as we shower. Trust me, it won’t be a bad feeling.”

For some reason, I’m not so sure. However, if we really are both in a hurry...

“Okey.”

Zemi turns a small valve on the opposite wall from the… shampoo storage? It can’t be much else, right? But there’s so much. Shelf after shelf of colourful bottles...

“Eee?” the torrent of warm water brings me back to reality.

“Aaah, this feels so good. After the shoot, it does wonders to improve my mood,” Zemi runs her hooves all over her body.

Stay professional, Greyscale!

Alright, I’m sticky. That needs fixing.

“Ees dere sum soap een dere?” I point to the shampoo shelves.

“There is everything you might need to properly finish the cleansing deed,” she tosses me a pink bottle.

Strawberry Scent - soap and shampoo in one.

I lather it all over my forelegs, fighting the overpowering sweet smell,

“Ewww...” I stick my tongue out, “Ees dere sumteeng else?” an idea comes to mind, “Meybee a banana?”

“My my, such an exotic taste,” she take a long look at the bottles, “Here it is, some banana paste.”

I open the presented bottle and immediately the thick scent fills the room. With what Zemi is using, the room which seemed large at first is now heavy with various sweet aromas.

“Where did Honey put the brush- ah what the heck!” Zemi frowns, turning her voluptuous behind to me, “Greyscale, will you please wash my bountiful back?”

“Shure, mem.”

She passes me a different bottle to use. Apple Aroma - coat and mane care. I squirt it over her back and massage it in. Her backside is still slick with oil despite the water, so I ask:

“Umm, mees Zemee, ken Ai touch yor butt or will yoo wosh dere yorself?”

It’s a bit straightforward, but better than doing something wrong. She turns around and looks me in the eyes.

“Look, Greyscale, you know what I get paid for, what I do. Are you sure working in the brothel is right for you?”

“Aim not a clayent, mem. Ai just kleen stuff. Ai dont nou eef yor fain wit mee touching yoo, even doe yor a reely nais ponee.”

“I’m a zebra, Greyscale. Down from the deep south I hail.”

“Zeebrah?”

“No, ze-bra. Zeebra is what ponies with Manehattan accent say. I don’t really mind, since we all have four legs and eat hay.”

“Yor a nais zehbra den, mem.”

“I don’t mind touches from someone with whom I quickly formed the friendship bond. For your careful attention I will even give you a quick show, if you truly want.”

With just a shake of my head, I return to massaging the shampoo into her flanks.

She’s so squishy! I didn’t notice it before because I was using the brush and the oil seeped in on its own, but now under my hooves she jiggles!

Stop poking her, she's watching!

Oops.

Anyway, back to professionalism.

We’re done soon, and when Zemi pushes a button next to the valve, the whole ceiling starts blowing hot air at us. This is some serious technology.

When we dry out, Zemi sniffs the air.

“So relaxing it makes me want to write a ballad. Huh, put together like this we smell like a fruit salad.”

Chuckling, I follow her out of the studio and through the brothel back up to Wet Whisper’s office.

Zemi nuzzles my neck before leaving, and says:

“I hope you get the job, Greyscale, so do your best and you won’t fail.”

With her rushing off, I knock on Wet Whisper’s door.

The big mare opens and gives me a slight smile.

“I hope you didn’t do anything to upset Zemi.”

I shake my head.

“Nou, mem. She ees a nais zehbra. Ol Ai deed wos wosh her bek.”

“I admire your self-control then. I’m not sure I myself would refrain from… nevermind,” she coughs, “Alright, that was the first part of your interview. Do you know your way around boilers and heating?”

I recall the good old days of me sleeping in the boiler room in the barracks.

It feels so long ago.

“A littel, mem.”

“Can you make a bed?”

“Yes, mem.”

“Do you mind making a bed thirty times a night? Wiping body fluids off of furniture, running up and down flights of stairs with used clothes and sheets? Repairing things or finding a repairpony if you can’t on short notice? Mopping the dancers’ stage in the morning?”

Mopping? I know my mopping!

There were other things in that sentence!

Yes yes, many words.

“Ai ken kleen end kerry stuff, mem. Aim not shure about sum diffeecult reepears, but Ai ken ask around for sumponee smart to fiks wot Ai kant.”

Wet Whisper actually flashes me a wide grin.

“Congratulations, Greyscale, you’re hired! That’s hundred and fifty bits a week. Now run down and tell Honey Glaze to give you the utility keys. We’ve got code five, and six rooms are messed up already.”

My legs are shaking.

“Hun- hun- hun- hun- hundred-”

“MOVE! We’ve got a delegation of minotaurs coming tonight, in all senses of the word. I hope you’re steady on your hooves, because those rooms will be slippery.”

In a daze, I don’t resist as the strong mare shoves me out of the office and slams the door shut.

Hundred and fifty bits per week… that’s real pony pay.

“She’s still ripping you off, and hard,” I hear Stitches. I wonder how…?

Nevermind.

I CAN BUY SO MANY BOXES WITH THAT!

Author's Note:

I am deeply ashamed by the attempts at 'rhyming'.

Comments

[Thought Prism]

Ok, I approve of this new story arc.

[Nameless Narrator]

8531445
Sadly, it's an ending, not a new arc. The finale's going to be next month.

[Thought Prism]

8531565
Oh. So he's either going to live happily ever after, or his past will catch up with him and he'll be killed. Got it.

[Nameless Narrator]

8531641
Smart pony.

Or maybe it's something in the middle, or something completely different.