The next day
Mindful of his hard claws scraping or tapping against the floor, Spike crept through Twilight’s study with nary a sound made. Twilight had fallen asleep at her desk—again—and as her most trusted assistant, it was his duty to check on her. Her face was smudged with ink and the corners of her mouth were crusted over with what appeared to be peanut butter. Probably peanut butter. Twilight had whole lectures prepared about the effectiveness of peanut butter as a provider of quick, efficient energy.
The problem, as Spike saw it, was that Twilight expected too much of herself. Some jobs could be passed along to assistants—and many were out of necessity—but Twilight had such a high success rate because she personally dealt with so many of her tasks. Somehow, Twilight, through her endless correspondence and communications, convinced parents to allow their foals to attend an untried, untested school that had been attacked several times. Then there was the fact that one of its students had been foalnapped in a daring raid in the first year of the school’s existence. The fact that he wasn’t in school at the time didn’t matter, the mere fact that he was a student was the primary talking point that the media loved to seize upon.
Twilight alone navigated these many hurdles and pitfalls. Perhaps another could as well, but so far, Twilight hadn’t given anypony the chance. Though it frustrated him to no end, Spike understood. Twilight was constructing a future, a reputation, she was crafting an image and it was only through her vision that the school had lasted as long as it had. Though she was overworked, though Spike found her asleep at her desk so many mornings, there could be no denying that her efforts bore results.
Spike understood Twilight’s passion, and to some extent, shared Twilight’s vision of the future. Tail held high so it wouldn’t slap or flap against the floor, Spike waddled over to the filing cabinet in the corner, tugged open the well-oiled bottom drawer, and pulled out the somewhat musty smelling folded blanket found within. With one well-practiced motion, he unfurled the blanket—an action that he had done hundreds, if not thousands of times—and then went over to cover Twilight.
It was only fair, covering Twilight. To reciprocate. How many times had she covered him? During the most helpless years of his infancy, he had been downright narcoleptic, as dragons tended to be, and he would doze off at the most inopportune times. Twilight always got him into a bed—even if only a makeshift one—she ensured his comfort and saw to it that he was covered, because it was just something that ponies did. They covered one anothers sleeping forms with blankets, perhaps because it was a thoughtful act of kindness.
And so he did so now. Twisting his body about at his chubby waist, he flung the blanket over Twilight and scored a perfect toss. Using the handles of its drawers as a makeshift ladder, Spike clambered up onto the desk, grabbed the corners of the blanket, and tugged everything into its proper place. In response, Twilight slipped even deeper into slumber, her breathing deep, regular, and a bit rumbly.
Though a dragon, Spike was fond of blanket rituals.
Exiting through the door, Spike saw Constance Kerning coming right for him. She was something of a severe mare, with a hard reputation, a frosty demeanour, and a downright ruthless sense of efficiency—more barbarian than librarian, as some might say. Miss Kerning was a career librarian and the head of the library program in the castle. She had many skills, this mare, and she could do everything from run a library to print new books. Having served in the Royal Guard, she could also deal with troublemakers.
Spike pulled the door shut behind him and then stood in front of it, determined to keep Miss Kerning away from it. Twilight needed her sleep and he felt a vague sense of irritation at the thought of somepony disturbing it. Still, there was no point in being hostile, so he put on his best smile and intercepted Miss Kerning.
“Can I help you?” he asked. “Twilight is unavailable. Anything that you might ask of her, you can also ask of me.”
“It is almost noon, soon to be lunch,” Miss Kerning said to Spike in a matter-of-fact sort of way.
“Huh,” he replied, nodding, “so it is. But I get the feeling that you came here with a purpose other than telling Twilight what time it is. So how about we get to the point so I can help you and—”
“The newest apprentice never showed up for orientation this morning.” Miss Kerning’s face was an impassive mask, perhaps because her mane was drawn so tightly back into a bun, leaving her skin stretched tight as a drum. “This does not bode well for her professional future.”
Spike was quick to jump to Talespin’s defense. “She’s seven. There’s still time to ensure that she turns out okay. It’s her first day and she—”
“And she what?” Miss Kerning demanded.
“She might have overslept,” Spike blurted out, thinking of the first thing that came to mind. This might very well be true, he realised, due to the filly’s nocturnal nature. “She just had a long trip by train and she might be worn out.”
“That’s no excuse.” Miss Kerning’s lips pressed into a hard, thin line and her ears angled forwards over her face, touching one another, presenting a united, aggressive front. “If she was tired, then perhaps she should have gone to bed at an earlier hour. Does she have no self discipline? If so, this does not bode well for her—”
“Professional future,” Spike finished, nodding. “Yeah, I get it.” Though it was awful, he knew of only one way to appease Constance Kerning and get this determined mare away from Twilight’s door. “As Twilight’s dutiful administrator, I’ll see to it that young Miss Talespin is punished for this infraction. She’ll organise the east wing repository and uh, it’ll be done by tomorrow morning.”
“That”—Miss Kerning’s voice was hard, flinty, and could strike sparks on steel—“is downright overbearing as far as punishments go. That’s a bit of a draconian response, don’t you think? No offense to your kind meant. I believe you were just mentioning that she was seven.”
He had overshot perhaps, but he was committed to this course of action. Somehow, he had to be tougher and harsher than Miss Kerning so that she could be and would be appeased. She only respected strength and domineering authority and something about how she had done a turnabout was satisfying to Spike, even as it alarmed him.
“I’ll even see to her punishment myself to ensure that she stays on task and that no corners are cut,” he added, doubling down. A plan was already forming in the back of his mind, but he would have to think on it a bit more before jumping into action. “I’ll make her pull an all-nighter so she can understand how we do things in this castle.”
“Ruthless,” Miss Kerning deadpanned. “Clearly, Spike, you have your sense of professionalism sorted out. I admire that. Very well, I shall inspect and grade Miss Talespin’s work on the morrow, at say, the seventh hour?”
“Why wait so long?” he asked. “I plan to make sure she’s done by six. Do you show up for work at six? I don’t recall.”
“Have you no mercy?” And then, as an afterthought, she added, “I arrive at the fifth hour to ensure that everything is perfect before the library opens for the day.”
Spike began to wring his squamous hands together and his scales scraped against one another in a pleasing, soothing sort of way. “Do your inspection at six.”
“Very well, Mister the Dragon.” Bowing her head, Miss Kerning turned about in prim, fastidious manner, snorted once, and walked away muttering about the cold-blooded ruthless efficacy of dragons.
Holding his breath, he watched her go. She was right up there in his pantheon of fussy mares, every bit as persnickety as Miss Harshwhinny or Rarity. When she rounded the corner and vanished from view, he let out the breath he was holding with a drawn out smokey huff. Now alone, a fervent sense of panic gripped his guts and he knew that he needed to go and check upon Talespin, who was probably asleep in her room. Or so he hoped.
Talespin’s room wasn’t much of a room, but it was a room that she had to herself. Night Glider had insisted upon it as part of the agreed terms. It was down in the depths of the administration wing, a cramped place of offices, file storage, and sleeping quarters for staff that lived on site. Yesterday, when he had shown her to her room, she had been downright delighted, but Spike wasn’t sure why anypony would be overjoyed to live in this dark, sunless place that some called the dungeon.
Adopting a Rainbow Dash level of stealth, he crept through the darkened corridor. Nopony was here right now, none of the offices were occupied. The ponies had no doubt collected their work for the day and had gone elsewhere, someplace bright and cheerful. A broken roller copier stood in the hallway, reeking and stained with ink. At the end of the hallway, he came to what had once been a janitorial supply closet.
Opening the door, he peered around, squinting while his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Only the hallway illuminated the room, and he didn’t want to turn on the lights because that would be rude. Against the far wall was a cot, but it was empty and without blankets. This alarmed Spike a great deal and if Talespin wasn’t in her bed, then where could she have gone?
Eyes darting about, panic slithering through his guts like wriggling serpents, Spike clawed at the scales of his stomach trying to figure out what to do next. He most certainly didn’t want to announce that there was a missing apprentice. Had she run away? Gone back home somehow? How did one lose an apprentice anyhow? This did not bode well for his professional future.
Ugh!
Spike felt like swearing, but a ‘gosh’ or a ‘golly’ wouldn’t cut it. He was immune to having his mouth washed out with soap, because soap was delicious. Gripping his tail, he gave it a hard squeeze and began to plan his own funeral. He stared at the cot for a time in stunned disbelief, then at the bookshelf, then the battered, busted up suitcase tucked beneath the cot, and finally, his gaze came to rest upon the tall, narrow wooden wardrobe that Twilight had insisted be put into the room so that the filly would have a place to store her stuff.
It was at that moment that Spike remembered that pegasus ponies liked birdhouses. No, no, that was tribalist to call them birdhouses. But pegasus ponies had sleeping boxes—well, some of them anyhow—they had these wardrobe-cupboard-closet things that they slept inside. It was rude to call them birdhouses though, because it was a pony and not a bird that could be found inside. Pegasus ponies could also be found in birdbaths and one might even find them eyeballing your birdseed feeder, but you weren’t supposed to say anything because it was rude. One had to be tolerant of pegasus ponies in your birdbath out of a sense of cultural respect.
It was one of the many important things that Twilight taught in her school.
Hustling across the room as fast as his stubby legs would carry him, Spike approached the wooden chifforobe, hopeful that he would find the missing filly before she was actually missing and that this crisis could be averted. He hesitated, his breathing heavy and hard, with his heart pounding against his ribs in a funky rumba beat that was in dire need of castanets for accompaniment.
Chic-chic-ky-boom!
Chic-chic-ky-boom!
Gnawing on his lip, Spike opened the door with as much care and stealth as he could muster. What he saw inside almost caused his heart to stop. Tucked within the chifforobe, in a nest made from pillows and blankets, was Talespin, and she was all curled up into a fetal ball. She clung to a stuffed ursa minor that had glowing, twinkling stars, teeny, tiny celestial bodies that cast a pale, faint light, leaving her face freckled with motes of silver.
Spike was forced to take a step back or have his heart stop completely.
Steeling himself, fighting back the dreadful urge to take a bite, he closed the chifforobe door. Stupid no good dragon instincts, wanting to chomp cute, cuddly, innocent things. This, this was why Spike tried to respect pegasus ponies and their birdhouses. He understood having powerful instincts that drove one to do odd things, like sleep in a box. With a stuffed ursa that was enchanted with glowing stars, which only heightened the cuteness factor. It was a sight so insufferably cute that he wanted to bite it to make it go away.
Turning about, he hurried away, relieved that Talespin was safe, sound, and secure.
“Smell that, Spike?”
Distracted, Spike had no idea what Moondancer was talking about, nor did he have any idea that she was scrutinising him whilst he stared off into space. He was going to have a long day and even longer night, which would be followed by a day whose length would stretch into infinity. His brilliant plan left no time for sleep and he wondered how he was going to pull this off.
“The smell of panic, Spike—”
To which he blurted out, “I’m not panicked!”
Moondancer gave him a cool stare through her chunky, unfashionable glasses and her eyebrow crinkled like a cramped, constipated inchworm forced to do sit-ups. Spike was panicked and Moondancer only made it worse, what, with her piercing stare and her aggressive, expressive martial eyebrow.
“Soon, these halls will be overrun with students,” Moondancer said with monotone melodrama. “The first of them have already arrived. You can smell the panic, Spike. You can smell the fear and panic rising from the teachers like a ruinous, reek. I bumped into Lemon Hearts—just a gentle bump, mind you, and she squealed like a changeling held over a fire.”
Spike gulped.
“All of the teachers are whispering, Spike, they talk in hushed voices, sharing their concerns. What dreadful disaster awaits us this year? Another harpy attack? An invading army? A team of changeling infiltrators disguised as students? Will we be seized upon by bureaucrats and be regulated within an inch of our lives?”
One of those things was not like the others.
“It’s my job to keep us secure, Spike. Me. The pony that got taken and replaced by changelings. Twilight seems to think that I’m the most qualified, because I’ve had experience.” Moondancer laughed, a harsh, grating sound that to Spike, was like claws dragged down a chalkboard. “She says that my newfound hyper-paranoia is a boon to us all and now she is trying to put it to good use.”
“Are you feeling well, Moondancer?”
“Just fine, why do you ask?”
“Well, uh…” The words got lost in Spike’s throat and failed to find the exit.
“Spike, you’re going to be my security assistant,” said Moondancer in a hard to hear whisper. “These herd animals are easy prey and I can’t rely on them. I was a herd animal once… but since then, I’ve evolved. Adapted. I’ve become a wolf in a frumpy sweater since I got taken… you know, maybe Twilight is right. Perhaps I am the right pony for the job. Thanks for helping me get my head sorted out, Spike. Good chat, Number One Security Assistant. I’ll put in a good word for you, ‘cause you’ve helped me see clearly. You’re a dragon in need of a promotion.”
“Right.” Spike nodded even as his spine went stiff and he wondered if perhaps he should salute or something.
“Eyes peeled, Spike. Eyes peeled. The fate of many rests upon us both.” Humming to herself, Moondancer tromped off, her hooves striking a heavy rhythm against the floor.
The list of things that he needed to worry about grew just a little bit longer…
Stats
Page generated in 0.017 seconds
Total duration
1,013 users online
1,870,908 hits today, 2,280,440 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
9028047
Unreliable narration happened.
Sometimes, a character will state something, believe something, or otherwise posit something that they believe is true. It makes it true to them.
So when Character X plainly states that they are Twilight Sparkle's Number Two Assistant, said statement will be subjectively true... from a certain point of view.
9028763 It could be taken in a literal sense, as the literal second ever assistant... But at that point it's simply pedantic, and not worth it to argue the point any further.
derpicdn.net/img/2015/4/18/876669/large.jpeg
Don't forget that time Applejack and Rainbow nearly got their students killed because of a stupid pissing match. ...No, I'm not over that.
Seriously, though. It's nice to see Spike being able to throw his weight around when it counts. Though Twilight clearly isn't the only one with a habit of working too hard. And I suppose ponies aren't the only ones to have to sacrifice a childhood for their future. That saddens me a bit. Especially since at the moment, he doesn't seem to have an apprenticeship or anything. I get that he eventually will, but at the moment it still kind feels like he's sacrificing his childhood for Twilight's benefit instead of his own. Though I suppose he's not that beat up about it, so maybe I'm overthinking it.
Miss Kerning annoys me. I understand her value, but I sincerely hope not to have to deal with her very often.
Moondancer concerns me. I worry for her, but I suppose there are some experiences you never really come back from.
Talespin is going to have to be open about her nocturnal side at some point, or else hiding it will simply make things more difficult for her moving forward. Luckily, she's in probably the right place to be open about it.
Dammit. I forgot this was a new one and went to hit the next chapter button. I think I'm happier when I'm a few chapters back and can read several in one sitting. This is too cute to have to wait for.
I wonder if Ms Kerning became so uptight after years of bullying in the form of being called Ms Keming
Constance Kerning could be the most harsh sounding name coming out of a librarian I've ever heard. Constance Kerning! Gosh. Like a name already harsh (Constance) combined with an almost obscure typography term (Kerning) that you could theoretically be constant... gosh. It's so severe.
I wonder why that would be. Couldn't be one of the biggest features of the character in question. I'm sure it's not that.
I like watching Spike be a neurotic mess. Humanises him in a good way.
9029327
Oh, that’s a good one! I wish I could upvote it again.
Don’t get it? Go look up the meaning of kerning.
Damnit, Bakugo!
Hnnnnggggg. This is weapons grade cute and I pray fanart happens.
That's pretty dang cute.
Half-surprised Moondancer didn't mention Constant Vigilance! But maybe she's working towards it.
That conversation with Moondancer seemed very much in the mien of Terry Pratchett. Well done.