> Of Lilies and Chestnuts
>  by Prane
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Contrary to popular belief, not every day in Canterlot was a dream come true.

From the evening sky obscured by dark cloudscapes, through lampposts battered by the howling wind, down to the streets resounding with thunder and pitter-patter of rain, the magnificent Jewel of Equestria along with its citizens endured the hardships planned for tonight. Those few misinformed ponies who got caught outdoors without raincoats or umbrellas had no choice but to shelter themselves at the expensive cafés where for a price of a coffee they were free to curse the dreadful conditions to their hearts’ content.

Fleur couldn’t really blame anyone. The city needed a downpour every now and then, and the unicorns of the Weather Corps—the team responsible for weather management in Canterlot—were just doing their job. By devoting their magic to ordering clouds into patterns and creating all kinds of atmospheric phenomena they had successfully replaced the pegasi Weather Patrols common in rural areas. Besides, it wasn’t like the rain came as a surprise. Anypony paying attention to the weekly newsletter of the Corps had a chance to take proper precautions, so if they had chosen not to then it served them right to get soaked.

That was perhaps too easy to say for someone comfortably seated in a dry and cozy consulting room of the Canterlot Health Clinic, but Fleur was used to a certain degree of luxury.

“You’ve mentioned that you have my test results, doctor?”

“Yes, indeed.” The pony wearing a neat white coat nodded and skimmed through a detailed report she had on her desk. “It says here you’re a healthy mare. Regular blood pressure, fine metabolism, the immune system working well—”

Fleur furrowed her brows, noticing the words FLEUR DIS LEE written at the top of the report. Where she came from, her name was spelled DE LIS, and although after so many years she had become accustomed to its Equestrian spelling she still couldn’t help but to consider it a mildly annoying inconvenience.

“—physically fit and in excellent shape.” Glancing over the pair of elliptic glasses, the doctor’s green eyes flickered with amusement. “Stallions must be lining up and down the Promenade for your attention, Miss Fleur!”

“Oh, it’s actually ‘Mrs.’ now, but that change didn’t stem the tide, if you know what I mean.” Fleur shrugged, giggling. “I suppose it goes with the job.”

“That would be a career in modeling, am I right? Recently retired?”

“Oui, I used to be a supermodel for Carousel Enterprises, Toity By Design, and a few other fashion houses, mostly Canterlot ones. I must say, it is a challenging but rewarding line of work. And actually a lot harder than most ponies assume! Between numerous diets and fashion shows, I had to postpone some of my plans, or even neglect some aspects of my life.”

“Mhm, I see. Is there anything in particular you’re going to take up now?”

Fleur chuckled. She had it all planned out already as her dreams reached beyond dresses, catwalks, and photo shoots. She even made a list of potential hobbies to try out on her retirement, like amateur painting or playing checkers. Most importantly, she wanted to grow old as a happily married mare with her husband and a bunch of cheerful foals by her side. While the part about being a wife had been already checked, the one about becoming a mother was the exact reason for visiting the clinic.

“To be honest, I’ve always wanted to raise a foal of my own,” she admitted. “It was quite an unreachable goal in the past considering my profession, but a few months ago my husband and I decided to work towards it. Only that, well, you know”—a slight blush reddened her cheeks—“no luck so far. I was wondering if you could prescribe some kind of a pill or a potion for that?”

The doctor stopped flipping through the report and sat up stiffly.

“I wish I could,” she said. “Mrs. Fleur, there’s no easy way of saying this, so please bear with me. There is no known medication that could help you with your ‘no luck’ issue.”

The words sank in. Slowly. Painfully.

“Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Something inside Fleur cringed and rendered her speechless. When she realized what the other mare was implying, she didn’t believe it at first. Then, she didn’t want to believe, as if denying the news could somehow change the reality. She felt as if one of those blazing, sky-splitting bolts had struck straight at her heart.

A flash of lightning appeared across the window and got complemented by a thundering crash soon after.

In the silence that followed, Fleur’s voice was barely audible. “I-I can’t have foals?” she whispered. “Why?”

“Your reproductive system is dysfunctional,” the doctor clarified, opening the report on one of its final pages. She pointed at various pieces of data which Fleur didn’t even try to decipher. “As you can see here, it came out through this recent examination. It’s a genetic trait, so it’s not your fault, but I’m afraid it cannot be cured with the current medical practice. I’m sorry.”

Fleur remained silent for a lingering moment filled with the rhythmic splattering of the rain. Unable to foal? The revelation shocked her to her core. To resign from such an opportunity to pursue a career was one thing, but having it so abruptly denied felt entirely different. After almost a year of trying to get pregnant she felt robbed of what defined her as a mare.

“I…” Fleur hesitated. She cleared her throat and raised her head. “I understand.”

“I know it’s difficult, but please, remember that this is not the end of the world. There are other ways for a mare to fulfill certain needs.” The doctor grabbed a ballpoint pen and scribbled something on a yellow sticky note. “Perhaps you and your husband will consider adopting a foal? I strongly advise on inquiring at the Canterlot Orphanarium. Many couples in similar circumstances often do.”

If she hadn’t been raised to be a polite filly, Fleur would straight shout out her objections. It just wasn’t the same! How could that mare even compare the miracle of birth and upbringing a cute little foal to incorporating a stranger from the streets into the family? No, adoption was definitely not the solution she needed. In fact, the very sound of that word was causing her to quiver.

Adoption.

She brought a forced smile to her face. “Thank you, doctor. We may consider this,” she uttered the most diplomatic response she could think of, one of which her husband would be proud. She glanced at the note with the apparent address of the Canterlot Orphanarium and the name of one Sunlit Hugs. Just what kind of name was that?

A sudden wave of dizziness flooded her senses the moment she straightened up. She could barely keep herself on all fours, but she managed to hide the pain under but a slight wince. The other mare stood up as well and walked her client to the door, partly as a professional courtesy, partly to make sure she wouldn’t collapse before leaving her office.

Fleur found herself in a clean and well-maintained corridor. The Canterlot Health Clinic was a private center which offered counseling and medical treatment to affluent citizens, but it would seem that even the best conditions, the best equipment, and the best experts money could buy were powerless in her case. She looked around and saw numerous ponies, both patients and various specialists walking by, all heading somewhere, all with the purpose. Unlike them, Fleur was clueless as to what to do next, where to go, or how to act. The stupid sticky note she had been left with was no help at all.

As she was standing there with a dignified expression, trying to maintain herself despite being on the verge of collapse, she was reminded that even in complete darkness there was a single light to which she could always turn.

Him.

“What did the doctor say, dear?”

Most ponies would describe Fancy Pants simply as a handsome, wealthy, and well-bred stallion. Such a portrayal was perfectly accurate but at the same time lacking and shallow as it didn’t say a word about some of his greatest qualities. While he was, indeed, the number one gentlecolt with unflappable manners on the outside, only Fleur knew that he was also a warm and caring husband within. Although there were still crowds of mares trying to gain his social appreciation or even seduce him to win his graces, he remained faithful to the one he truly cared for and to whom he vowed his love.

Her.

“I say, you look a bit abashed!” Gently, he lifted Fleur’s muzzle and looked at his wife with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Without a single word, Fleur shambled into the stallion’s embrace, trembling more with her every step. Without a single word, he held her, hugged her, and comforted her. He understood. She could no longer withhold her emotions which flowed through tears and choking sobs, and she couldn’t care less whether she moved or looked like a supermodel right now. Her dreams had been shattered, her plans turned into trash, and her hopes—snuffed out like a dying candle’s flame.

But at least she wasn’t alone. Not now, nor ever.

Fancy Pants was always there for her.
> Chapter 1 – The Solution She Needs
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It rained for the next three days.

Fleur could venture a guess that the weather for the week had been scheduled deliberately to match her downhearted mood. For her every dream so painfully crushed, ten lightning strikes split the cloudy sky, and for every tear she shed into the pillow, ten thousand droplets soaked the soaring spires of the city. Just like the rain kept pony and non-pony citizens indoors, the sadness kept the mare confined to her bedroom.

She had never imagined that learning about her own infertility would cause such a massive blow to her lofty self-esteem. Never in her career had she lost confidence in her abilities, and never before had she found herself on a catwalk she was truly afraid to walk. But this time it was about her life and not a fashion show. This time she couldn’t blame the designer, or the lighting, or the unfair panel of judges. It was all on her. She herself was defective. Faulty. Broken.

Only Fancy Pants and his supportive attitude saved her from spiraling down to even greater despair. The news had affected him as well but he gave no sign of it, and instead dedicated himself to supporting his wife. In the morning, he was the one to make her breakfast, and in the evening, he stayed up late to keep her company.

Though Fleur didn’t smile even once over the course of those three days, today, as the scheduled storms had passed, her spirits were a bit higher. Not much, granted, but enough to muster the courage to step back into the world and, following her husband, pay a visit at the Canterlot Orphanarium.

A bunch of rowdy pegasi foals dashed by Fleur.

“I’m still not convinced,” she said. “This whole idea feels odd.”

“I, for one, find them adorable!” Fancy Pants exclaimed, stepping aside to make way for a graphite-colored griffon fledgling struggling to keep up with her friends. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Fleur rolled her eyes. For her, watching random colts and fillies playing tag was only mildly exhilarating, but Fancy Pants was more engaged in their perpetual chase than he had been during the last Wonderbolts Derby. Perhaps there was something unique to it, with tables and couches in place of cloudy circuits, but Fleur couldn’t really tell what. They were cute and all but getting enraptured like that? Ridiculous.

“Oh, I wish we could take all of them!” Fancy Pants said.

A nervous chuckle became Fleur’s way of hiding her apprehension. “You know that it would not be wise, dear!” she said, then turned to a stallion almost as bright and yellow as the sticky note which brought her here in the first place. “Isn’t that right, doctor?” She hesitated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch the name?”

“Hugs, Sunlit Hugs,” the stallion replied. “And yes, you are quite right, madam, quite right. Now, follow me, if you please. I’d like to show you around before we discuss your interest in adoption.”

Fleur shivered, but followed the stallion into the unexplored—and honestly, quite intimidating—world of abandoned, lost, or otherwise parentless ponies. From what she had gathered, this place was the only one of its kind in the city. Despite running on financial fumes, it provided shelter for colts and fillies who had nowhere else to go, and unlike more conservative orphanages in Manehattan or Baltimare, this one was welcoming to all orphans, ponies or otherwise. Maintaining order in such a diverse environment seemed near impossible, but the tireless optimism of Doctor Hugs and his small army of social workers had apparently created a sense of community between the pupils.

During the tour, Fleur and Fancy Pants had a chance to watch the children in their time of leisure. Some of them were playing ball in the backyard, glad that the rain was no more and they could finally go outside. Just near their playing field, a pair of extremely competitive crystal pony twins tried to outdo each other in the noble sport of puddle splashing. Back inside, one or two charming zebra foals were deeply engaged in drawing a picture of something that resembled Princess Cadance of the Crystal Empire. One or two, because although there were two striped individuals sitting at the table, Fleur could swear one of them was actually a changeling. What next, baby dragons?

When their path crossed with the racing pegasi and, subsequently, the huffing and puffing griffon for the third time, Doctor Hugs invited the couple to his office.

“I have to admit, doctor,” Fancy Pants said, “I wasn’t expecting such a wondrous atmosphere when I first learned about your enterprise!”

Doctor Hugs leaned back in his chair. “That’s a reasonable reaction, considering the mental shortcuts we rely on. We usually associate orphanages with the lack of happiness, and we think of them as centers of conflict because we assume that the children from broken homes are innate troublemakers. The word ‘orphanage’ itself sounds unpleasant if you think about it. That’s why we’re trying to change the undertone, here at our Orphanarium. It sounds softer, don’t you think?”

Fleur let out an almost imperceptible snort, while Fancy Pants tested the word himself.

“Orphanarium. It actually does! It’s quite fitting, as well!”

“Thank you! Now, I understand that you’d like to give home to one of our kiddos. Do you already have children of your own?”

“No, that would be our first,” Fancy Pants replied. “We have reached a stage in life when one begins to feel certain emptiness and, needless to say, we’d like to set this situation right.”

“Mhm. Would you agree with that, Mrs. Fleur?”

“Excuse me?”

Doctor Hugs moved in his chair, turning his attention to Fleur. “I’d like to know if you would subscribe to what your husband just said.”

“I…”

There was something piercing in his stare. Fleur was used to ponies eyeing her, even ogling her when she happened to be modeling some bolder ensemble, and she knew she could always hide in the very creation she was wearing, but the stallion watching her wouldn’t be interested in her fancy clothes. He was looking at her as if he could see right through her concerns. Fleur broke the eye contact but then she realized how silly that was. She didn’t do anything wrong, yet she was trying to escape like a school filly caught on cheating.

She feigned interest in the impressive collection of certificates displayed on the wall. It seemed that Doctor Hugs had been quite a dedicated student back in the day, or perhaps he was simply a show-off now. Either way, Fleur got an idea on how she could steer the conversation away from herself.

“Oh, I see. This must be one of your psychological ploys, isn’t it, doctor?”

“Only as far as your ongoing ploy to avoid answering the question,” Doctor Hugs responded in a firm, but polite manner. Gah! He didn’t fall for it. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I feel that something is bothering you, Mrs. Fleur. You do seem tense, and quite frankly you look like you want to just stand up and storm outside. Before we can go any further, I would like you to ask yourself: ‘Do I want to adopt?’ ”

The question got her to think.

Whenever she had been imagining her future children, she portrayed them as miniature versions of her and Fancy Pants. They wouldn’t be their exact copies, of course, and small differences would be most welcome. Her son would have her violet eyes, while her daughter would have a long braid as azure as her husband’s mane. With their looks set in stone, Fleur would make detailed plans for their education, their place in the high society, and even their interests and partaken activities to some extent. That was supposed to be her way of ensuring a good future for them.

Did she want to have a child to care for? Yes, with all her heart. Did she want to adopt a child? Not really. Maybe? Adoption wasn’t inherently wrong—even if it still sounded like some kind of a criminal activity—but it would go against everything she dreamed about and how she imagined her parenthood.

Engaged in her inner struggle Fleur failed to respond.

“Doctor Hugs, please,” Fancy Pants tried to carry on with the talk. “My wife has been through a lot lately, and—”

“Non, wait,” Fleur interrupted. “The doctor’s right. There’s something I should probably get off my chest before we move on.”

“I’m all ears, Mrs. Fleur.”

She took a deep breath. If the wall of achievements was telling the truth, the stallion sitting across the desk was a certified psychotherapist, somepony trained in understanding the quirks of the mind. Perhaps he could help her? Fleur wasn’t particularly fond of externalizing her emotions but it was either that or going back to the downward spiral of the past three days. And to be honest, she had enough of that.

“I guess I have this… picture of me as a perfect parent of a perfect child. The picture that I know will never come true for various reasons. I’ve always defined the word ‘mother’ as someone who gave birth to a child, not adopted one. While of course I’m not against adoptees or adoption itself—well, maybe I am, a bit,” she admitted. “There’s something. Something that doesn’t feel right about it. I guess it doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

Doctor Hugs murmured in understanding.

“We’re all facing many different social roles in our lives,” he said. “We strive to be a loving father, a caring wife, or a good student. I get the impression that you’re concerned with your role of a mother. Recently you’ve realized that it’s different from what you have pictured in the past, and you’re not feeling right about it because of that.”

Fleur felt exposed like a model with her dress unbuttoned. Darn shrinks and their tricks!

“I suppose that’s… quite accurate,” she replied.

“Now, our standard procedure assumes a trial period of one week,” Doctor Hugs said. “This is to give the couples an opportunity to get to know their possible child better, and vice versa. We then arrange an evaluation session during which the final decision of adopting, or not adopting the child is made.”

Fancy Pants chuckled. “It sounds to be as much of a trial for the parents as it is for the children!”

“It actually is! If a couple is, say, not entirely certain of their parenting skills, they can put them to the test during that period. They might find out that they’re not ready for such a task, or on the contrary, that they excel in it. Regardless of whether or not they discover those skills during the trial period, they are given a chance to learn more about the role they want to take. As for the kids, they’re either getting a new home or a little vacation. It’s a win-win for everyone involved.”

Fleur felt there was something unspoken, yet strongly suggested between the lines.

“I think I understand what you’re trying to say, doctor,” she said. “However, there’s another issue we have been struggling with ever since we came here. We have met many wonderful colts and fillies, and I’m sure they all deserve a good home, or a vacation, as you put it.”

Fancy Pants joined in. “The matter is, neither of us knows which one of the pupils we’d like to get to know better. As improper as it may sound, we can’t decide.”

“Is there anything you could do to help us out?”

Doctor Hugs put on a happy expression. He really looked like a smiley face drawn on a yellow sticky note. “I suppose I can, if you have a few minutes to spare,” he said, taking a step to a nearby cabinet. “You know, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I see a lot of couples with similar difficulties nowadays. Fortunately, there’s a scientific method which allows to create your psychological profile of a parent.”

“And what would be the purpose of such a profile?” Fancy Pants inquired.

“By comparing the outcome against the, shall we say, personality silhouettes of our kids, we can determine the perfect match. The most appropriate choice for the couple,” the doctor said. “Aha! Here they are!”

He put two substantial piles in front of Fleur and Fancy Pants.

“Please fill in these questionnaires. Take your time, but don’t ponder over the statements for too long. Read the instructions and answer according to the truth. Remember, there are no wrong answers in here. Oh, and the statements on page three are shared. You’ll need to choose your answers together. The pencils are to your”—he turned back at them—“left.” He turned around again. “In the meantime, would you care for something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“A cup of tea would be delightful,” Fancy Pants said, glancing at the mare who only murmured in response. “Actually, please make that two, doctor. Thank you.”

Fleur plunged into solving the questionnaire. You find it easy to introduce yourself to other ponies. She gave it a strong six out of seven towards agreeing with the statement because sometimes she felt fed up with all those high society ponies. Next. A logical decision is always the best, even when it hurts someone’s feelings. Of course not! Let’s not be insensitive. One. You would rather improvise than have a clearly defined plan. Oh, please!

She wasn’t entirely convinced of the value of such a method. The idea of having her offspring determined by numbers was absurd, but if her own body didn’t want to cooperate, then she was willing to give science a chance.

Perhaps adoption was the solution she needed after all.


* * *


Three cups of tea, two questionnaires, and one broken pencil later, the results were ready. At least that’s what the doctor said, because he gathered the papers, left the office, and was yet to return with the most appropriate choice.

Down below in the streets, the ponies were busy following their daily routines as well as avoiding the puddles that had formed in the recent downpour. Taught by experience, or simply unwilling to rely on the weather scheduling, some of them had raincoats packed tightly in their saddlebags. They were throwing suspicious glances at the sky, as if something in its clear, cerulean shade heralded a climactic change about to exploit their bad luck again.

Fancy Pants turned from the window. “I wouldn’t want to jinx it, but I’m silently counting on a unicorn.”

“Jinx it? Really?” Fleur replied. “Nightmare Night was almost three weeks ago, dear. Surely there’s nothing left to be jinxed by now. But why a unicorn, I wonder?”

“There was that charming little filly in the backyard, the one wearing a beanie cap. She struck me as polite, resolute, and she apparently had an interest in fashion. I bet she would make an excellent model, just like you!”

“I beg to differ. Coats like hers have never been popular among local designers. In the Crystal Empire? Oh, without a doubt. You know how they love indigo mares,” Fleur said with a wry face. “Besides, two white ponies with such a daughter? We would be standing out in the neighborhood like never, and I mean it in a less desirable way. How about one of the pegasi instead?”

“Oh, hilarious. You know I’m far too old to be jumping to the ceiling! Why not that one griffon for good measure?”

“Well, at least you wouldn’t have trouble keeping up with her. She didn’t seem to be much of a physical type.” For the first time in days, Fleur giggled. “A griffon child, this is so wrong! Can you imagine what would my father say about that? ‘You have failed our great Prance, Fleur. You are fraternizing with the enemy! Bastille, we’re out!’ ” she said, holding to the image of her father and his pet pigeon an extra while. “Come to think of it, you were the enemy once as well, but he hasn’t disinherited me for dating you. In the end, that is.”

Fancy Pants returned to his seat. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind having your father choose for us.”

“Because that of all things wouldn’t incite a revolution.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Fleur.”

“I do, but we’ve been having this conversation since lunch, and so far we’ve got nowhere,” she replied. “Let’s face it. We’re letting someone else choose for us because we wouldn’t be able to decide ourselves even if there were two foals to pick from. What does it tell you about our parenting skills?”

“Only that we need to rely on Doctor Hugs and his scientific approach.”

Fleur sighed and crossed her forelegs on her chest. “We need a push to get us moving, yes,” she said. “Only that, I think I’m scared. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to give a nice filly a chance to become somepony in life, but that doesn’t mean I’m not dreading the uncertainty. It’s overwhelming. I don’t know who will come through that door. I don’t know if I’ll be able to find enough strength to eventually accept him or her as my child.”

“Neither do I. But for what it’s worth, I think you’ll make an excellent mother.” Fancy Pants nudged Fleur, eliciting a hesitant smile on her face. “There you go. I also think we shouldn’t be expecting too much.”

“Oh? Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, I know that you’re not feeling this whole adoption prospect like I do, and I think you’re very brave for just coming here,” he said. “What would you say to this: promise that we’re going to unconditionally welcome whomever Doctor Hugs brings with him. From there, we’ll see what comes next. If nothing else, we should at least try to do our best to give him or her a little vacation. Do we have a deal, Mrs. Fleur?”

Fleur muttered something under her breath, but the exact words were drowned out by the squeak of the opening door. Doctor Hugs returned, and he wasn’t alone. Fleur and Fancy Pants stood up in anticipation.

“Mrs. Fleur, Mr. Fancy Pants, I’d like you to meet somepony. I’m certain that you’ll get along just fine.”

From behind the stallion, a rather average, cobblestone-coated pegasus filly dashed to them. Her trot was vivacious, her steps confident, and she was bursting with energy. She didn’t look like a pony who could stay put in one place for too long.

She flew up and grinned. “Hiya! Name’s Chestnut, but everypony here calls me Nutsie!” She reached out to the unicorns, her hoof high in the air. “Hoof bump!”

Only then had Fleur realized that this Chestnut character was no pegasus at all. No, everything in her appearance screamed otherwise, from her yellowy eyes and large fangs to little tufts of fur at the tips of her ears.

Chestnut was a batpony.

Flying down somewhat disappointed that neither of the unicorns was clear-headed enough to reciprocate the gesture, Chestnut folded her wings. Unlike pegasi ones they had no feathers and seemed like a piece of black fabric spread on a purple scaffolding, and together with the rest of her distinctive features they were giving her a rather unsettling look. She was the embodiment of everything that Fleur did not want to see in their child, and her picture could easily serve as a dictionary definition of the word ‘exotic’.

Chestnut crouched by Fleur and looked up, her brown mane sweeping the floor.

“Ooh, you’re tall!” she said, staring at the mare through her vertical slits.

Fleur had no idea how to respond to such an unusual compliment. She turned to Fancy Pants, waiting for him to save the day. In their marriage she was the one who contributed to their good looks the most, so he usually did the talking for both of them. She could always count on him to say something witty, like a greeting, sophisticated courtesy, or any kind of social interaction. She threw him a lasting, intense stare. Come on, say something! Anything!

However, her husband was also speechless. Judging by the blank expression on his face he was still in shock, and because of that he could only mumble one thing—a response truly showing his many years of experience in the Equestrian diplomacy.

“Oh dear.”
> Chapter 2 – 88 Rimway Avenue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chestnut’s eyes widened with fascination.

“That’s your place? Rad!”

Fleur was no linguist. She was fluent in both Prench and Equestrian and she had picked up the basics of some more exotic tongues during her time in Shanghay, but even if she had learned all the languages in the world, she’d still have trouble keeping up. She didn’t mind the trilling ‘R’ much—though it was making the filly sound rrrather outlandish—but the teenage manner of throwing in bizarre words and catchphrases was downright annoying.

‘Rad’ was just one of many words Fleur had suffered on their way home, and if it wasn’t for the obvious context of ‘their place’, she would have never guessed that Chestnut was actually trying to compliment their house.

“I do share your enthusiasm, young lady,” Fancy Pants said as they walked through the front gate. “However, I would prefer you to work on your parlance a bit. Could it be arranged?”

“Yeah, sure!”

Fleur frowned. “It’s pronounced ‘yes’, and not, ugh, ‘yah’.”

“Uhm, yesss,” Chestnut hissed, then set off along the sandstone pathway at a gleeful trot. Halfway towards the house she jumped into a puddle like she was trying to match the prowess of her Orphanarium friends. She took a sudden flight as if she wasn’t expecting the water to be wet. She snickered to herself and waved at Fleur and Fancy Pants. “Come on, you guys! What are you waiting for?”

Fleur could think of at least several legitimate reasons to stay away from the batpony snooping around her parcel.

Regrettably, the front yard didn’t look as spectacular as in the warmer months when rock gardens were surrounded by a colorful variety of blooming flowers, and the well-ordered lawn was free from the dry leaves falling from their neighbor’s maple. At least the shrubs looked decent, though the one at the far side could definitely use some trimming. Fleur didn’t even enjoy gardening that much, but right now she would take up anything if it meant she wouldn’t have to deal with the biggest disappointment of her life.

She glanced at the porch.

Standing by a bronze and mahogany bench that was as comfortable as it was elegant, Chestnut was trying to hide the fact that she had left a wet hoofprint on one of the flat cushions. She turned it around by sliding her wing underneath and flipping it like a pancake. When the cushion landed it its place, she glared at her hooves, then wiped them against her own coat while murmuring something under her breath.

Fleur turned to Fancy Pants. “I hate my life,” she groaned. “All I ever asked for was a right and proper filly, and what do I get? An adolescent batpony, hmph! I swear, I’m going to pay Doctor Hugs a visit and set his stupid questionnaire en flammes!”

“Don’t be so negative! Didn’t I tell you not to inflate your expectations?” Fancy Pants replied. “I trust the doctor’s judgment, and if nothing else, I think this is a wonderful opportunity to learn more about the batponies. They aren’t that common in our neighborhood, you know.”

“That’s because there are none in our neighborhood, and for a good reason! Do you want your life turned upside down due to a brief visit of some orphan from beyond Equestria?”

Fancy Pants stopped in his tracks.

“A brief visit? Is that what you really think of it, Fleur?”

“Well, what if it is?”

“Then that’s it? You’re simply going to return her on day one, end the vacation before she even crosses the threshold of our house, and blame her for being different than our neighbors? Is that what you want?”

“It’s not—argh, it’s not fair when you put it like that!”

“Then show some good faith,” Fancy Pants replied, handing the mare a cardboard box Chestnut had brought from the Orphanarium. “There is a whole week ahead of us so let’s try to make the best of it, shall we?”

Fancy Pants trotted to Chestnut but Fleur didn’t move. She wanted to see her husband’s ‘good faith’ at work. Because that’s so simple.

It seemed the filly discovered that a doormat was far superior than her coat for wiping her hooves. Fancy Pants complimented her bearing as he searched his tailcoat for the keys while Chestnut pointed at the bench, reached to her neck in embarrassment, and apparently uttered an apology. The stallion just laughed and invited her in as if she was some old friend of his.

Taking a deep breath and bracing herself for the upcoming week, Fleur headed towards the house as well. She grabbed the box in her pink magic, but despite her intention of holding it as far as possible, she found herself intrigued by the crooked letters written on the side.

NuTsiE’s StuFF

How wonderfully avant-garde.

She gladly noticed that the atmosphere around the house had been in no way affected by the presence of the batpony. It was still her home.

Chestnut herself stood amazed by what the interior decorator had done with the hallway. First to the right there was a mirror stretching from the hardwood floor to the cream ceiling, wide enough for three ponies to comfortably stand in front of it at the same time. The fourth one would find himself walking into a cozy kitchen accessed by a white archway. Such a solution had been put into use on the opposite wall as well, where a wide passage opened to a spacious living room. Right outside the room, and to the left of the ponies was a long, wall-mounted coat rack full of elegant outerwear.

Chestnut followed the hallway, peeking into both rooms with curiosity only natural to a foal her age. She stopped by an intricate, pinecone lamp imported straight from the Crystal Empire. When Fancy Pants cleared his throat, she took a step back. The stallion flicked the switch and the hallway filled with the pleasant light that finalized the first impression which—much to Fleur’s satisfaction—rendered the filly speechless for a few blissful seconds.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Fancy Pants said, causing Chestnut’s jaw to drop even lower. “Now, ladies, I would like to establish a couple of rules that every member of this household is expected to follow in this upcoming week.”

“Wait!” Chestnut shouted. She dashed to Fleur who instinctively shielded herself with the cardboard box which turned out to be just the thing the filly needed. After a moment of rummaging through the contents, Chestnut took out a creased piece of paper and presented it to the stallion. “According to this Totally Legit Guide to Batponies, I don’t have to obey any rules!”

Fancy Pants adjusted his monocle and enveloped the paper in the saffron mist of his magic. “You made it yourself, didn’t you?” he chuckled and passed the guide to Fleur.

TOTALLY LEGIT GIUDE TO BATPONYS

“Totally Legit—ugh, my eyes hurt from reading the title alone,” Fleur said, drawing a rebuking stare from Fancy Pants. She did her best to ease her frown that just wasn’t leaving her forehead. “Uhm, it’s nice.”

Chestnut shoved the paper back into the box. “Yeah—I mean, yes, sorry, I know it’s not so good. Doc Hugs was too busy lately to teach me letters and stuff,” she said with a shrug. “Reading is hard but can be really fun, but writing sucks when you have no magic but only your mouth and hooves.”

Glimpses of terror danced in Fleur’s eyes.

“You mean you have never learned to read and write properly?”

“I can totally write my name!” Chestnut replied with undisguised pride.

The state of affairs graduated to a whole new level of absurdity. Fleur couldn’t believe that there were still ponies out there who were illiterate, and though she had never been a student in the Equestrian education system herself, she was willing to bet that it was still covering the basics the filly lacked. She then realized that Chestnut wasn’t even a real Equestrian, but came from some unimportant, poor, and underdeveloped country to the east. While it certainly helped Fleur deal with the shock it did not ease her grief, as she had to kiss goodbye to the much anticipated scenario in which her daughter was a famous playwright.

Upset as she was, Fleur retained her composure of a classy mare and let Fancy Pants entertain his guest.

“How about a little tour around the house?” he proposed. Chestnut’s wide grin and vigorous nods sufficed for an answer, so he showed her upstairs and turned to Fleur who instantly deciphered ‘the look’ on his face. “I’m sure we’ll reach some consensus regarding the rules, won’t we?”

“Fine by me!” Chestnut replied, then threw him a questioning stare. “What’s a consensus?”

Fleur looked in the mirror. This was going to be one long week.

The tour concluded in a spare bedroom which Chestnut was offered for her temporary place of residence. Since Fleur and Fancy Pants had no idea whom to expect, they didn’t outfit the room in any particular way, but even if they had known they would be accommodating a batpony, they could have done only so much. Without a complete makeover there was no way for it to suit Chestnut who, as far as Fleur was concerned, would do well in a crude, unlit cave. The filly’s coat was plain and boring in comparison to the vivid colors of sunflowers and fresh grass put on the walls, her wings didn’t match the furniture made of bright wood, and her sharp teeth represented everything that the soft and fluffy rug was not.

Aware that Fancy Pants was watching her every move, Fleur was trying to make the best of a bad game. She even managed to help the filly unpack her things. The NuTsiE’s StuFF box was, unsurprisingly, full of ‘stuff’.

“One poster, I think?” Fleur said, pulling up a long roll. “Oh, Gemtrance. What’s a Gemtrance?”

“They’re my favorite band. Surely you’ve heard of them,” Chestnut replied, but the unicorns exchanged clueless glances. “Oh, come on! They’re the. Bestest. Band. Ever!” she shouted, waving her hooves around. “I also have one of their albums, see? It’s not the latest one, but it’s still great.”

Fancy Pants put the record aside. “I wonder if the old gramophone is still working. Perhaps we should give it a try later? I’m curious to hear what the younger generation is listening to nowadays,” he said with genuine interest. “My, what do we have here? Daring Do and the Rainbow Rupture?”

Chestnut nodded. “I got it from Doc Hugs so I could practice my reading. It’s harder than these”—she took out an issue of the Power Ponies comic—“but I’m already almost halfway through.” She turned to Fleur. “Do you like Daring Do?”

“No, sorry. I wouldn’t consider myself a fan,” the mare replied indifferently.

Fancy Pants examined a black figurine of a batpony which he found tucked in a piece of cloth.

“Now this is a work of art! Polished onyx, I believe, but it doesn’t look Equestrian. Where did you get that?”

Chestnut chuckled nervously. “What, this little thing? It’s a—uhm, it’s just a trinket from the old country. It looks like a real deal, but it’s probably fake,” she said, then grabbed the figurine and carried it to a bedside cabinet. “Hey, you guys want to see something cool?” She darted back to the box and presented the couple with a slightly worn-out plushy. “That’s Garibaldi the Griffon. Do you want to know how I got him? Well, there was that one time when Doc Hugs invited a history teacher, and she was also a griffon, and she was old, and…”

Fleur stopped paying attention. She didn’t care about the figurine, the toy, or the batpony herself, and she did not feel wrong about it.

Several hours later, when Fancy Pants was already fast asleep, Fleur sat down in bed. Her forelegs crossed, she was staring blankly ahead while trying to rate the first day of the trial period like it was a fashion show. Those consisted of three major parts: the model, the ensemble, and the act bringing the two together.

The model was a batpony, not a charming unicorn filly Fleur had always dreamed of having. She wouldn’t even call her a filly, considering that Chestnut was growing into a teenager both in size and in character. When it came to her social ensemble, so to speak, she was clothed in the lack of sophistication and quite uninspiring mannerisms that didn’t fit the bearing of the Canterlot Elite. As for the act, the brash behavior was not far from becoming obnoxious, which made the verdict definite.

That didn’t resemble Fleur’s vision of parenthood. At all.

The stallion next to her snored.

Fancy Pants was a crucial part of that vision, but his ensemble and act were both in a class by themselves. When he and Chestnut were looking for a spare gramophone needle, he was full of energy, and when they eventually found it in the attic, only the late hour stopped them from giving the record a spin. ‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ he said. Taking the mantle of fatherhood seemed so easy, so natural for him. Why being a mother had to be so much more difficult?

There was a third participant in that show of life: Fleur herself. She doubted Fancy Pants would judge her performance favorably, even if she was only trying to represent their social stratum to the best of her abilities. Maybe that was her problem? Maybe she got so stuck up in the high society’s expectations that she had forgotten about the times when she didn’t care much about such things. The times without nosy neighbors around which she had to pretend, and without the standards she needed to uphold. The times when only she and Fancy mattered while the rest of the world was spinning somewhere in the background.

Fleur looked at the stallion. The life they were living had opened them many new doors but it had its price. They never really talked about it. Perhaps he was tired of that endless rat race as well?

Promising to herself to look into it in the morning, Fleur gently lifted her husband’s muzzle and closed his mouth.

Free from the snoring, she slid under the covers.


* * *


Once upon a time, when midnight was nigh, an airship sailed across the inky sky.
Her daring captain—of jolly good looks!—was on a journey to plunder some books.
She had crewed the deck with reason and care, but then she came by a poor, lonely mare!
The mare who then joined her, having no choice—

“Fleur?”

The story got blurred because of a voice.

“Fleur, are you asleep?”

Fleur moaned.

Luna be praised for such a wonderful dream! It had it all: pirates, mutinies, companions, adventures, and treasure! Too bad a nudge to Fleur’s side caused it all to go out of focus and dissolve into a series of messy snapshots, gradually replaced by a view of Fancy Pants staring at her from the other side of their bed. The band of imaginary pirates didn’t stand a chance against her very real husband, but Fleur would rather set sail with them if that meant staying in her berth a while longer.

Getting up early was pointless.

With her face still deep in a pillow, the mare replied, “Fleur is, indeed, sleeping. Would you care to leave a message?” She turned to the side and threw a drowsy glance at Fancy Pants. “Isn’t it Saturday? You don’t work on Saturdays, and you’re rich enough to not have to wake up that early.”

Fancy Pants sprang out like the middle of the night didn’t bother him. He grabbed his burgundy dressing gown and pulled the curtains, allowing the merciless, blinding light to fill the room. “Come along, dear, it’s already past eight! No time to sleep!” he said with unusual cheer. “You know, I was just thinking about making some sort of a welcome breakfast for Chestnut. What do you say? Are parents supposed to do things like that every now and then?”

“I’m pretty sure it was about the fathers rather than parents in general,” Fleur replied. She covered her head with a pillow. “Wake me up when it’s served, husband.”

Fancy Pants rolled his eyes. “And they say that we are the lazy ones! Get up, Mrs. Fleur, or else—”

FOLLOW YOUR DREAAAMS!

A sudden burst of music quaked the house and sent Fleur to the floor.

NEVER GIVE UP, NEVER SURRENDER!
ALWAYS BE YOURSELF, NOT A PRETENDER!

“Quel est ce bruit?” she shouted, tangled in the covers.

“Why, it must be Gemtrance, also known as ‘the bestest band ever’.” Fancy Pants put his hooves in the air in an attempt to mimic Chestnut’s weird gesture from the day before. Fleur raised an eyebrow, to which the stallion shrugged. “It’s called rock and roll, for your information.”

She tossed away a ball of bedclothes with her magic.

“That I know! I only question why it is so loud!”

They hurried to the filly’s room.

Chestnut, with her eyes closed and her mane in disarray was too engaged in her one-mare performance to notice them come in. She bobbed her head up and down, imitating the drummer who had just become the most important member of the band. As the percussion solo rumbling from the gramophone was getting more intense, Chestnut spread her wings and flew up, her face stretched in the happiest batpony grin that either of the unicorns had ever seen.

When the percussion faded back into the background, Fancy Pants took the needle off the spinning record.

“Hey!” Chestnut opened her eyes. She was upset at first, but when she noticed the couple she cheered up. “Oh, hiya! I haven’t seen you guys since yesterday! Sorry if I let it get too loud, but this song is just so awesome!”

Fancy Pants put on an amicable expression. “Yes, the lyrics are inspiring, I give them that. Tell me, did you sleep well?”

“Sure thing!” Chestnut flew to her bed and kneaded the sheets like a cat preparing for a slumber. “That’s one comfy bed, so comfy I didn’t want to get up!”

“Ah, then it seems that you and Fleur have at least one thing in common! Isn’t that right, dear?”

Fleur pricked her ears. She barely finished massaging her temples after the proclaimed ‘bestest band ever’ obliterated her eardrums, and now Fancy Pants was going to make the day even harder for her? What was she supposed to say, anyway? She didn’t want to have anything in common with the filly, but Chestnut looked like she was content with their connection, which made it only harder for Fleur to respond.

“I… I believe we also share a desire for some breakfast?”

“Fine by me!” Chestnut leaped over the bed and was outside the room in a jiffy.

“And by me, as well,” Fancy Pants added, giving Fleur the stare.

The mare sighed.

During the meal which Chestnut was devouring with her eyes as much as with her mouth, Fleur pondered on the food she had put on the table. Fresh vegetables, fried bread, toasts, rolls, honey, marmalade, and the finest blend of black tea to be found in Canterlot were all regular components of her breakfast diet, but to Chestnut they were a royal treat. Judging by the appreciation in her eyes, it didn’t take much to make her happy. The kids at the Orphanarium probably lived off cereal or something equally mundane.

Fleur almost felt bad for her. She certainly would if it wasn’t for what happened next.

“Now, young lady,” Fancy Pants said, “Fleur and I both have some matters to attend to in the city. Perhaps you would be interested in—”

“Oh, oh!” Chestnut cut him off, her mouth still full. She swallowed her toast with a loud gulp. “Can I come with you?”

The stallion laughed. “I was getting to just that! However, we’re not going in the same direction. It would seem that you can either come with me to the art gallery for an exhibition which, unfortunately, might be quite unappealing for an adventurous filly such as yourself”—he turned to Fleur—“or…”

Fleur put her cup down with a clumsily loud clink. What gives? First rock and roll, and now this? That was happening too fast, and involved too many unwanted interactions! If she was ever going to give Chestnut a chance, if this whole endeavor was going to work, then it had to be done her way, with the smallest steps possible. Like saying ‘hello’ to each other from time to time. Politely nodding in the hallway. Sending a postcard for Hearth’s Warming.

“Or you can take a stroll around the city with me,” Fleur said. “I have things to do.”

She tried to make it sound as insipid as possible, but in all honesty, she was looking forward to her meeting with Rarity, a designer from Ponyville and an influential figure in the world of fashion. They had first met a few years ago, and Fleur remembered her as a pony of expensive tastes, but it wasn’t until much later when she began modeling her astonishing dresses. Ever since, even with Fleur in retirement, they still kept in touch as good friends.

Chestnut rubbed her chin. “Art gallery?” Fleur’s heart skipped a beat or two. “Meh, not my place to be. I’d rather go do that things stuff in the city, if that’s okay with you.”

So that’s what it meant to be caught between a rock and a hard place. Reluctant as she was, Fleur couldn’t find enough strength to douse the hopes and expectations of the orphaned filly.

“Why, it certainly is,” she replied, her voice not even half as confident as usual.
> Chapter 3 – Generous Advice
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city of Canterlot was a well-oiled social machine which kept on running smoothly thanks to a certain phenomenon known as popularity.

If you were unpopular, you had as much influence as a newcomer from the provinces. No one cared about you or your life, which was making you pretty much invisible to the crowd—even if you happened to be trotting down the Promenade next to a hypothetical batpony. Conversely, if you were a well-known citizen who mattered, the crowd favored you and you were free to do whatever you want—like go in the same direction as the aforementioned hypothetical batpony—because everyone would be too intimidated by your social status to even dare commenting on such a perplexing matter.

Without Fancy Pants backing her up, Fleur would position herself somewhere in between those two extremes. She was recognizable enough for the most important street of Canterlot to notice her, but she wasn’t a celebrity and therefore couldn’t avoid being pointed at. The ponies passing by were discreet, but Fleur could feel their questioning stares piling up on her back.

A few paces away, Chestnut jumped over a puddle with a joyful ‘whee!’.

Fleur kept her muzzle no higher than her back in a feeble attempt to blend in. The hypothetical batpony figure was quite tangible, and she could no longer ignore her shenanigans. She was content that Chestnut had enough dignity to at least drop the splashing this time, as they were getting close to the part of the Promenade where the crème de la crème of the Canterlot Elite was most likely to be encountered. For the sake of her own reputation, she decided to act like she saw nothing condemnable in having such a different companion.

That meant she had to talk, use actual words to communicate with the filly. Even worse, she had to listen and respond, like in a real conversation between two individuals. Nonsense! Perhaps Chestnuts didn’t feel like talking? Gah, like that would ever happen. Fleur followed her husband’s invaluable advice and braced herself for the upcoming chitchat as she chose the safest topic possible.

“So, I have never met somepony like you before,” she said. “What can you tell me about batponies?”

Chestnut’s ears went flat at that last word. “Only that some of us would call you a racist,” she replied. “We don’t really like being called names, you know.”

“I’m sorry, have I said something wrong?”

“We don’t like being called names. Our species is called thestrals. Or noctrals, depends on who you ask. I guess it makes sense to call us the way you did because of all the things we share with the batsies: ears, wings, fangs… On the other hoof, it’s weird. You don’t see anyone calling the unicorns ‘hornponies’, or the pegasi ‘wingponies’, do you?”

Fleur’s cheeks flushed at how incredibly wrong her opening line had gone.

“But what about that little guide you wrote?”

“See, that’s different,” Chestnut said. “If one thestral calls another thestral a batpony it’s like they were the bestest of bros. It’s a sign of friend—uhm, of friend-li-ness between them. But if anypony else calls him that way then they’re being racist, and they should run.”

“Well, then how should I call you?”

The filly smirked. “Well, you can call me Chestnut!”

For what Fleur had expected from an uneducated orphan, Chestnut wasn’t completely dumb, and the point she made about her species turned out strikingly sound. The earth ponies were sometimes referred to as, pardon the foul language, ‘mudponies’ which was a neither appropriate nor elegant epithet to use. The bat-word had to be a similar case. It was like there was some kind of an unwritten agreement between the bat—between the thestrals under which they prided themselves in the nickname that nopony else was allowed to use.

When Chestnut lost interest in the puddles, the mare eagerly sought out another undemanding topic. Indulging in a conversation proved to be an excellent strategy of avoiding unwanted attention and overall a small price to pay for preserving the public image a moment longer.

“What’s the story behind your cutie mark, Chestnut?”

The filly glanced at her flank adorned with three round, glossy objects. They were brownish like her mane and arranged in a way Fleur’s own cutie mark was, with two smaller ones above the larger akin to an inverted pyramid.

“This thingy? I guess it doesn’t tell much, well, I mean besides my name.”

“Are those chestnuts?” Fleur guessed.

Chestnut rolled her eyes. “Well, duh! What did you think, apples?” She smacked her forehead in embarrassment. “Sorry! That was mean of me. Those really are chestnuts. I forgot you don’t have those in Equestria.”

“Why, we most certainly do! They look a bit different, though. They are rounder, wrapped in green, spiky shells—”

“And they’re totally not munchable like those we grow in Tramplevania! I think it’s because yours don’t have those little pointy ends,” Chestnut said. She lifted her muzzle in a marked smug. “I don’t want to brag, but when it comes to planting, growing, collecting, roasting, or eating Tramplevanian chestnuts, I’m the bestest!”

Fleur’s ears flattened at that last manifestation of lexical exuberance. The catchword was tedious in itself, but the passion with which the filly had uttered it made Fleur feel embarrassed just from being within earshot. Even if Chestnut knew a thing or two about cooking some exotic nut, she was still a loud, near-illiterate farmpony.

The mare shook her head. There was no reason to follow that route, now was there? She should probably stop judging the filly only by what she lacked, as there was a difference between being unenthusiastic and straight spiteful. How about a gentler approach for a change?

Chestnut fixed her eyes on the street. “Unfortunately, you can’t grow them here in Canterlot, or anywhere in Equestria for that matter. I was told that it would take many years of the weather ponies’ work all across the country to make the climate good enough, not to mention the Princess would have to move the sun away… or was it that she’d have to move it closer? I don’t really remember. There was a lot of some climactic mumbo-jumbo,” she said, looking away. She let out a silent sigh. “I guess you could say I’m kinda a jobless pony here.”

When Fleur noticed that Chestnut’s trot stopped matching her own, she glanced back. For the first time since they had met, the filly didn’t seem carefree but concerned instead, and even though Fleur found her usual attitude tiresome, she would rather deal with the antics she was already familiar with. Besides, weren’t parents supposed to reassure their children in need, especially when they looked all downcast?

Hold on a second, did she just think of Chestnut as her child? That’s way too gentle.

And also preposterous. Fleur didn’t know the first thing about cheering up jobless ponies, so that was probably just Fancy Pants speaking through her. She intended to treat the situation as a mere exercise to learn more about being a parent, as suggested by Doctor Hugs, and so that her husband wouldn’t give her ‘the look’ later today. The circumstances were more than favorable and she had a perfect plan even she couldn’t possibly blow up.

“Don’t say that!” she replied, not even noticing the thoughtfulness of her voice. “Just because you can’t do whatever your cutie mark suggests doesn’t meant you can’t do anything at all. Au contraire, you’re free to do anything you want.”

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely! Just look at my cutie mark. Do you know what these are?”

Chestnut gave her a quizzical look. “Are those, uhm, fancy winged squids?”

Fleur snickered. “Well, not really. They are meant to symbolize the three flowers of a lily. Do you know how do we say ‘flower’ back where I come from? It’s fleur,” she said, accenting the word to dissolve the sound of her ‘R’.

“That’s your name!” Chestnut shouted, flapping her wings in extreme excitement.

Such a disturbance of what was supposed to be a peaceful morning brought a salvo of condemning stares upon the filly, so she quickly dashed down and hid behind the taller mare. She landed closer than she had been trotting before, but Fleur didn’t mind. Some of the ponies watching them probably knew her, maybe personally, and could as well start sowing disastrous rumors, but she decided to keep her muzzle high and act as if nothing socially deviating had just occurred. She was going to think about sinking into the ground in shame later, once she’d be done talking to Chestnut.

“Much like yourself, I too have a connection between my name and the look of my cutie mark,” she said. “I’d probably be called Lily Flower if I was born in Equestria, and you’d think that I was meant to become a lily gardener, or a pond cleaner, but I haven’t tried any of that. I decided to pursue my dream of becoming a model instead.”

“Heh. I don’t think I have a dream like that.”

“Well then, you have your entire life to discover it,” Fleur assured. “Your cutie mark does determine who you are, but only to a certain extent. Who’s to say you can’t learn growing other plants, or cooking meals not based on chestnuts, or doing something else entirely? While it’s true that you may not, say, paint as well as a pony who’s a naturally talented artist, that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to try,” she said. “Besides, did you see Fancy Pants? He has three crowns on his side, but he’s neither a king, nor does he wear pants.”

Chestnut burst out laughing.

Fleur couldn’t tell whether it happened due to a stroke of luck or her maternal instincts kicking in—if such a feature existed within her—but Chestnut regained her cheer and once again engaged in her vivacious ‘I can take on the world’ trot. For some reason it made the mare feel satisfied, maybe even reliable. While saying nice things to fashion designers and boutique owners to make profitable connections was one thing, the honest smile of a child was its own reward, one that was infinitely more gratifying.

She didn’t even try to hide her chuckle. Not because there were no ponies nearby around which she had to keep up appearances, but because she simply felt like laughing alongside Chestnut. The filly lacked in the areas of eloquence, sophistication, and quite possibly many others, but so far she was proving to be an interesting companion. Wasn’t that exactly what the Canterlot Elite was so desperately trying to show off? That they were worth talking to? That they mattered, that they had something interesting to say? All of that, for what? To score more points in the game of social dodgeball?

She seriously needed to talk to Fancy Pants about their ‘noble’ ways.

They stopped in front of a sand-colored building.

Les Deux Maregots was a renowned café of unconventional origins. It used to be a fabric and novelty shop which didn’t withstand the pressure of the Promenade where only the most successful boutiques, jewelry stores, and restaurants had the raison d’être, the reason to exist there. With the Royal Castle on one end and the heart of the city on the other, the competition was unforgiving. The first owner wasn’t ready for that, so when the Maregots reached the brink of bankruptcy, some wealthy investor from Prance seized the opportunity, bought the place out, and rebranded it as a café, keeping the name at the same time. As it turned out, it was a genius and highly profitable investment.

Chestnut frowned. “It looks super fancy-boring,” she said, then flapped her wings to make way for a café employee carrying a bucket of soapy water. “Way too fancy-boring for me. Do I have to come in?”

A decent question. Under the cover of catching up, Fleur intended to talk to Rarity about her concerns and give vent to her pent-up emotions, so taking Chestnut in wasn’t a good idea. On the other hoof, Rarity was bound to insist on meeting the filly at some point, so why postpone the inevitable? Then again, she could always introduce her later on.

Decisions, decisions.

“It may take a while,” Fleur replied, “but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just—”

“Stay around and don’t get into trouble? Don’t worry, I can handle myself!” Chestnut said, her muzzle turning away from the café. “Hey, is it okay if I go to the music store over there while you’re doing your things here? I would like to see what kind of stuff they have. Maybe they’ll even have some cool Gemtrance goodies! I’ll be back before you know it, I promise!”

Fleur liked the sound of such a notion. Since the Maregots was a strictly indoor café with no good place outside to sit and wait, and Tribes’n’Vibes across the street had been endorsed by none other than Octavia Melody, Fleur’s closest musical acquaintance, Chestnut was probably going to do fine on her own. Fleur craved for some quality time with Rarity—she could always count on the Royal Guard to intervene in case of any disturbance, anyway.

“I can’t see why not, and indeed, don’t get into trouble,” she said, even though her first thought was to say ‘don’t cause any trouble’ instead. Before she entered the café, she looked back. “Oh, and try to think of that dream you’d like to pursue!”

The supportive undertone of her own words surprised Fleur to the point she struggled with the door a while longer than it was reasonable. Why did she add that last bit? It wasn’t going to matter in the long run, now was it? In just a couple of days Chestnut was heading back to the Orphanarium, yet Fleur wondered what dream would suit her best, as if those were ensembles the filly could wear. A lawyer, or a botanist? An elegant vest, or a pair of charmingly rustic overalls?

Wait, so was it going to matter or not? No, certainly not. Well, probably not. Strange.

Counting on Rarity to solve that unique fashion conundrum, Fleur entered the café.

A plethora of scents tickled her nostrils. Whether they came from the fragrant teas and coffees, richly sprinkled cupcakes, glazed donuts, or a no small variety of pies, they all interweaved with the classy jazz ambiance filling the interior. Fleur inhaled deeply, savoring the atmosphere in a moment of bliss. She proceeded further inside to that one booth she and Rarity considered their own.

They had never made any formal arrangement with the manager, of course, but a hefty dose of dumb luck would always seat the mares in ‘their’ booth whenever they were meeting at the Maregots. All others, or at least those with a good view on both the counter and the entering guests, were usually occupied. Like the two wooden salespony statuettes—the Maregots proper—mounted on one of the pillars, Fleur and Rarity would be watching the exquisite clientele while commenting on their decent or terrible fashion choices.

“Fleur, my dear!” Rarity exclaimed, getting up from a seat only a shade darker than her pearly white coat. She locked the other mare in a firm hug. “How is my favorite Queen of the Catwalks doing on this fine day we’re having?”

“Aw, she’s done walking them, and you know it!” Fleur replied. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, Rarity! How long has it been? Two, three months?”

“Far too long! I’m dying to hear what the refined ponies of Canterlot have been buzzing about lately!”

“Oh, you have no idea! Just let me order something and—”

“Now, now. I took the liberty of ordering that ‘something’ for us both,” Rarity said, then unceremoniously pushed Fleur into the booth and returned to her seat across the table. “Ah! Here you go!”

A young, elegant stallion wearing a black bowtie approached their table, carrying a silver plate with two hoof-painted porcelain cups of steaming hot coffee, a matching sugar bowl, and a dainty jug of milk along with a set of filigree teaspoons. Once he unloaded everything onto the table and was about to go, Rarity captured his attention with her captivating, adorned by long eyelashes blue eyes.

“Thank you most kindly”—she would put a sweet emphasis on the last word—“darling.”

The waiter trotted away in such a rapture he had to return seconds later upon realizing he forgot the plate. Red on his face, he murmured an awkward apology, snatched the plate, and fled like an abashed colt.

Fleur giggled at her friend’s innocent stare. Rarity had that effect on ponies, and even non-ponies to some extent, and bewildering stallions was one of her favorite pastime activities.

“You start,” Fleur said, pointing a spoon at the incorrigible flirt. “Any scandals in Ponyville?”

“Ponyville doesn’t do scandals, I’m afraid. When we’re not stuck in the middle of some momentous conflict that could very well change the fate of Equestria, we’re just your average town lacking the excitements the city has to offer. Everypony knows each other, and there’s hardly enough time for a gossip to grow into anything more, so the days are slow. Mundane, even.”

Fleur took a greedy sip of her coffee, then another one. Oh, how much she needed that. A cup of warming beverage and a friend who knew her tastes inside out.

“I hope that’s not hindering your sales,” she said. “Ponyville has never been too keen on clothing, after all.”

“Heavens, no! We, the ponies from the provinces may be reaching certain standards only now, but luckily I can rely on other markets that are, shall we say, more lucrative. Actually, I have some news in that regard! Are you ready? I’ll be opening a brand new boutique in Trottingham this spring!”

“So I’ve heard! I’ve had a chat with Sassy Saddles at the Carousel, oh, when was it, last month?”

Rarity’s excitement faded. “Oh. So you knew.”

“Surprised much?”

“No, I-I was just hoping to surprise you, actually.”

“Well, that’s what you get for having me on your list of customers with additional, friends-only privileges. Sassy mentioned you’d be sending her back to Trottingham for the first few opening weeks. I understand it’s only temporary?”

“Her heart is with Canterlot, much like mine stays with Ponyville,” Rarity replied. “But it seems that I’ll be the one running the local Carousel while she’s away,” she said, then added at a hushed tone, “Drop by so I could get you something fabulous at my special, friends-only price.”

“What about Ponyville? You’re going to leave the business unattended?”

“Of course not. I’ll have Flickerflight take care of it.”

“Flicker-who?”

Rarity gloated. “A-ha! So there’s something you don’t know about Carousel Enterprises after all!” She gathered the excess of foam off the rim of her cup and licked the spoon clean. “She’s my new assistant from Hoofington. A lovely young mare, has some great designs, though she keeps selling herself short. I don’t think you two have met. On second thought… maybe? She’s been training under Sassy for some time. Pegasus, wavy mane. No?”

“Non, still nothing, sorry. You’ll have to introduce me someday.”

Fleur put the cup aside. The coffee tasted great but she didn’t want to run out of it too soon. A dessert would keep her pleasantly occupied, some sort of a vanilla sundae with fruits on the sides and whipped cream on top, all covered with a generous dose of sprinkles. Unfortunately, the Maregots was too refined to have such a caloric bomb on the menu. She’d have to go somewhere else later to really treat herself.

She turned back to Rarity.

“So, you’re storming Trottingham now. Next stop: Cloudsdale, I presume?”

“I wish! The rental prices for hard clouds don’t ever drop below Cloudsdale itself!” Rarity said. “No, I suppose I’ll be focusing my efforts on my friends as well as on myself. Between coming up with the new line for the winter and managing the businesses, I think I slipped into a social backlog, if you will,” she admitted. “You have no idea how glad I am that we could meet today!”

“But I’m doing it only to retain my friends-only benefits!” Fleur replied with a wink. “Sounds to me like you could use a break. I know it’s easy for me to say now, but have you considered taking some time off, away from the big and bad world of haute couture? Rainbow Falls isn’t too far. And it’s gorgeous in winter.”

“Mhm, I also heard they’re opening a new resort in the Crystal Mountains. Clarity Peak, I believe,” Rarity said. A playful spark shimmered in her eyes. “About the Empire, did you know that indigo is vogue again? Oh, I simply cannot wait for it to come to Canterlot!”

Fleur’s muzzle shot to the ceiling as she turned her head away. “Keep reminding me of their mockery, and I shall insist that you take some time off, and I will be firm, for you have clearly lost your fashion sanity already.”

She couldn’t hold her pretended frown for long, but her attempt was enough to elicit a giggle from Rarity.

“Apologies, my dear,” Rarity said. “Here you are, asking me about my recreational plans, and all I can think of is whether I should use a backstitch or a topstitch on a certain casual get-up I’m working on back home. I guess that means I’m married to my work, doesn’t it?” She sighed. “Oh, how I envy you, Fleur. Sometimes I wish I had something special like you and Fancy.” She looked at her with rekindled interest. “Which reminds me! How are you endeavors progressing? Your big retirement plans with relatively child-sized beginnings, so to speak?”

Fleur glanced back and onto the street where the unmistakable thestral was trotting there and back again, likely awaiting her return.

She cast down her eyes.

Rarity tried to belittle her not so subtle inquiry, but Fleur needed her interest. She needed to get what she had learned at the clinic off her chest, because however supportive Fancy Pants or Doctor Hugs were, they weren’t exactly, well, mares, and only a mare could fully understand her loss and her pain.

So she told Rarity everything. About the diagnosis, about how she felt, about what it meant to her.

Her friend listened patiently, holding and caressing her hooves in her own. Fleur wasn’t too thrilled about summarizing the worst three days of her life, but she brought together enough heroism not to burst into tears as she was speaking. She counted it as a personal success.

“How are you holding up?” Rarity asked.

“I’m better now,” Fleur replied. “I mean, it happened so unexpectedly, and I had to pretty much throw out some of my best laid plans, but I’m definitely better now. I don’t want to give up on my dreams, if that’s what you’re asking about. In fact, Fancy and I are considering expanding the family via some, uhm, non-conventional means.”

“I think that’s a marvelous idea!” Rarity said but curbed her enthusiasm when she spotted hesitation written all over the other mare’s face. “Oh, but you don’t. Have you two visited any orphanages or adoption centers?”

“We have, actually, but it all felt so weird to me! We had a chance to see some wonderful colts and fillies, but in the end we couldn’t decide, so we asked the doctor in charge for help. We had a talk, then we filled in some of his questionnaires and, long story short, we ended on a week-long trial period with a thestral in our house.”

Rarity patted her muzzle. “A thestral, you say? How quaint. I’m ashamed to admit that I do not know much about them, well, besides that there’s a certain appeal to their traditional garments which, if I do say so myself, could use a little variety. Something a bit brighter, perhaps, because all those blues, all those purples, oh, they’re just so boring!”

The strangest of thoughts came to Fleur’s mind: maybe blues and purples were boring and dull, but grays and browns certainly weren’t.

“Boring is the last word I’d use,” she said.

“I understand you’ve had a chance to get to know a dashing colt, or perhaps a charming filly of their kind? What are your impressions?”

“That’s exactly my problem. I met her only yesterday and I don’t know if I could ever accept such a filly as my child. I’m trying not to be biased against her, but I think the more neutral I try to be, the colder I appear. The problem with her… my problem is that she’s not what I expected.”

“You want my advice? Don’t be neutral. Engage yourself, show interest and care. Fleur de Lis I know is many things, but she’s certainly not a cold-hearted, well, you-know-what.”

Fleur snorted. “I’m not sure I can do that. You see, if she was a little filly of my own, I’d be more than happy to care for and raise her because I’d know what to expect. Chestnut, being much older and from a different race, is a wild card.”

“Chestnut! What an intriguing name for a thestral!” Rarity exclaimed, beaming with undisguised blitheness. “No night-shadowy-dusk individual, but simply: Chestnut. Oh, I bet she’s a real cutie!”

“She has certain, how to put it… redeeming qualities?” Fleur admitted. “My point is—wait, what are you doing?”

Although her cup was still half-full, Rarity sprung out of the booth. Her azure scarf with thick fringes followed, held by the mist of her magic, and obediently tied itself around her neck into a stylish knot.

“Dear, if you want to hear my opinion whether or not you’re a good mom material, I need to see you both in action,” she said and chuckled. “Some inter-action, at least. So buckle up, as we say in Ponyville! We’re heading to your place. And you’re going to introduce me!”

“She’s actually right outside.”

“Ooh! That’s even better!”

Much like she had seated Fleur in their booth, Rarity pulled the mare from her cozy spot without asking for a second opinion and led her towards the exit. Fleur threw a yearning glance at the table shrinking in the distance. There were still a couple of sips in her cup, lost forever, condemned to the kitchen sink.

“But, the receipt!”

“Already taken care of!”

“What—wait! Non, non, non!” Fleur almost bumped into a café employee carrying an empty bucket. She stepped in Rarity’s way, pressing her hoof against the mare’s chest. “Do you remember our last? We agreed that I would be the one paying for treats next time! And today is the next time!”

Rarity took on a sympathetic expression.

“Well, that’s just too bad, darling.” She sent a couple of shining bits to a tip jar, then gave Fleur a nudge. “Come along!”

Rolling her eyes in disbelief, Fleur followed her friend outside. She would be a fool if she didn’t accept the offer of somepony so busy yet so generous with her time, and apparently eager to help her. It was happening a bit too fast, much like everything else in Fleur’s life lately, but if there was anyone that could help her out, it would be the designer from Ponyville.

“Well then,” Rarity said as she stepped to the sun-soaked street. “Where is that charming young lady you’ve been talking about?”

Fleur looked around. From the exclusive Acquarellion to her left, to the five-star Hotel Daylight to her right, the filly she had been entrusted with was nowhere to be seen—and disappearing like that was, in itself, quite a remarkable achievement in the city full of regular ponies.

For the first time in her life, Fleur felt bad for a reason she could not yet fully comprehend.

“She’s… gone.”
> Chapter 4 – Chestnut Takes Canterlot
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fleur looked up.

Perhaps Chestnut was hiding somewhere on the café’s silvery awning, lurking like a devious predator about to jump down on its prey? A tiny, but no longer dormant part of Fleur was anticipating such a surprise which ultimately never came, because regardless of how improper, sudden, or simply loud an act of pouncing on her back would be, she’d at least know where the young thestral was.

Not on the awning, that’s for sure.

“Gone?” Rarity echoed. “Don’t say that, dear. ‘Gone’ is such a final word. She must have wandered off a bit, that’s all.”

“But I saw her! She was standing right here just a minute ago!” Fleur slumped on the entrance steps to stare blankly at the street. “Fancy is going to kill me. I’m so dumb! You’re not supposed to leave fillies unattended at any time, are you?”

“Well, you most certainly shouldn’t do that with small fillies, but from what you’ve told me, Chestnut is old enough to not get immediately lost without adult supervision.”

“But she’s not here, either!” Fleur grumbled. “What do you say to that?”

Rarity scrutinized her hoof in the most casual manner possible. “Oh, I’m afraid I lack a proper response,” she replied. “Your Chestnut isn’t here. What do you say to that?”

Fortunately for Fleur, answering her own question didn’t require any secret parenting knowledge, which was a major relief because such insights were still a secret to her. She straightened up, shrugging off the arising panic and shame that almost clouded her common sense. Even with her glaring incompetence in the field of childcare, she knew exactly what to do next.

She stepped off the stairs.

“I say we go and find her!”

“Now that’s the maternal spirit!” Rarity cheered.

The search and rescue plan formed in Fleur’s head.

“We should probably start in the store across the street. That’s where she wanted to go while I was with you so maybe she just went back there. When I saw her here I assumed she had her share of fun already, but then again, it wouldn’t be the first time she had trouble staying in one place,” Fleur said. “If she’s not there, then we should ask around. Someone had to see something. And Chestnut is way too noticeable to just vanish without a trace.” She turned back to her friend. “How does it sound for you?”

Rarity investigated the area, her eyes sweeping from the smudged windows to a stallion climbing up the ladder set by the café’s storefront. She squinted downwards, at a trace of water that had already soaked into the pavement. “Yes, yes, darling, I think that’s an excellent suggestion, only that—aha!” she exclaimed and approached the stallion. “Excuse me, sir! Have you, by any chance, seen a young thestral pacing around the area?”

A window wiper still clasped between his teeth, the stallion replied, “Shure I have. The whole shtreet have.”

“The whole street?” Fleur said with concern matched only by her curiosity.

The stallion threw the wiper into a bucket of water and stepped off the dangerously trembling ladder. “As whole as it can be, ma’am! It’s my shift on the windows today, so I’m washing them squeaky clean, as instructed. Suddenly, I hear somepony screaming: ‘Thief, thief!’, so I look and see a batpony backing away from some darn elegant lady. The bat’ was carrying a fine piece of golden necklace in her teeth, but she dropped it the moment she walked into my ladder.”

“What happened next?” Rarity asked.

“Well, I managed to keep my balance up there at the top, but the bucket, still full”—he drew a path in the air—“fell and soaked the poor mare good. So she got pretty pissed off, as you can imagine, her dress and mane all wet. The bat’ then galloped away, the lady followed, shouted some ugly words at her. Then she called the guards.”

“The Royal Guards?” Fleur replied in disbelief. “To chase down a filly?”

The stallion shrugged. “I can’t say she looked like a filly to me, ma’am, and I heard their kind starts their street career pretty early. If you’ve had something stolen too then maybe you should let the guards know. They all went thataway,” he said, pointing up the Promenade. “Hey, I wouldn’t worry if I were you. They’re bound to find her eventually!”

Fleur couldn’t believe her ears. While getting a bucket of cold, soapy water all over your coat wasn’t the most pleasant experience to endure, the stallion’s recap sounded like Chestnut had been involved in an unfortunate accident rather than an actual crime. Unless there was a grain of truth in it! Why would she take interest in someone’s jewelry in the first place? Was she a sly thief working with Doctor Hugs, really a criminal mastermind who aimed to rob—no, no, no. Fleur rebuked herself to stop her train of thoughts from derailing at the Nowhere station.

The mares set off at a brisk trot.

“Outrageous!” Rarity said. “If Twilight’s brother was still in charge of the Royal Guard in Canterlot, I’d go straight to his office to have a little chat about how his subordinates handle the security issues nowadays. What happened back there was clearly a terrible misunderstanding!”

Engrossed in the search Fleur only murmured in response as attempting to hold even a casual conversation would be too much to handle given the circumstances so unfamiliar to her. She had never fallen foul of the law or the authorities and she had no idea where would she go if she was the one escaping the guards. Would Chestnut try to hide in one of the shops? Probably not, because the fancy-boring places the Promenade was full of just weren’t good hiding spots. Windowsills and balconies were out of question, either, since she’d be too exposed. Rooftops? Maybe she just took off and flew back to the Orphanarium? If she had, Doctor Hugs was never going to allow Fleur try with another orphan, which in turn would put the mare back on square one.

She had to find her.

At least they were heading in the right direction. The ponies they asked on their way all confirmed they had seen a grey thestral—‘A rascal of some sort, I daresay!’—running from the Royal Guard. Some of them thought that it was, indeed, ‘quite an exhilarating show’ while others claimed the chase was just a staged act to boost the sales of some new book. ‘Why, yes, of course I preordered a copy weeks ago. It will be a smashing hit! Why? Well, all of my many cultured friends recommended it, naturally!’

The crowd thickened with a group of foreigners fascinated with their guide’s enthusiastic narration. They seemed oblivious to the fact they were standing in everyone’s way at one of the critical choke points of the Promenade. Tourists! Fleur slowed down but kept looking around. Being taller than the average mare had its advantages and not drowning in the sea of ponies was one of them, but she couldn’t count how many times she had hooked a door jamb or ruined a Hearth’s Warming garland with her horn.

Once they emerged from the crowd, Fleur turned to her friend. Rarity was huffing and puffing, winded as she was, changing the knot on her scarf into a more breathable but equally elegant variation.

“Rarity? Is everything alright?”

“You mean, besides the fact that I don’t have those supermodel legs of yours?” She paused for a swift gasp. “Why, I am then perfectly fine, thank you very much. Do you and your acquaintances race back and forth the catwalk when no one’s watching?”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to run like that. I was just, uhm, well… I didn’t mean to run like that.”

“It’s but a minor nuisance,” Rarity replied, then exhaled loudly to regain the steady breath. “Admit it, dear. You care about Chestnut. You want her by your side. And, most importantly, you want her to be your—”

“Don’t say that, please,” Fleur cut her short. “For my own sake.”

“As you wish, but then, why are you pursuing her with such dedication?”

“I-I just don’t like the idea of having any legal problems with the Orphanarium, that’s all. That, and I can imagine what Fancy Pants would say about this mess. Simple as that.”

“Ah, if you say so. My bad.”

The amused note told Fleur that Rarity was once again able to see right through her and her not quite smooth talk. It wasn’t anything new, really, but this time she touched something which Fleur herself thought had ceased to exist upon receiving the diagnosis. Ever since Rarity uncovered it, hidden deep inside, she kept nudging it gently like one nudges a campfire to rekindle it and bring warmth anew.

From one crowd of ponies they stepped into another, gathered around what was best described as a total disaster.

Nearly half of the street was covered with the most abstract mosaic of all times, formed by colorful glass shards and drips of spilled beverages that shined in the sun like a sea of precious gemstones. The ponies surrounding the scene didn’t look like occasional onlookers—most of them held round and unbroken punch glasses which matched the materials used in setting up the mosaic. It all originated from an overturned table by which a solitary mare was lamenting to no end, seeking consolation in repeatedly smoothing her vintage floral dress.

“It’s ruined! Ruined, I tell you!” the mare moaned. When Fleur made the rookie mistake of not blending back into the crowd, the game was on. The mare hurried to her, navigating between the lines of shattered glass, and made her first move. “Fleur! Fleur, your presence here is the sole light shining amongst such dreadful circumstances!”

“Hyacinth,” Fleur greeted her with a dose of polite indifference. “Always a pleasure.”

Hyacinth’s greatest—and sometimes quite desperate—aspiration was to join the ranks of the Canterlot Elite and be considered a classy mare of the high society. She believed that impressing Fleur and Fancy Pants was going to help her achieve that, but more often than not her overzealous attitude was turning her attempts into quite a comical display. Her hobbies included: inviting her friends for a cup of eleven o’clock coffee, pretending to be more important than she actually was, and organizing way too many social get-togethers on which she had a chance to shine.

She also considered it the fate’s oversight that she wasn’t born into the royalty.

Hyacinth led Fleur away from the crowd. “Yes, yes, dear, I know exactly what you want to say. My front door parties are widely known to be absolutely impeccable, but as you can see, my Punch Tastextravaganza has suffered a terrible, terrible loss today!”

“What happened?” Fleur asked, wondering where did Rarity go.

“The horror happened! The horror in form of an equine creature! I believe we call them thestrals now out of political correctness,” Hyacinth said. “One of them came like a bolt from the blue and ruined my party. I heard a shout, and by the time I turned around, oh, I saw my delectable choice of punches flying into the air, crashing down like a hailstorm and irrigating the street!” she said, picking up a broken pitcher’s handle to add weight to her words.

Fleur prodded the pitcher’s bottom. “That’s a lot of glassware. I hope you have spares.”

“I appreciate your concern, but please, don’t risk ruining your model hooves in this translucent catastrophe. Rich Card is already on it. Oh, Rich Card!” she called for her husband, then pulled Fleur into a clandestine grasp. “Between you and me, those were the spares. I would never use my prized set of porcelain tableware with hoof-painted starflowers for an outdoor party. Even amongst the ponies of substance gathered here there are some I would rather not entrust with anything more than a coffee spoon,” Hyacinth said. “Speaking of which, you do remember that you’re cordially invited for a cup of coffee tomorrow morning?”

“Oui, at eleven o’clock sharp. How could I ever forget?” Fleur replied, adding one to the count of Hyacinth’s reminders. The mare’s persistence on the matter of meetups was legendary, if annoying. “In the meantime, would you mind telling me where did that thestral go?”

Hyacinth blinked her eyes nervously, troubled that Fleur was more interested in the whereabouts of the bandit rather than complimenting her prized set of porcelain tableware or discussing the guests that weren’t socially outstanding enough to drink from it.

“Well, after the assailant flipped the refreshments table and tackled not one, but two Royal Guards, I saw her drinking my exquisite cranberry punch. She then scuttled away with a barefaced smug on her ruffian muzzle, galloping further up the Promenade, I believe,” she said, then threw a glance over Fleur’s shoulder. “Yes, what is it?”

A balding stallion of endless patience and a heart of gold waved at Hyacinth.

“I just wanted to make sure I know where do you want me to put all this glass. Again, is our dustbin okay?”

Hyacinth chuckled. “Oh, Rich Card! I’m sure that with your many years of experience in the City Council’s Department of Finance you are well capable of making your own judgment regarding the rubbish disposal!” she said, but when the stallion took but a step she quickly added on a more serious note, “Not in ours, dear. I would rather not be mistaken for a heartbroken glassware artist. No, not there, either!” She turned to Fleur. “I’m afraid I have to go now and once again become a guiding beacon for my lost husband. Be on the lookout for those two-faced ponies, dear! You never know when one of them will decide to crash your party!”

After throwing one last glance at the crime scene, Fleur swept the area for her friend.

In a fashion only typical of her, Rarity wound up among the partygoers with a surprisingly whole glass of punch of her own, but when Fleur beckoned to her, she exploited her natural social graces, asked to be relieved—five stallions volunteered—and left her admirers upon letting out a sweet giggle.

“Having fun, are you?” Fleur asked.

“Fun? Oh, don’t be ridiculous! While you and Hyacinth were busy socializing, I took the liberty of nosing around a bit. The guests claim to have seen a grey thestral who grappled the guards and threw them at the buffet thus ruining the party. Their testimonies were oddly consistent with each other, but unless there’s something you haven’t told me, I don’t think a filly could take on two stalwart stallions.”

“Not this one. Anything else?”

“According to some ponies, she left the scene galloping into the night with a maniacal laughter!”

“She did?” Fleur replied, realized the obvious absurdity, and did a double take. “Non! You’re making this up!”

“But I’m not! That’s what they said: a maniacal laughter!” Rarity replied. “One specific group did, that is. I noticed they all repeated those exact words, but when I asked for details each of them individually, their stories couldn’t be more divergent. It led me to believe that they were following someone else’s judgment. And guess what? It turned out so! They were all repeating what one of the more distinguished guests said and they barely bothered to have their own opinion.”

Fleur snorted. “How typical of the high society. They saw nothing. They were just trying to score some points with the most influential figure around.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “Are we really like that? We’re supposed to be the best of this world, we call ourselves the Canterlot Elite, and we believe we represent the ideal to which other ponies should want to aspire. We think of ourselves as role models for them, but in the end we’re just a bunch of opinionated snobs!”

“Keeping up appearances is the price of living in Canterlot, I suppose.”

“But is it worth it?” Fleur wondered. “Sure, we have beautiful houses, we have connections, we can have coffee with celebrities whenever we want, and I probably wouldn’t have to work for the rest of my life and I could still maintain a certain standard of living, but at what cost? Constantly following what somepony ‘more important’ has to say? Partaking in the activities we don’t even like only to appear au courant with what’s popular at the moment?”

Rarity looked up to the sky, pondering over her words for a moment.

“I can’t answer you that, Fleur,” she said, turning her attention back to the street. “There was a time when I became so obsessed with making every high society pony happy that I almost forgot what was really important. I had to choose between my friends and my reputation, and if it wasn’t for Fancy Pants, I’d probably become a laughingstock and never set my hoof in Canterlot again. If there’s something about the life you’re living that’s troubling you, then you should probably talk it over with him.”

“Oui, that’s the plan,” Fleur replied, then moaned in desperation, “Oh, where is she?”

When all hope seemed lost, Rarity threw a glance over Fleur’s back. She nudged her in the surging excitement evident in her grin. “Refresh my memory, if you please. Does she have a grey coat, unruly brownish mane, big bright eyes, and a muzzle so cute you’re seriously considering designing an entire line of thestral-inspired accessories for the next three to six months?”

“I can’t say I am, but you got her looks spot on. What, do you see her?” Fleur followed her friend and looked to the side, but she could see Chestnut neither in front of The Canterlot Sun editorial office, nor anywhere near the jewelry store across some unnamed maintenance alley branching from the Promenade. She looked around to widen the search area, scanning the vicinity of the adjacent shops, but she still got nothing. “Where is she, where?”

“She’s right”—Rarity guided Fleur’s head—“there.”

Down the alley stood an ordinary trash can from which those distinctive, yellowy eyes discreetly observed the Promenade’s flow of ponies. Chestnut was hiding from something with a round lid on her head, but when her and Fleur’s eyes met, she dived deeper into the container and closed the opening.

“How did you—wait, you’re not going to leave me now, are you?”

Rarity took a step back. “I’ll be right here,” she assured, “but from what I can see, your little thestral is frightened. It’s for the best if you’re the one to talk to her first, especially since she doesn’t know me.”

Fleur squeaked. “But the alley… the smell…”

“Oh, puh-lease! Remember that time I told you about my sister? I went to great lengths to participate in the Ponyville Sisterhooves Social alongside her, and by far the most dreadful part was when I had to cover myself in mud. The real mud, dear, not the spa one! It ruined my coiffure, my hooficure, and my make-up, but it was something I endured for Sweetie Belle, because sometimes doing the right thing requires us getting our hooves a little dirty,” she said. “You could say that this very alley is your personal mud pit!”

“Can’t we just stay here and wait? Surely she’ll get out eventually!”

Rarity stomped her hoof. “Mare up, Fleur de Lis! In you go, now!”

Fleur didn’t like the mud pit metaphor in the slightest but she got the message it conveyed. She had to mare up and get that kid out of there, not because Fancy Pants or Doctor Hugs would think ill of her if she hadn’t, but because she just couldn’t leave the filly sitting all abandoned in a can. While Chestnut wasn’t someone of high social standing, she definitely wasn’t trash.

So in she went.

Not all waste in Canterlot could be magically utilized, and those unnamed alleys to which nopony paid any attention were the reason the city appeared so clean and shiny. Unseen by most, they served as back passages to exquisite cafes, restaurants, and stores which just like all other places generated mounds of waste with the hope that some unknown force would take it away. Every day, they were having their wish fulfilled by the ponies who woke up even before Princess Celestia raised her glorious sun, and who were the last ones to step off the streets long after she hid it behind the horizon. Thanks to their sacrifice, the businesses could continue to provide their services, free of the burden that disappeared in the seemingly bottomless trash cans.

Fleur advanced down the alley, doing her best to keep the minimum safe distance from the containers of questionable contents. More than once she wanted to give up, to turn tail and flee, as the unpleasant atmosphere was tough to bear with dignity. Overwhelmed by the nauseating stench wrapping her and assaulted by the aggressive expressionism of the graffiti, she was dreading every of the five steps she had made towards her goal.

“Eek!” she squealed when a monstrously fanged creature dashed by her.

“Oh, for goodness sake, it’s just a rat!” she heard Rarity’s most reassuring voice from behind. “And my friends call me a drama queen! Compared to you I’m but a countrified baroness!”

Convinced that the alley would become the place of her early demise, Fleur accepted her fate and galloped to the trash can. “Ew, ew, ew!” she squeaked as she stepped into a puddle made of stickiness and misery. She wiped her hoof with a rag laying nearby. It turned to house another rat whose high-pitched protests rivaled her own. “Y-you take it!” She scurried away and immediately felt a gossamer veil coating her muzzle, but she didn’t wait to apologize to whatever eight-legged monster had made it. She whimpered, taking the last reckless leap down the alley.

She landed right next to the trash can. She straightened up. Well, it could have been worse. Chestnut could have ran into the sewers. Yuck.

With the help of her magic, Fleur grasped a cardboard box and disassembled it into a flat layer she placed by the trash can. She then added a piece of styrofoam, and then another flattened box for good measure. Only when she had a proper, however makeshift seating she felt ready to knock on the filly’s hiding place.

“Chestnut,” she spoke in a steady tone. “Would you care to explain what are you doing inside this… container?”

Chestnut’s voice bounced off the metallic surface. “Hiding,” she replied.

“Hiding? What from?”

“Lady Bucket Head.”

Fleur did a quick recall of all the ponies she knew, but she couldn’t think of any mare bearing such an original name.

Chestnut’s head popped out from the can. “Well, I don’t know it that’s really her name,” she said, playfully balancing the lid on her head. “I made that one up.”

“Oui, I figured so, but—” She stopped, leaning away in a gut reaction. Nose, lips, fangs, crimson stains! “Your face! Is that… is that…”

The filly squinted at the tip of her muzzle. “Oh, you think that’s—nah, c’mon!” She giggled. “Don’t worry! It’s just some cranberry juice from a party we accidentally crashed. Me and misters guardsponies, that is. I mean, I know I didn’t do it on purpose, but I can’t really speak for them,” she explained much to the relief of the mare’s heavily beating heart. Bloodied fangs. Some nightmare material! “I barely saved it from crashing and spilling all over the place like the rest of those funny drinks. It was pretty tasty, too!”

“I’ve been gone for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. What happened?”

“Well, first I went to that music store, but it didn’t take long. It was like I was at the café one moment, then went to the store for a moment, and then got back the very same moment I left! I did my best to be super fast! They told me the new Gemtrance album is coming out in as much as three weeks, and I figured your meeting wouldn’t last that long, so I went back,” Chestnut said. “So I was standing right there, chilling and stuff, and guess what I see? One of those fancy mares trots by, you know, keeping her head high and not even smiling a bit because smiling is apparently not smiled upon these days.”

The mare raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word.

“She wasn't paying attention to anything around her, not even when she dropped her cool necklace. It just slid off her neck because of a bad fixing or something, I don’t know,” Chestnut said. “So I grab it to return it. I fly to her and pat her on the side. She turns around and she’s all like ‘woah!’, so I’m like ‘wah!’. Then she calls me a thief, can you believe it?”

So far the story proved consistent with what Fleur had already heard, but it was much more enjoyable to listen when Chestnut was telling it. There was passion in her voice which allowed to fully immerse yourself in the drama worthy of an adventure novel. The mare could see why some ponies thought the chase was a publicity stunt.

“I drop the necklace, try to explain, but she’s not listening!” Chestnut threw her hooves in the air, almost knocking off the trash lid of her head. “She keeps getting closer and calls me a…”

The filly climbed up and whispered a few inappropriate words into Fleur’s ear, eliciting a furious blush from the mare.

“Scandaleux! Was everyone around there blind? Surely somepony saw you didn’t steal the necklace!”

“I don’t think Lady Bucket Head was upset about the necklace,” Chestnut replied. “It was more like she wanted to send a message. There were lots of ponies around, but if there’s one thing I know about the city is that it’s apparently okay to shout out your alle—uhm, allegations? That’s the cool word, right? It’s okay to do so if you look important enough. I guess you could say that nopony bats an eye for these kinda situations.” She bared her fangs in a grin. “See, see what I did there? ‘Nopony bats an eye’ because, you know, I am a thestral and—oh, forget it,” she said, waving her hoof. “In the end I walked into the ladder, but not on purpose, the window washing guy wobbled, dropped a bucket of water, and the mare caught it. With her face.”

Fleur chuckled. Now the nickname Chestnut created for that dumb, inward-looking mare got fully justified. Unless she was lying to her, but why would she? The version of the story she presented was probable, and she would gain nothing on twisting the facts or retelling the events in a way that would serve her reputation. Unlike Lady Bucket Head, Hyacinth, and many other socialites Fleur knew.

“You knew I was just inside,” she said. “Why didn’t you call for me?”

A slight blush came to Chestnut’s cheeks as she tried to look nowhere in particular. She took the lid off her head to cover her muzzle. “I didn’t want to ruin the thing you were doing. I knew you’d be doing important business important ponies like you do, and since for the past few years I could count mostly on myself, well… yeah.”

“Oh? Oh. I, uhm, I thank you for your consideration.”

The filly discarded the lid and cheered up. “You’re welcome!”

Fleur was lost for words. Her initial assumptions turned out correct, in a way, because this particular thestral did not fit the Canterlot way of life at all—she was better than that, and what she did was by far the most selfless thing a pony in her place could do. It only made things harder for the mare as the emotions fueling her mind and body during the search had suddenly waned, leaving her downright flaccid. She wasn’t used to anything beyond sauntering and strolling with occasional parading, and she had to compensate for all those lost sips of coffee, so instead of trying to come up with a proper way of expressing her gratitude, she yearned for a high-caloric dessert she could not get in the Maregots earlier.

It occurred to her that she could both indulge herself and do something nice for the filly she had wrongfully disregarded.

“Chestnut, what do you say we go for some ice cream? Let’s have a fancy dessert, on me. Would you like that?”

The filly’s eyes shined with interest. “With whipped cream and colorful sprinkles?”

“Of course! It wouldn’t be a proper dessert without sprinkles. Besides, I do love them!”

“Hey, me too—whoa!” The can toppled, overbalanced by Chestnut’s valiant attempt at jumping out, and spat out her and some wastepaper to the mare’s hooves. “Uh, I think!”

“You never ate such a dessert?”

Snickering, Chestnut flew up and bopped Fleur’s muzzle. “Silly! Of course I did! Two years ago at the Summer Wrap Up with my friends, Doc Hugs, and his Wonderbolt friend who’s also a mare, but she’s not his marefriend. I mean, that’s what he told us, but it’s not what we saw when they were talking and thought we weren’t watching!” she exclaimed. “Come on! I can tell you the rest if you want, but we should probably get those ice cream first. If we don’t hurry they’ll run out of sprinkles!”

Fleur cracked her lips in questioning disbelief. Most of the ponies she knew needed much to put on a happy expression, like designer clothing and dazzling jewelry they would never wear more than once, and of course the constant inflow of fresh gossips thanks to which they could appear more acquainted during various social events they attended to show off.

All Chestnut needed was a bowl of ice cream she could share with another pony.
> Chapter 5 – Head of the Family
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pillars of a thousand colors blasted into the sky as DARING DO struggled to keep her balance. She found herself on the edge of the fabled Rainbow Rupture once thought to be but a legend, trapped between the blazingly hot shades of red and orange on one side and the piercingly cold hues of indigo and blue on the other. The cunning pegasus looked down the chasm, the only way she could go to escape her nefarious archenemy and his small army of feline minions.

“This is where you meet your last, Miss Do!” Ahuizotl declared dramatically. “For later we all went for some ice cream!”

Ice cream? That’s an interesting choice of words for a dog-monkey creature of five hands, yet at the same time a bit out of place. Do cats eat ice cream, anyway? Fancy Pants adjusted his monocle, went back a couple of words, and read the line again.

“This is where you meet your last, Miss Do!” Ahuizotl declared dramatically. “For there is no way you can flee me this time!”

The adventurous mare glanced down again. Reaching one of those serene, green streams was going to be tricky, but she had to take a leap of faith if she wanted to save the priceless loot she had with her. She had come too far to give up now, and she wasn’t the type of pony to go without putting up a fight first.

“No way? Not if I have something to say, Ahuizotl!” Daring Do shouted back and patted her satchel. “I admit, I was reluctant at first, but after today—”

“…but after today I’m willing to give it a shot,” Fleur said. “Husband, are you listening or reading? And what is it that you’re reading?”

As much as he regretted abandoning the heroine in such a pivotal moment, Fancy Pants closed the book when Fleur’s own narration finally won over A.K. Yearling’s riveting, if sometimes flowery writing style. The cover featured a dim yellow pegasus flying recklessly down some sort of a multicolor waterfall with a distinctive, smug grin on her face. The amount of hues stood in perfect contrast to her short, grey mane, and together with the perspective chosen by the artist created a vivid, action-packed scene which was no short of Ahuizotl himself, the main antagonist of the Daring Do series.

Fancy Pants presented the book. “Why, it is Daring Do and the Rainbow Rupture,” he said. “I asked Chestnut if I could borrow it for a while, and though I don’t think I’ll be rushing the bookstores when the next installment gets published, I find this one quite enjoyable so far. I suppose finding common ground is beneficial not only in diplomacy but will also help us understand Chestnut a tad better, wouldn’t you say?”

“What I would say is that while I’m talking about important life events, you’re indulging yourself in fiction!” Fleur said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. Done tending to her mane, she glanced into the three-piece mirror mounted in the dressing table. She put the brush away. “Real things are happening outside! Were you even listening?”

Fancy Pants put the book aside. If he had been a typical husband, he would mutter a sulky response under his breath, something along the lines of being more than able to read and listen at the same time. But he was no ordinary spouse and neither was his wife. Considering all those happy years they had spent and were yet to spend together, she deserved the best. He put a pillow higher behind his back and granted his full, undivided attention to Fleur.

“I still am, dear,” he replied softly. “I heard what you said about your stroll with Chestnut, your meeting with Rarity, the search, and about what you did in that alley. I assure you, should I ever run into this Lady Bucket Head figure, I will tell her a few firm words regarding what I think about setting the Royal Guard on innocent fillies.”

When Fleur dived under the covers and clutched his foreleg, a blissful shiver travelled down his spine. Her coat was always so soft in touch, smooth and groomed, and her mane carried the enticing scent of peppermint mixed with vanilla. While the world of fashion had sent enough words of praise over the model beauty, Fancy Pants had the exclusive pleasure of falling asleep next to her. Waking up wasn’t bad, either, as the angelic looks of his wife smiling, without any make-up, and with strands of her hair slightly disheveled after the night was a sight to behold. He sometimes wished he had it framed on his work desk, but since that particular view would most likely distract his co-workers, he had to settle for a less emotive picture.

While physical appeal wasn’t the most important quality he valued, he had to admit there were some perquisites of having a supermodel for a wife—had he not, he wouldn’t be a proper male.

“Surprisingly, you were listening!” Fleur admitted after a moment of carefree snuggling. “What do you think?”

“It’s wonderful to hear you’re opening up to her,” he said. “I really hope you’ll keep it up for the sake of us all. For the sake of our family. And I have to admit, I envy you! I’m only reading about adventures and such, but the two of you seemed to have shared in quite a one!”

“I never asked for this. I intended to spend some quality time with Rarity.”

Despite their closeness, Fancy Pants managed to squeeze his hoof in between their bodies and drew a lopsided heart on Fleur’s chest. “Ah, but you of all ponies should know that adventure finds us when we least expect it! It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” he said. “So, what did Rarity say about your little companion?”

Fleur giggled. “Oh, you know her! She was absolutely charmed, which means we can expect a parcel in the next couple of days. Chestnut doesn’t seem to know the first thing about fashion, but Rarity being herself was more than willing to tell her all about it. And she listened, and even had some legitimate questions,” Fleur said, then slipped out of the embrace. “But before that, Rarity and I also talked about… other things.”

Fancy Pants locked her hoof in a reassuring grip, anticipating the follow-up in tense silence. He had learned time and again that the best way to find out what buzzed inside Fleur’s head was to give her some extra time for consideration. For a mare, she was never particularly open about her thoughts and feelings, but she had made tremendous progress since the day they first met. She appeared concerned enough already, there was no point in stressing her further.

“Do you sometimes think about how we live?” she asked. “Do you wish certain things have taken a different turn?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I don’t know yet, just give me a second,” she said. She took a while to stare at the ceiling. “Have we become snobs?”

“And what constitutes a snob?”

Another long pause.

“There’s something I need to tell you, so please bear with me,” Fleur finally said. “Remember what I told Doctor Hugs? My plan to be a perfect mother of a perfect child? Well, there’s more to that.”

Fancy Pants kicked his share of bedding away and moved around to sit face-to-face with Fleur.

She took a deep breath and went on with her confession. “I always imagined that me getting pregnant and then foaling would allow us to take a fully justified step back. From the affairs of the high society, their forced courtesies, repeated opinions, meetings, events, parties, and Celestia knows what else. From all this insincerity, I guess.”

“You’ve never told me that you’re tired with Canterlot. Are you saying we should move to the countryside? To a town like Ponyville, perhaps?”

Fleur shook her head. “It’s not about the city. It’s about the citizens,” she replied. “When was the last time you were actually paying attention to the ponies outside, I mean really watched them, observed what they represent? They’re chasing fame and wealth with their muzzles stuck high in the clouds. Every day, pursuing their careers like there was no tomorrow, they’re toiling to be perceived as proper, as important, and barely smiling to each other because smiling is apparently not smiled upon these days.” Fleur mustered up a quizzical smirk which Fancy Pants could not decipher. “I love Canterlot, don’t get me wrong, and I don’t want to leave, even at the price of putting up with some of our acquaintances. I can live with that.”

Indeed, they were following a challenging but nonetheless rewarding path in life. Fancy Pants always admired the exceptional grace with which Fleur was overcoming the obstacles, all the more since she was, at any rate, a foreigner who had agreed to leave her home and settle down in a distant land. Yet right now she seemed like she was about to bring up an issue she could not solve on her own. Was it due to their visit at the Orphanarium? Her retirement? The walk with Chestnut earlier today?

Had he missed something about the one he cared for the most?

“But you can’t live in Canterlot and just deny the high society,” Fleur continued. “You find out that you’re already too engaged in this rat race. Being a parent of a newborn foal was going to be my socially acceptable excuse to quit it, or at least spend a few laps in the stands, but what we’re trying to do here is a different thing. It’s like grabbing a passenger in the middle of overtaking your competitors while running backwards. Blindfolded!” She looked at Fancy Pants. “Is this metaphor any good, or shall I give up?”

“I find it astonishingly accurate. What’s your, hmm, finish line?”

“My finish line is that we’d have to face a great deal of challenges with Chestnut around. I’m not sure if it can be done.”

Fancy Pants shivered in excitement. “Fleur, dearest, are you telling me that you’re actually considering—”

“ ‘Considering’ is a good enough word for now, thank you,” she replied, a hesitant smile slowly surfacing on her lips. “I know I was opposing the idea at first, and to be honest I’m still yet to wrap my head around it, but I have to admit that I misjudged Chestnut. She’s resourceful, curious, and—oh, who am I kidding, she can be darn cute as well!” she said. “I just don’t know if we can bring together living here and having someone like her on board.”

“Oh, just listen to yourself!” Fancy Pants beamed and wrapped her in a warm hug, laying them both on the rumpled pillows. The mare squeaked and giggled at the sudden takedown. He flicked a strand of hair off her forehead. “I understand you want to take it slowly, but I want you to know that you’ve already made a truly praiseworthy effort. The only thing we have to do now is prepare ourselves for those challenges you mentioned. Is there something that’s bothering you in particular?”

“I’d say education. We’d probably send her to CCU.”

“Why, because the Coconuts don’t have uniforms?”

Fleur shrugged. “I’ve been wearing a uniform myself and I never complained, but non, that would not be the reason. Some time after we decided to have a child, I brought myself up to date on the learning opportunities in Canterlot. I asked around, read several press articles. It turns out that Clover the Clever University gets better results overall, but the Academy is believed to have better staff. The students at CCU participate in student exchange programs, but those at CCA have a wider choice of extracurricular activities.” Fleur sunk into a pillow. “Huh. I just remembered that in the end I couldn’t decide between the two. I guess I picked CCU because—”

“Because they have uniforms?” Fancy Pants cut in.

“Isn’t your wit sharp today!” Fleur replied, exacting her revenge by grasping the covers all for herself. She sat up and enveloped herself tightly, which gave her the looks of a soft volcano covered in pink lava. “I did it because it’s not across the city like the other. But here’s a problem, since that’s Chestnut we’re talking about. She lacks certain skills and general sophistication, and you know how those spoiled kids at prestigious schools tend to be. Her looks, I mean her being a thestral doesn’t help either.”

“Ah, you’re concerned about the peer pressure!” he said, trying to get back some of his covers, but in vain. “I’m confident she would manage. She is one smart cookie.”

“But you need more than smartness to survive in our city. You need extensive knowledge on etiquette, you need to have good manners and social graces. Does that sound like Chestnut to you? Can you imagine what would happen if she landed in the middle of our—oh! Oh, that’s just unfair.”

Fancy Pants tried to seize the opportunity when Fleur stopped clinging to the bedding, but he stopped when she gazed at him in terror.

“Our party! I just remembered! We’re hosting the Canterlot Elite meeting this month! And it’s this Wednesday!”

Towns, cities, small hamlets, they all had ponies who were slightly more fashionable, wealthy, and influential than others. Those formed the high society in their respective communities, but then again, some of those groups were held in even higher regard than the rest. The Canterlot Elite was easily the most important congregation of interesting mares and stallions living in the capital, which meant they were at the top of the social ladder as Equestria far and wide—right below the royalty. Essentially a semi-formal, highly exclusive circle, the Elite was a promise of meeting celebrities and other prominent figures to everyone who attended their monthly get-togethers.

“Now, isn’t that a good thing?” Fancy Pants asked. “You’ve just said you’re not convinced if we can bring Chestnut and Canterlot together, and the party seems like a perfect opportunity to find out. Let’s see how she’ll do!”

“Well, I suppose if she lives through that, she can survive anything, our own parenting incompetence included. But doesn’t it sound like a test? You know, she acts accordingly during the party, she passes, we take her in. She doesn’t, she obviously won’t handle this kind of life, she goes back to the Orphanarium. Even I think it feels harsh.”

“Then let’s be fair and outfit her with skills necessary to deal with our friends,” he replied. “It may feel a tad harsh, but preparing her is the only way out I can think of right now. Unless you’d rather have her stay upstairs for the entire evening?”

Fleur’s muzzle shot to the ceiling. “Hmph. Who do you think I am? A cold-hearted you-know-what?”

“You’re certainly not a cold-coated one,” Fancy Pants said, once again reaching for the bedding. “Can I have my share back, please?”

The mare writhed in the softness of her self-imposed prison, her discomfort winning over her greed. “This time, husband,” she replied and spread the covers fifty-fifty before falling between the pillows. “Phew. With how demanding this trial has been so far, I don’t suppose actual parenthood can get any more tiring.”

“Is it the pace that bothers you?”

“Non, my life has been happening at the speed of a Wonderbolt lately. I’m adjusting,” she replied. “We’ll do as you said. We’ll prepare Chestnut for the party and we’ll see how she behaves.”

Fancy Pants pecked Fleur on the cheek. She snuggled deeper into the pillow and moaned in delight, leaving him wondering if it was the kiss or the softness of the bedding that contented her.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

Fleur murmured something in response, but then lifted her muzzle once more. “By the way, how was the exhibition?”

“Just another boring fundraiser, I’m afraid, but some of the sculptures were quite eye-catching. For a local craft, that is. I tell you, it’s been far too long since the gallery had anything close to that spectacular display about the griffon shamanistic traditions they had back in spring,” he said. “Oh, and Upper Crust was late yet again.”

“Really? What was her excuse this time?”

“She claimed she couldn’t decide for a proper apparel. I swear, somepony should buy her a pocket watch.”

“Hearth’s Warming’s soon. Maybe we shou-aaald,” Fleur yawned. “Goodnight, dear.”

Listening to his wife’s steady breath, Fancy Pants pondered on the change he had noticed in her behavior. While it was soothing to see Fleur that much closer to redefining the meaning of motherhood she had lost due to her condition, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was too good to be true. Could it be that her initial resentment resulted only from the social burden she was carrying, and all she needed was some quality one-on-one time with Chestnut? As shameful as it felt, Fancy Pants was glad that the filly got lost for a moment, and that thanks to Rarity’s personal touch Fleur could emerge victorious in the time of crisis. Calamities were superb catalysts for changes, after all.

While Fleur wasn’t exactly the archetypal loving mother he believed she could become, she was heading in the right direction. What she needed was a feasible proof that Chestnut could, in fact, fit their sometimes demanding lifestyle. She had to live through such an experience and find herself within it.

Like Daring Do, she needed her personal trial by fire.

Fancy Pants grabbed the book and plunged back into reading.

“No way? Not if I have something to say, Ahuizotl!” Daring Do shouted back and patted her satchel. “Between leaving this little thing with you and abandoning the secrets of the Rainbow Rupture… I make my own way!”

She jumped straight into the infinite rainbow spectrum of the chasm, hoping that the choice she was making was the right one.


* * *


Solving crosswords was a ritual for Fancy Pants, 

Every Sunday he would wake up, get into his dressing gown, grab the latest issue of The Canterlot Sun from his doorstep, and then head to the kitchen for an early dose of caffeine. After skimming through the headlines and reading some of the more interesting articles about foreign affairs and economy, he would reach a page filled with various puzzles and brain teasers, with the big crossword being his personal favorite. He considered it a challenging but at the same time relaxing exercise.

Today he learned that it could also be an immensely exciting one.

“Here’s one! A mostly white, seaside bird,” Fancy Pants read the clue. “Two, four, six… seven letters. Any ideas?”

Freshly introduced to his routine Chestnut assisted him with her vast expertise. After a long stare thrown at the ceiling for possible pointers she stopped rocking in her chair and mouthed some word, patting the table once for each whispered letter. She turned to the stallion.

“Hmm, it depends. Are there two ‘L’s in ‘seagull’?”

“Let’s see, shall we? S-E-A-G go here”—he wrote the subsequent letters in—“and since we already have ‘U’ it seems that double ‘L’ works just fine!”

“Alright! My turn!” Chestnut grinned and peeked across the table. Her smile melted once she read the clue, turning into a grim serious look. “Ooh, this one’s heavy. A major success that premits—sorry, permits further progress. Starts with ‘B’. Do you know this one?”

Fancy Pants shook his head. “I’m afraid they might have beaten us this time.”

Chestnut gasped in awe.

The unseen masterminds behind the tangle of squares would certainly beat the two ponies if it weren’t for Fleur who entered the kitchen. It didn’t take Shadow Spade to deduce that she was in a much better mood than yesterday morning, but before she could say something and thus provide a definite proof, Chestnut dashed off her seat and crouched in the mare’s way.

“We have an emergency! Please help us!” she squeaked. “We need a word for a success that permits further progress, on ‘B’!”

Greatly confused Fleur threw her husband a questioning look. He dropped his act for a moment to let her know that he didn’t suddenly lose his puzzle solving skills—now that would be embarrassing!—to which Fleur responded with a slight nod. When the filly looked back, he returned to his clueless mask.

“Goodness, and how many letters?” Fleur asked, eagerly joining the fun.

Chestnut sprung up. “A lot!”

“A word on ‘B’ that has a lot of letters. Hmm.” She cupped her chin, her forehead wrinkling in reverie. “If Fancy Pants doesn’t know this one, then we’re really facing a serious emergency. I don’t know if I can be of help here! How about… how about ‘breakthrough’, perhaps?”

“Is it?” Chestnut leaned on the table in anticipation. Fancy Pants hesitated, held the pencil over the crossword, and carefully counted the squares. He then heaved a sigh of relief and wrote in the answer, eliciting a joyful outburst from the filly. “Yes! Take that, crossword!” she exclaimed. “Did we get them all? We did! What’s the secret word, what is it?”

“A moment, please!” the stallion said, transferring the letters from the grid. “Nine-O. Thirteen-T. And the ‘E’ from our seaside bird goes right… here. Aha! The solution is The Kingdom of Two!” That only baffled the filly further. “It’s the title of a play that won the hearts of theatre lovers in Canterlot a few years ago. It was quite a breakthrough for one of our acquaintances as well! Thanks to her role there, she graduated from a stage magician to a full-time actress.”

“You’re friends with a real actress? That’s rad!” Chestnut said. “Do you get tickets to all her plays?”

Fleur shook her head. “Not since she’s busy being a full-time mother,” she explained without a trace of grief in her voice. She sat at the table and, following Chestnut’s offer, helped herself to a saucer full of caramelized biscuits. “What about you? For a moment I thought you weren’t solving crosswords, but saving the world.”

“Believe me when I say it felt like we were doing both,” Fancy Pants replied. “Chestnut here has been a real help.”

The filly’s cheeks colored up. “Uhm, I only helped with some super easy ones. I didn’t even know half of the words you were putting there!” she said, then turned to Fleur. “Sorry we didn’t leave anything for you, but there are some other puzzles left, if you want to join? We still get those neat rebuses here!”

“Aw, I wish I could, but I can’t afford to be late to Hyacinth’s. Though to be honest, I’d much rather stay at home today.”

Chestnut put her hooves on the table and leaned like she was planning a heist no less. “If you don’t want to go, you can always pretend you’re sick. That’s what I usually do when—” She shrunk into herself. “On second thought, I probably shouldn’t be telling this.”

Fleur chuckled. “You have to know that it’s not that easy with ponies like Hyacinth. If I don’t go, then she’ll come here and won’t leave until we have agreed to attend one of her weird parties. The next edition of her Punch Taste-whatnot.”

“I sometimes find it difficult to imagine how Rich Card puts up with a wife like that,” Fancy Pants said.

“That’s because you have the best wife in the entire”—she planted a big smooch on his cheek—“world. So, that’s me! How about you? Do you have any plans for today?”

“Well, I’m running short of ink, so I think I’ll go get some more, but no, nothing beyond that.”

“Sounds like a trivial enough errand, but I should probably take the spare keys just in case. You two have fun!” Fleur said, ruffling Chestnut’s forelock before leaving the kitchen. A metallic jingle resounded from the hallway. “Au revoir!”

Fancy Pants swiveled in his chair to get a better view on the yard. Fleur hit the road at a vivacious trot which, however different from her usual sauntering or strolling with occasional parading, was a clear step forward from the shambling of those few days ago. Had she finally reconciled to her condition? It was heartbreaking to see her in tears, questioning why it had to be her and doubting the worth of going on without the hope of fulfilling her dreams. Fancy Pants himself had to be strong for them both, and while hiding his own disappointment and doubts had cost him a great deal of stress, witnessing Fleur in exceptionally high spirits suggested that the worst was already behind them.

He noticed Chestnut hovering over his shoulder.

“She seems happy,” she simply stated. “Do you think it’s because of the ice cream? I think it’s because of the ice cream. That’s what cheered her up yesterday. I mean, I think it did! I know it cheered me up but she and Miss Rarity seemed happy too when we were talking about our desserts and stuff. Yeah—yes, it must be the ice cream.”

Fancy Pants looked upon the filly with amusement. “Must be the ice cream,” he repeated.

“Or maybe there was something in the sprinkles!” Chestnut stuck out her tongue, squinting at it. “Ith my tangue akay?” She curled it back. “I think it’s okay, which means I can go outside. When my tongue went funny once, there was that pretty nurse who was training to be a doctor, but a different one than Doc Hugs, and she said I should stay in bed so that I wouldn’t get ill. Those were the most boring three days ever, but I got better, so I guess it was worth listening to her!” Chestnut shrugged. “Anyway, I’m ready to go when you are.”

A few minutes later they left the 88 Rimway Avenue and headed into the city.

Good quality ink was necessary for Fancy Pants in his position of Senior Ambassador. Regrettably, his line of work was no longer about visiting distant lands or meeting foreign dignitaries and attending to their needs—though he was still the Embassy’s primary choice for greeting those—but it revolved around signing countless documents and delegating tasks to younger employees. He missed the traveling part the most. Prance, Germaney, Shanghay, Yakyakistan, and the recently reunited Griffon Kingdoms—he had seen quite a chunk of the known world in his youth. These days he would rarely leave the office in Canterlot, yet alone go beyond Equestria.

On the other hoof, he had already met the love of his life during one of those trips, so what more could a stallion like him possibly want? A thrill of adventure? Certainly not! That was good for establishing a relationship, not maintaining it. Besides, if everything was going to turn as he hoped, Chestnut would be supplying just the excitement he needed.

From Rimway they took a turn into Sapphire Street.

“Tell me, Chestnut, what about school?” Fancy Pants asked. “Do you and the other Orphanarium pupils attend one?”

“Yes and no. Most kids do, but I’ve got special one-on-one tutoring with Doc Hugs or the others. It’s because I have gaps in my coolicurite.”

“Would it be curriculum, by any chance?”

Chestnut shrugged. “Might as well. It’s just that I don’t fit classes my age because of, uhm, reasons. But the good guys at the Orphanarium are helping me out so I could go to school next year. I even have my own timetable!” she boasted. “For example, we’re doing reading and writing on Mondays, and math on Thursdays, but since I’m with you guys this week, I guess I’ll have to work extra hard the next.”

Two things occurred to Fancy Pants. Firstly, Chestnut was eager to put an effort into her education, which was a most commendable attitude rarely assumed by the younglings these days. Secondly, she didn’t seem to have any particular expectations on how the trial period was going to end. It struck him. What if Chestnut didn’t want their time together to continue beyond the first week? He and Fleur had talked about it like it was going to be only their choice, but neither of them had considered the filly’s point of view. He should definitely talk it over with her, and at some point ask Chestnut if she would like to stay with them.

“I suppose I could become a temporary replacement if you’d like,” Fancy Pants offered. “I don’t expect to have a lot of work tomorrow, so how about we do some reading and writing exercises then? I could teach you a thing or two.”

“Really? Do you even know how?” Chestnut replied, smirking.

“Well, I’m obviously no teacher but I like to think that my writing is decent. And reading shouldn’t be too much of a problem, either. I somehow managed to dip into your Daring Do book.”

The filly livened up, flew in front of Fancy Pants, and flapped her wings to hover backwards as he was walking.

“Oh! Which part did you think was the coolest?”

“A tough choice! One of the more recent fragments I enjoyed was the description of the Rainbow Rupture, especially the cavern system into which Daring Do ventured. I think A.K. Yearling really captured the magic only appropriate to such a mythical place. How about you?”

“I liked when Daring Do was fighting Dr. Caballeron in total darkness once the Prismatic Spire blew up!” Chestnut closed her eyes to enact the scene through blind kicks and punches only barely avoided by Fancy Pants. “Hyah! Hiii-yah! Wasn’t that just great?”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve read up to that point yet.”

“Whoopsie!” Chestnut blushed and covered her mouth. “My bad. Spoilers. Sorry.”

“Worry not! You can tell me what happens next.”

“Nuh-uh! I had to make my way through many pages to get to the good part, you know? Why should you have it any easier?” She passed her hoof along her muzzle. “My lips are sealed.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable enough.”

The street opened to the Gibbous Moon Plaza which derived its name from its unusual shape. A pegasus flying by would see that the otherwise circular area was slightly skewed on the side, which together with its pale paving gave the impression of a not fully illuminated moon. Inks and Seats, the store to which Fancy Pants and Chestnut headed, was tucked just in the middle of the skewed arch.

“Considering your recent adventure,” Fancy Pants said, “I don’t want to leave you all by yourself in the streets, so why don’t you come in with me? The owner is a good friend of mine. His family has a certain knack for highly specialized, but surprisingly needed businesses. His grandson, Davenport if I recall correctly, sells quills and sofas in Ponyville, for example.”

Chestnut rested her hooves on the storefront. “I see no buckets, no golden necklaces, and no buffet tables under which I could dive.” She looked left and right. “No guards either,” she added under her breath. “Yep! It should be fine.”

The brass bell jingled, alerting an ancient stallion sitting behind the counter. His thinned mane was white as chalk, as his glasses thick as the bottoms of the bottles in which he stored colorful inks which constituted the half of his wares. The other half were seats—big, small, elegant, casual, with cushions or overlays included, all in unworn condition contrasting with the owner’s own. A single look into his aged but by no means tired eyes and the croaky voice suggested that this pony had seen it all.

“Fancy Pants? Young Fancy, come in!” he said. “The usual Topaz Blue and no seats for you, I take it?”

“Actually, Mister Inkblot, I would like to try something different. I’m looking for something, shall we say, more exotic.”

“Looking? It seems to me you’ve already found something,” Mister Inkblot said, pointing across the store.

Chestnut didn’t dare to touch the seats, but between the glass cabinets she found an aquarium which caught her attention. Half-suppressed sniggers, puffed cheeks, whispered remarks, and faces she was making didn’t impress the indifferent pufferfish living its uncomplicated life of an overly fat element of interior design, but Chestnut seemed to be enjoying herself anyway.

“Ah, this charming young lady’s name is Chestnut. She’s with me.”

Mister Inkblot coughed. “Don’t talk riddles to me, young colt! What does ‘she’s with me’ mean these days?”

“Well, she’s a pupil at the Canterlot Orphanarium, and between you and me”—Fancy Pants leaned over the counter—“Fleur and I are considering expanding our family, if you know what I mean.”

“Interesting! Most interesting,” he replied, smoothing his beard of a sage until he realized he didn’t have one. “This is unconventional. Unprecedented. New! You know how that circle of hoity-toity friends of yours reacts to new things, don’t you?” He paused for a moment to capture a surprised stare from the other stallion. “They are scared!”

“Could you be more specific?”

“They’re scared of changes, I hope that’s specific enough for you!” Mister Inkblot tried to shout, but ended only winded instead. “This is happening right now, Fancy, in our city. Canterlot is on its way to becoming a cultural crossroads for all the races of Equestria and beyond. I personally know five griffons, can you imagine? Who knows how many of them live in the neighborhood?” he said. “You know I always prided myself in knowing my customers, but how can I tell the difference if they all share the same, G-something name! I’ve been telling them apart by the tips of their feathers so far, but that’s not going to work when a flock comes to buy a dining room set they all supposedly reserved!”

Browsing through the wares, Fancy Pants kept on listening. Senile ponies, if eccentric, had a lot to say from their vast life experience, and Mister Inkblot excelled in raising interesting points within his rants. Without ever leaving his little corner in the world, he had become a mentor for a certain young colt making his first, unsure steps in the world of diplomacy. He also gave the said colt the push he needed to go to Shanghay on a journey which changed his life.

“Six years ago there was no Crystal Empire,” Mister Inkblot continued. “Earlier today their exchange student bought a bottle of Verdant Venom to go with her coat. You see crystal ponies on the streets, you hear about Diamond Dogs leaving their underground homes and heading south for a blasted pilgrimage. Now somepony from your social stratum is going to ‘expand the family’ with a child from a distant land! Tread carefully, Fancy, for some may follow your example, but others will turn against you.”

“As usual, Mister Inkblot, your insight is leaving me speechless.”

The old stallion waved his hoof and muttered an unclear response that was most likely a cynical way of disregarding the compliment.

Fancy Pants returned to the display. “I’m hesitating between these two,” he said, turning around. “Chestnut, would you mind assisting me here?” The filly mouthed her goodbyes at the aquarium and trotted to his side. “Mister Inkblot, I’d like you to meet Chestnut,” he introduced the filly, then turned to her. “Go on, say—”

“Hiya!” Chestnut flew up, reaching out her hoof. The stallion responded with putting up his own to move the intruder away from the counter, but Chestnut took it as a successful introductory hoof bump. She smiled widely. “Cool balloon fish you’ve got there, Mister Inkspot.”

Cranky as he was, Mister Inkblot replied in kind, “I am glad to meet you too, Chest-not.” He added a wink to let the filly know he didn’t mind her bold attempt at twisting his name. Chestnut landed with a mixture of surprise and respect painted in her eyes.

“Take a look at those green ones,” Fancy Pants said. “Aventurine or Jade? Which one do you like the most?”

Chestnut carefully inspected each row of inks. “Hmm. I like the Mandarin one the most, but I don’t think green suits you. Check this one out,” she said, knocking on the glass and thus evoking a grumble from the old stallion. She crossed her forelegs behind her back. “Uhm, sorry. How about that Sapphire Blue, the one over there? It’s like it has your name written all over it, and sapphires are the thing!”

“Ah! It is a fine color indeed! And very suitable.”

Mister Inkblot leaned to Chestnut and whispered, “It suits him because it’s a fancy color indeed, isn’t that right?”

“I didn’t notice that one. It may not be anything exotic, but I can see it’s a different shade compared to my usual,” Fancy Pants said. He produced a couple of shining bits from his tailcoat. “We’ll take both. The Sapphire one for me, and the Mandarin for the lady.”

Still snickering at the old stallion’s pun, Chestnut suddenly straightened up. “Wait, I’m the lady now?” she asked before uttering a confused reply. “Not necessary, uhm, don’t bother… you really, really don’t have to…”

“But of course I do! If we’re going to practice your writing skills, you need your own ink. A pen, too, but I think there’s a working spare back home.” He grabbed a packet off the counter and gave a nod to the old stallion. “Always a pleasure, Mister Inkblot! Please give my best to Mrs. Inkwell. I imagine the changes we talked about will eventually affect the school as well.”

“She’ll live. She’s more stubborn than I am, and that says something,” Mister Inkblot replied. “See you around, kids!”

“Goodbye!” Chestnut said, throwing one last glance at the store and the aquarium.

Outside, she turned to Fancy Pants.

“He’s a pretty cool guy, you know that?”

From the Gibbous Moon Plaza they took a longer route back home. The bush-lined Terrace Avenue went along the edge of the city, rewarding its amblers with a stunning view of Cloudsdale cruising the distant sky, and the one of Ponyville to the southwest, plastered at the edge of the Everfree Forest. Since the route was also one of the more popular tourist spots, the non-ponies that wouldn’t be strolling around just a couple of years ago couldn’t go unnoticed by Fancy Pants.

Canterlot was going through changes. It was especially true for him and Fleur, as their Canterlot was going to change within the next couple of days. Sooner or later the ponies of the high society were going to explode with the news about spotting an unusual filly in their company, which could only lead to a myriad of gossips that would feed the nosy socialites for at least a week. Gossips were born when one didn’t have sufficient information on the issue, but their acquaintances weren’t going to inquire at the source, at least not until they had enough knowledge to appear well-versed on the topic of young thestrals. The loop of misinformation would continue, gradually drawing in more and more ponies.

Fancy Pants and Fleur were the only ones who could break it and they were going to do it in the most elegant way possible: through a party.

Hopefully it wasn’t going to be their last.
> Chapter 6 – Noble Ways
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Fleur gone shopping on Monday morning, Fancy Pants and Chestnut had the entire house for their educational endeavors. Since learning at home was much different from spending the best moments of your life at school, the classroom—temporarily established in the living room—had to be equally peculiar. Instead of rows of desks, easy to clean floors, and clocks rigged to show the unbearably slow passage of time, the room was furnished with objects which could as well tell lectures of their own.

It was by far the most luxurious classroom of all times, but it was still a classroom.

The two ponies went across a soft, wooly rug and sat at the massive dining table made of the finest White Tail Woods oaks. Fancy Pants placed pens, pencils, and sheets of paper aside. He glanced at the longcase clock with a silver-framed amethyst pendulum, waited a few more ticks, and turned to the filly precisely when the hands aligned.

“I thought we could start with some reading material. Tell me, what is it that you like the most about reading?”

Chestnut leaned on the table. “The bestest thing about reading is that I can visit places I’ll never go to. Or get to know ponies I would never meet in real life. Oh, and good guys fighting bad guys! That’s pretty important too!”

“Is there anything in particular that keeps you from fully enjoying these stories?”

“Well, I didn’t really read much before Doc Hugs tasked me with this,” Chestnut admitted, pointing at the Daring Do and the Rainbow Rupture before her. “Mostly comic books because they’re not that difficult. But when I’m reading longer things I sometimes find words I have never seen before.” She winced. “Not knowing something in a crossword isn’t such a big deal, but not understanding what you’re reading about is annoying!”

“Well then, I see two ways in which we can solve this issue,” Fancy Pants said. “The easy one involves me telling you the definition of every word you have trouble understanding. But, correct me if I’m wrong, I suppose you’d rather try something more challenging?”

Chestnut’s eyes shined at the sound of that last word. She wriggled on the chair much too big for her small-scale constitution, seating herself neatly at its edge. She grinned and vigorously nodded, eager to learn something new.

“Thought so!” Fancy Pants chuckled. “Now, the other way is about deducing the meaning of the word from the context.”

“Fine by me!” Chestnut replied. “But can we try the easy way first? For just one word?”

“And what word would that be?”

“Context.”

Fancy Pants chortled over his own lack of insight. “Why, certainly! The context is a situation in which the given word is used. By reading several words around that word you can usually guess its meaning,” he explained, then moved the Daring Do closer to the filly. “I figured you’d like to work with something familiar. Go on, pick a fragment with some unknown word and read it to me out loud. Then we’ll see what we can do about it, shall we?”

“I can think of at least five.” Chestnut leafed through the pages and stopped about halfway through the book. “I’ve got one right here, but let me try reading it quietly first, okay? I need to prepare.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

Fancy Pants watched as Chestnut was whispering over an excerpt she chose. He recognized the part with ease—Daring Do’s venture through the dark caves under the Rainbow Rupture was coming to an end, and she was about to find maybe not the greatest, but certainly the most vivid treasure of her career. He had finished reading the book last night but decided not to mention it. He didn’t want the filly to start comparing herself and get discouraged towards reading just because she wasn’t burning through the content quickly enough.

“Okay, here we go.” Chestnut cleared her throat, then read the fragment with decent fluency and only a few hiccups along the way. “As Daring Do entered the spacious chamber, she was immediately bathed in the alluring light emanating from the legendary Prismatic Spire.” She pushed the book back to the stallion. “This one. I don’t know what ‘alluring’ means. I can’t tell if it’s warm, bright, or glowing. I only know it has something to do with the light.”

“Good thinking. ‘Alluring’ here definitely describes a certain property of the light. To get a broader perspective we need to read on.” He put on his monocle and read the next part. “ ‘It’s beautiful,’ Daring whispered, taking an unconscious step towards the Spire. It was like some kind of mystical force guided her across the glass bridge. The force she could not resist.” Fancy Pants leaned back. “There. What can we tell from this fragment?”

“That… Daring Do can cross bridges?”

“Well, there’s no denying that, but would she cross it if there was no alluring light on the other side? Would you say it was entirely her choice to go towards its source?”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Chestnut stuck her nose into the book and skimmed over the excerpt again. “Wait, does it mean the light, I don’t know, somehow invited her? Does ‘alluring’ mean ‘welcoming’?”

Fancy Pants shook his head. “Not quite, I’m afraid. It’s more like, hmm, how to say it?” he wondered, tapping his chin. “Aha! Do you remember yesterday morning? I was just finishing the newspaper when you came down saying that…”

He made an encouraging motion towards the filly.

“I said that I don’t even like coffee but I can tell when something smells good. And that I couldn’t resist coming down!” Chestnut’s ears pricked up. “Just like she couldn’t resist walking towards the light? So… both the coffee and the light drew us closer because they were interesting in a good way.” She took a moment to connect the dots. “Hey, does it mean ‘attractive’?”

Fancy Pants joined his hooves in a loud clap. “Splendid! That’s the word, but let’s try to be more specific,” he said. “The light was attractive, but how exactly? Remember that it originated from the Prismatic Spire itself, a fabled object of desire unseen by pony eyes for at least—”

“Wait! I got it! Don’t say anything!” the filly shouted, not holding back her excitement. “ ‘Alluring’ means ‘attractive in a mysterious and powerful way’!”

Cordially asked not to utter a word Fancy Pants obliged, and in the face of such unbeatable reasoning and the utmost correct answer, he only smiled and nodded with appreciation. He applauded Chestnut’s wits and—in an awfully self-serving manner—his own, recently discovered skills at teaching.

“Yes! Points for Team Nuts!” Chestnut threw her hooves in the air, nearly falling off the chair in the process. When she regained her balance she instantly assumed a relaxed, nonchalant posture. “But you know what? Coffee isn’t alluring at all. It lacks mysteriousity.”

“Mysteriousness.”

“That too!” she exclaimed and reached for the book. “Let’s find another one!”

The lesson began for good with the two ponies following the same routine: first Chestnut read a fragment, and then Fancy Pants did his best to guide her towards the meaning of some ambiguous word. She warmed up quickly and soon didn’t need to pre-read the text, taking the proverbial minotaur by the horns instead.

Teaching was as much of a challenge for Fancy Pants as learning was for the filly. Finding analogies to describe certain words without giving away their meanings was tricky, but the time invested in solving crosswords paid off well. Over the next hour or so they learned that there was a difference between ‘effective’ and ‘efficient’, that ‘gorgeous’ didn’t meant as wide as a gorge, and that ‘epitome’ wasn’t a big black book of epic tales hidden in the darkest corner of the library—to name but a few.

After a short snack break they moved onto the next part of their lesson: writing. Unsurprisingly, it turned out much more problematic for Chestnut since her hooves were too clumsy to manipulate small objects with required precision. She had to adapt her lips to hold a slim pen Fleur had lent her—‘Are you for real, husband? At least give her something that won’t knock her teeth out. Here, take mine!’—but so far her efforts were valiant at best.

When a nasty drip of mandarin ink flooded the skewed letters, Chestnut spat out the pen and growled, her cheeks flushing. She threw an angry glare at the innocent sheet of paper on which the orange stain covered her now completely unreadable signature.

“Argh, it can’t be done!” she said, crossing her forelegs high on her chest. “If I wanted I could be more precise with the tip of my wing than with this thing.” She slowly extended her wing over the bottle of ink. “Hey, maybe that’s the idea…”

“I would advise against that,” Fancy Pants said, taking the bottle out of the filly’s wingspan. “And you shouldn’t give up so easily! It’s only a matter of holding the pen at the right angle, like I showed you,” he added, wrapping his own pen in the saffron mist and then casually writing down his name.

“That’s not fair!” Chestnut protested. “You have magic to hold yours!”

“You want me to try without magic, yes? Very well, then.”

His horn ceased to shimmer. Leaning over the table, he clasped the pen in his mouth and wrote his name again, right below the original signature. There was close to no difference between the two, as both strings of letters were equally impeccable.

If Chestnut’s widened eyes were any indication, he didn’t need magic to charm her. “Coolest!” she exclaimed. “Okay, I admit, it is possible. But why would a unicorn like you need that? Aren’t you guys supposed to use your magic all the time to do all kinds of crazy stuff like, you know, creating giant fireballs and such?”

Fancy Pants cocked his eyebrow. “Giant fireballs? I say, even if I was capable of performing such a feat, what practical use would it have? No, most unicorns, myself included, have a rather limited magical repertoire, especially compared to what you can find in fiction. Perhaps for the better!” he concluded. “Onto your question, however. What if I told you I’ve been to a place where I couldn’t use my magic?”

“For real?” Chestnut asked. As her curiosity piqued beyond reasonable limits, she got up and leaned against the edge of the table. She drew a sharp breath and went all-in for a single wild guess. “Did you get captured by a nefarious wizard who threw you and your friends into his dungeon and also took away your magic to make it harder for you to solve his totally impossible challenges which you later solved anyway?”

Fancy Pants squinted at the bouncing filly. Like all children, she definitely had a strong imagination. She had likely read too many comic books with nefarious villains, as well. Still, they had discussed the word ‘nefarious’ maybe a quarter of an hour ago on the example of the pre-caves scene with Daring Do and Ahuizotl, so hearing Chestnut use it properly was a promising forecast for her further education.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you but it was nothing like that,” Fancy Pants replied. “Far away to the east lies a city-state of great culture and great antiquity called Shanghay”—he wrote the name in capital letters—“ruled by the mighty Empress who is a kirin. That’s K-I-R-I-N, or, in their language, Q-I-L-I-N.”

Chestnut glanced at the new words. “What is a, uhm, ki-rin?”

“Simply put, kirins are like unicorns with some draconic traits. They are tall, with two horns protruding from the back of their heads, and thick coats that are partially covered with shimmering scales. The Empress is the most important pony for the citizens of Shanghay, much like Princesses Celestia and Luna are for us.”

“So she’s like an alicorn, but from Shanghay.”

“Minus the wings, but yes, you could say that. However, you’re still more likely to bump into an alicorn prancing down the Promenade than see a kirin in Shanghay,” Fancy Pants said. “The Empress lives in a palace that’s a maze of splendid corridors and chambers, protected by her personal army of loyal-above-all guards. Only a couple of her most trustworthy ministers can apply for an audience, so if you’re not one of them, or you don’t have some otherwise specials connections, the chances are you’ll never see her because she rarely leaves the palace.”

“Then how do you know so much about her if you’re not her minister? Do you have any special connection with her?”

Fancy Pants flushed. “We—erm, I had a pleasure of meeting her when she wasn’t the Empress yet, during her father’s reign. That’s how it all worked when he was in charge, and I doubt she has changed since then. Has changed the rules, I mean. The ponies of Shanghay are quite zealous traditionalists, after all.“

“What does it mean?”

“It means that their customs, the ways they do certain things, are very important to them. For example, in their culture it is forbidden to use magic in the presence of a royal kirin and it would be considered extremely rude for an outsider like me to do so. Unfortunately, I was on a diplomatic mission and we were to sign some important documents with the Emperor watching.” Fancy Pants laughed. “I remember I spent three nights learning how to properly hold a pen in my mouth! And to be honest, I was doing much poorer than you!”

Chestnut snickered and got to replicating the newly learned words.

The sound of a doorbell resounded across the house, but whoever was approaching didn’t wait for Fancy Pants to get up and answer it, and just entered without asking for permission—and rightfully so.

“I’m back!” Fleur announced.

“How was shopping, dear?”

A most unusual phenomenon in form of a slim supermodel holding two large bags of groceries appeared in the living room. The mare put them on the floor, blew a strand of hair off her face, and sighed heavily. “Ugh, terrible,” she replied, sinking deep into the plush armchair. “It was like partaking in the Running of the Leaves all over again, but this time with actual running. I can’t imagine how all those athletes manage this.”

“What happened?” Chestnut asked.

“This happened!” Fleur reached between a baguette and a cauliflower and pulled out a bottle she levitated to the coffee table. “Voila! Peppermint and vanilla. As you may know, this is my shampoo. It seems I’ve been too generous with it lately, but I’m afraid that’s what I get for having a mane that long. Perhaps it is time to trim the ends again?” she said, her thoughts drifting off to the Monsoon’s Top Ten Easy to Manage Hairstyles.

Chestnut took a covert lean towards Fancy Pants and whispered, “I thought you said I could use any—”

“Shh, or we’re both done—yes, dear, a new hairdo? I think you’d look rather ravishing in short!”

“Mhm, totally rad!” Chestnut quickly added. “We’re sorry you ran out of your shampoo.”

“You haven’t heard the worst,” Fleur replied. “Nopony at the Green Bean Market had it in stock today, so I thought I’d go buy it somewhere else and then return for the groceries. No point in carrying these through town, is it? So I went to a store on Ivory Street, but guess what? They were in the middle of a physical inventory! Because they were busy counting screws and candies and whatnots, I couldn’t get my shampoo. A travesty, to say the least! What did they expect me to do, wash my hair with a shower gel?”

“But you did get it in the end, I take it?”

“Of course! There was one more place in the area I could think of: Gabriel’s Emporium. I went there, grabbed my shampoo, and spent way too long in the checkout. I had no idea that this big-boned griffon owned such a busy store! Then I galloped back to the Green Bean. I barely made it on time!”

“Why did you run?” Chestnut asked. “Were you afraid someone would buy out the beans?”

Fleur looked at her, confused. “Quoi? Oh, not at all, it’s just that the vendor I’m used to leaves at noon,” she explained. She stood up and gathered the bags of shopping in the ethereal grip of pink. “Anyway, I hope you’re hungry. Dinner will be served in”—she glanced at the clock and shrugged—“In as soon as I make it.”

“Do you need any help?” Fancy Pants inquired.

“Non, don’t worry. Since I’m a housewife now, I should probably hone up my kitchen expertise.” She took a step out of the room. “What about you two? Learned anything useful?”

“Ah, I was just telling Chestnut about Shanghay.”

Fleur turned around, her eyes glinting with a playful spark. “Oh? I do hope you remembered to mention Empress Daiyu, the Black Jade Lady also known as the would-be Mrs. Fancy Pants?” She grinned at her husband’s reddened face. “If you’re telling her about Shanghay, at least tell her the good part. About the rooftops.”

Fancy Pants looked at his wife. Her stare could be best described as alluring, although the word would bear a slightly different meaning than the one he had worked out with Chestnut. Fleur winked, then disappeared in the hallway, leaving him enraptured with memories. He could almost hear the music playing that night…

“Rooftops?” Chestnut asked. “Hey, what exactly happened on the rooftops?”

Fancy Pants promptly rolled the pen towards the inquisitive filly. “It is a long story, but one definitely worth telling. Maybe some other time,” he hurriedly assured. “For now, how about we do one more round? With the words from the book, if you please.”

They called it a day after another half an hour of Chestnut’s daring struggle. The filly gathered her ink, pen, and sheets of paper atop the Daring Do book and carried the bundle upstairs. Meanwhile, Fancy Pants cleaned the table from occasional ink spots and set it for the upcoming meal: a healthy salad composed of sweet corn, chopped tomatoes, and green pepper drenched in the tasty sourness of the dressing. Chestnut was the one who finished eating and asked for seconds first, but Fancy Pants soon followed her example and got himself another portion as well.

After dinner he offered to wash the dishes while the ladies moved to the sofa.

Fleur turned to the little devourer.

“I don’t know if Fancy Pants has already told you, but we’ll be having a little party on Wednesday.”

Chestnut let out a quizzical murmur which sounded as if she wasn’t only acknowledging this new piece of information, but also deeply pondering it already. Fleur gave her a wary look. The filly’s gaze was unfocused, it was as if her thoughts were running elsewhere. A likely result of having her mind still occupied with the recent feast.

Chestnut noticed the mare watching her.

“Oh, a party!” she said with rekindled excitement. “What kind of a party?”

“Just a get-together with some of our acquaintances,” Fleur replied. “Every month, Fancy Pants and his friends meet to discuss their very serious, very mattering topics.” She turned towards the hallway and called, “What do you stallions usually talk about at our parties, anyway?”

“Economics. Politics. Sports. Anything to appear less childish than we really are,” the honest answer was heard over the splashing noises.

The filly and the mare joined in silly snickers and gentle giggles respectively.

“I suppose that’s quite accurate,” Fleur said. “Meanwhile, all the mares discuss their childish stallions and everything that’s been happening lately. It’s something akin to—well, I won’t lie to you, we’re pretty much a bunch of gossipers.”

Chestnut nodded. “Okay, so important ponies like you guys are dropping by. Sounds serious! But, uhm, you know what happened last time I ran into important ponies, right?” She covered herself with a plush cushion. “Bad stuff. I can stay upstairs and pretend I’m not in the house if that helps.”

Fleur couldn’t tell whether Chestnut’s selflessness was the result of her Tramplevanian upbringing or the fact she was an orphan for, well, she didn’t know how long, but she was beyond question sensitive to the needs of the others.

“Chestnut! What a ridiculous idea! We would like you to join us, of course!”

“Are you sure?” the filly asked, awkwardly holding onto the cushion. “Your parties are probably quite different from those few I’ve been to, so I can tell it doesn’t feel appropriate, I guess, for me to show up. I’m just a farmpony, no one half as important as you and your friends.”

“Au contraire! Your will be our guest of honor, and the ponies from the Canterlot Elite will love to acquaintance you!”

Clueless as she was, Chestnut let go of the pillow and splayed her forelegs out.

“I have absolutely no idea what any of that means.”

The thing about the Canterlot Elite parties was that they were memorable. Choosing an extravagant place to attract the guests, serving exotic appetizers and drinks to make them stay, and orchestrating the sense of glamour and exquisiteness that would be remembered for days—no, those weren’t enough to satisfy the demanding ponies of the high society because anypony with a handful of bits could get such obvious necessities. In order to impress each other, the Canterlot Elite ponies would also invite a guest of honor, someone worth meeting. Rising pop stars, designers, and artists were all good choices, and acquiring a widely recognized celebrity was a perfect way of demonstrating how far your connections reached, therefore proving that you were a type of pony everypony should know.

Coming up next: Chestnut from the Canterlot Orphanarium.

As Fleur was about to explain the idea in detail, Fancy Pants came back from the kitchen.

“Think of it as an opportunity to meet other ponies, nothing more,” he said. “By the way, have you found a dream to pursue yet? Do you know who would you like to be in the future?”

Chestnut’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second only to take an indifferent look a moment later. She shrugged.

“Not really, no.”

“Then perhaps meeting some of our friends is just the thing for you,” Fancy Pants said. “They are all much older than you, granted, but you may learn something interesting from them and discover new ways to spread your wings.” He chuckled when the filly threw a troubled glance at her back as if she was checking if her wings were still there. “For example, let’s say you’re an aspiring cellist.”

She deadpanned. “Yes, because playing an instrument is so much easier than writing.”

“It’s just an example. You see, one of our friends knows all there is about the world of classical music, and she’s a pony of considerable virtuosity herself. She’s unmatched, really. At the party you’d get a chance to introduce yourself, share a pleasant conversation, maybe even straight befriend her. Then, if you played your cards right, you’d find yourself training under the watchful eye of Octavia Melody, thus getting one step closer to fulfilling your dream of becoming a great musician!”

Chestnut didn’t seem convinced. Fleur, having learned that personal gain wasn’t in the filly’s agenda, offered a different angle.

“It’s not only about helping yourself, but also inspiring others to do something good as well,” she said. “Remember my friend Rarity? She once attended a charity event organized by Golden Gavel, one of our oldest acquaintances. The influence she had on the important ponies encouraged them to be, shall we say, more generous during the auction, and effectively doubled the amount of bits Golden Gavel hoped to gather. In the end, he could not only support the clinic in Hollow Shades as he originally intended, but also donate to the school there.”

“Many colts and fillies received the much needed learning aids,” Fancy Pants added.

“Huh. And I thought parties were about chilling out and having fun.” Chestnut looked upon the unicorns. “Your parties are weird, you know that? But helping myself and the others at the same time seems fine by me. Do you have any tips on how to do it in an efficient way?”

“Oh, one or two,” Fleur replied, didn’t quite getting the reason behind her husband’s proud smug. “As you have noticed, our parties are a bit… different. They can still be fun, and there’s plenty of space for relaxation, but there are certain rules to follow, certain things that are welcomed, even expected, as well as some that you absolutely shouldn’t do. I realize it probably sounds much different than the parties the fillies your age are used to, but we’d be happy to show you how to get along with our friends if you want.”

“What do you say, young lady?” Fancy Pants asked. “It’ll take commitment from us all, but doesn’t that sound better than hiding upstairs?”

Chestnut jumped off the sofa and took a few steps to the middle of the room. She rubbed her neck, as if she was unsure of something. After a moment she made a swift turn and spread her wings to their full extent, assuming a balanced stance that belonged to a war zone rather than the elegant living room. She distributed her body weight evenly among her limbs, and leaned forward with her tail flicking upwards. Her eyes shined in a predatory way.

“Count me in! Show me how to party, Canterlot style!” she exclaimed. “No, wait!”

She straightened up, folded her wings, raised her chin up, then spoke at a much quieter tone.

“Canterlot manner is what I meant”—she shot unconcerned glances left and right—“uhm, naturally.”

“Not a bad start,” Fleur admitted, inviting the filly to the hallway. “Come along. Let’s turn you into a proper lady!”

Another class in the filly’s busy timetable had begun.

Instead of learning the meaning of words and how to write them, Chestnut got to know the significance of gestures and postures, and how to employ them in a socially endorsed way. Unlike Fancy Pants, Fleur was a relentless teacher who strove for perfection. Years of modeling made her into an absolute expert in the fields of impression management and self-presentation, and she knew all too well that one false step could kill the entire show they were going to put up.

“Head high. Straight as a string.” She kept walking around the filly, repositioning her limbs and fixing loose strands of her mane. “Très bien! A delicate smile. Remember, you want to charm the ponies around you, not scare them away. Now, about your fangs.” She put her hoof on Chestnut’s muzzle in an attempt to stretch her upper lip down. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about them, but the tips sticking out give you a rather intriguing look, don’t you think?”

Chestnut gave her a stiff nod. With every muscle flexed, she was struggling to hold the unnatural pose the mare had arranged her body into. Her forelegs trembling, almost glued together, provided barely the stability she was used to. She’d feel much better with her limbs loose, ready to dash or bounce or scurry or not stand still in general. Her tail, no longer sweeping the floor, was kept restrained by a tremendous effort of will creeping up from under a gentle smirk.

It sure was hard to maintain that bizarre but necessary to master stance, but Chestnut was giving her utmost.

“You do realize the ponies of Canterlot need to breathe too?” Fleur asked, to which the filly immediately sucked in all the air she could take in one go. “Oh my. I could swear we covered that particular detail. Well, uhm, we’ll get to being passive-impressive later. We should practice some walking now.”

“Walking? Seriously?”

“Don’t give me that look! Walking is an important and complex skill to have. This very mirror, for example, is here because of my walking know-how.” She gazed at her reflection and murmured, “It would’ve been bigger if it wasn’t for one indigo excuse for a model.” She turned back to the filly. “Anyway, let’s say you have to go from here to the living room, say to sit at the table. How would you do that?”

“I would fly my way in to have the bestest seat, but I guess that’s not what I should do in this case.” Chestnut turned sideways and looked at the reflection of her back. “What about wings?”

“Keep them folded. Flying indoors is considered improper, so to sit next to Fancy Pants you have to go not over, but around the table.”

Chestnut began the approach with her every step observed and silently evaluated by the unicorns. Not knowing better, she applied the stiffness of the stationary posture to her moves and turned her walk into a parody of itself. Her steps hulking, as heavy as those of a rock farmer after eight hours of mining and sifting through gravel, Chestnut lumbered across the living room. She scuffed against the edge of the sofa, completely ignored the waiting stallion, and almost fall over with the chair when she pulled it away from the table.

She successfully landed her rump in place, though.

“Not bad, hmm?” she said with a cheeky grin.

Fancy Pants snickered.

“Not bad at all,” Fleur replied when she finally unstuck her hoof from her forehead. “But we can definitely do better. I will show you what you need to do to bedazzle the crowds. Observe.”

Fleur entered the room veiled in the palpable aura of grace and dignity. Her steps were confident and steady, but at the same time light. She chose her path adequately and didn’t touch the sofa, granting an imaginary group of guests that would be sitting there with a gentle smile. She didn’t speak a single word, only nodded towards Fancy Pants and approached the table where a chair, wrapped in mist of the stallion’s magic, moved away.

She gracefully seated herself at the table.

“Can you see the difference?”

“Sure!” Chestnut replied. “You guys were working together and I was on my own!”

Without having to look, the couple joined their hooves in a brief, triumphant bump.

“Mind that I didn’t ask Fancy Pants to aid me in this scenario, and after today you won’t be needing to, either,” Fleur said. “You enter the room, and all conversation go silent. Every stallion notices you and every mare gasps in awe over how extraordinary you are. Not only because of your appearance, but because of how you act, move, and present yourself.”

Chestnut scratched her head. “Uhm, I think I got it. One more time?”

Although it took Chestnut more than just another try to achieve something resembling Fleur’s performance, she was definitely getting better each time, and one step at a time. Soon, her unrefined posture made way for a well-bred filly whose devious grin slowly morphed into a slight smile—warm, but not obtrusive. From walking around the room and parading in front of the mirror, through behaving at the table and taking part in non-obliging chit-chats, back to more sauntering and strolling, Chestnut learned a great deal of managing the high society and entered the path to becoming one of the finest fillies in Canterlot.
> Chapter 7 – Canterlot Elite
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In her mailbox, Fleur could always hope to find the following: a forecast bulletin of the Weather Corps, a flashy postcard from one of her friends modeling abroad, a bunch of leaflets, and of course the obligatory letter of complaint from her mother. It would appear that living a thousand miles away wasn’t a sufficient excuse for not attending a dinner every other weekend. Fortunately, it took a few good days to get a message between Prance and Equestria, so Fleur could always take her time and come up with a convincing reassurance that she was indeed eating and dressing properly. But yet, the day ponykind would invent the means to instantly communicate over long distances was going to be her certain undoing.

Today her trip rewarded her with something special: a curious parcel of little weight, enclosed in autumn wrapping of superb quality and tied with a sleek ribbon. She hurried back into the house upon realizing who the sender was.

“Chestnut!” she called upstairs. “Would you mind coming down for a minute?”

After a mighty slam followed by a quick ‘whoopsie!’, the house resounded with stomping no quieter than that coming from a herd of buffalo trampling its way across the Appleloosan orchards. The stampede consisting of four hooves total stopped at the top of the staircase, extended its wings, and glided down to stop at the mare's outstretched foreleg.

Chestnut took Fleur’s hoof off her forehead. “What’s up?”

“This parcel just came in. I thought you’d like to open it.”

Eyes wide open, mouth frozen in cluelessness, and head cocked to the side, Chestnut’s expression went from casual to confuzzled. That was another word Fleur had picked up from the filly, one that apparently meant being confused and puzzled at the same time.

“For me?” Chestnut carefully poked the bundle, not trusting the fancy wrapping in the slightest. “But I’ve never got a parcel before! I’ve got a letter once, sure, more if you count the group cards sent to everyone at the Orphanarium. Are you sure it’s for me?”

“I do believe so. Here, notice the way it’s addressed!”

“Huh?”

Chestnut turned the bundle around. On a white label placed exactly in the middle she saw the name and address of the receiver written with dark indigo ink. Decorative swirls here and there were moderate enough to leave the perfectly round letters readable, but they definitely added a touch of refinement so distinctive for the sender herself.

Ms. Chestnut
88 Rimway Ave. 
Canterlot

Fleur closed the filly’s gaping muzzle.

“Do you think you could find any other Miss Chestnut under this address? Go ahead, open it up!”

Fangs shined as Chestnut bit into the edge of the parcel. She tore through the first layer with ease, but she encountered a much more durable box underneath. Surprised at first, she sat on the floor and began her struggle anew, restraining her prey in a tenacious grip while completely disregarding the side of the parcel where a cut along the subtly placed tape would suffice.

“Need a hoof?” Fleur asked.

“Nah, I’ve gat thish!”

What initially looked like an attempt to reap the reward in the messiest way possible turned out to be a planned effort of perforating the box. If a non-thestral tried such an approach, they would indubitably end up choking on the salivated pieces, but Chestnut and her much more suitable toothing proved the primal pony dominance over cardboard materials once and for all.

Fleur shuddered a bit, wondering if there was a grain of truth to the stories relating thestrals and vamponies. Brrr.

“There you go! What’s inside?”

Forcing the box open revealed a beautiful scarf composed of two shades of orange, puffy fringes, and a dose of innate warmness that guaranteed to keep its wearer safe from the hazards of winter. Chestnut picked it up in disbelief.

“It’s like the one Miss Rarity was wearing! But I don’t… but I…” She turned away, but not before Fleur noticed her eyes watering. “I-I need to try it on!”

She rushed upstairs, clenching onto her prize and turning her head away from Fancy Pants coming down with a blue bow tie floating behind him. He opened his mouth to say something but he dropped the idea and joined his wife by the mirror.

“My, my! What a mess!” he said over the sad remnants of the ravaged box from which he fished out a short note. He glanced at it and passed it to Fleur. “That would be for you, dear. Tell me, have you and Chestnut acquired a pet timberwolf when I wasn’t looking?”

“Oui, we’re also thinking about a string of decorative parasprites for good measure. Perfect for Hearth’s Warming, no less,” she murmured in response, skimming over the letter. “Aw, Rarity won’t make it to the party! Something about work overload… taking a train back to Ponyville… and that’s she’s terribly sorry…”

“Well, that’s most unfortunate,” Fancy Pants said, tinkering with the cream white collar of his shirt. He frowned at the skewed bow tie, loosened it, and started forming the knot all over again. “I was looking forward to seeing her again.”

Fleur sighed. “Tell me about it. I was hoping she would come by and, I don’t know, just be here, I guess. But Rarity has always been a busy pony and I respect that. Besides, have you seen the scarf she made for Chestnut? It’s so thoughtful of her!”

“Do you mean the one Chestnut just carried all the way upstairs to try it on within the privacy of her room despite the quite comfortable mirror we have here? I’m not sure I can imagine how astounding that scarf must be.”

Fleur stepped next to Fancy Pants and inspected his mirrored twin. Not entirely content with the way they looked, she turned to the original and aligned his bow tie, smoothed the creases of his tailcoat, and employed a couple more fixes any good wife would consider to make her husband look respectable at work.

“I think the fact she received a gift was in itself quite shocking for her,” she said.

“It wouldn’t be the first time, you know. She was completely lost for words when we were buying ink. To be honest, I don’t think I have ever met a pony who’d be so uncomfortable with getting little presents like that. It’s like she thinks she doesn’t deserve any of them! Mind that we’re not talking about things like dresses or jewelry here, but just some everyday utilities,” Fancy Pants pointed out. “And the joy in her eyes when you told her she could keep your old pen? Truly heart-warming!”

Fleur couldn’t agree more. If she had to name one thing that was distinctive for the filly, it would be her readiness to express gratitude regardless of how insignificant the good things happening to her were. That could be anything ranging from completing her own writing set, being told to choose anything she liked from the dessert menu, or simply having a chance to spend some time with either of the unicorns. In search for the cause of such an attitude, Fleur reached a grim conclusion.

“Perhaps her life was filled with misfortune in the past and now she’s taking every chance she has to be happy?”

“We know so little about her childhood. Inquiring about it before earning her trust wouldn’t do any good. It’s bound to be a delicate subject.”

“Mhm, you’re probably right.” Fleur took a step back. “Now, look at you! Straight from the cover of Cosmare!”

The stallion stared at his reflection at the verge of vanity. “Is that so? You’re much too kind.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not you, husband! Up there!”

Chestnut appeared at the top of the staircase with her new scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Instead of bolting down like the last time, she kept her wings close to her body and commenced what had to be the most uneventful descent in her life. First step. She assumed an indifferent, almost torpid expression. Second. She placed her hoof lightly to reduce the noise. Third. She restrained her wings further and overcame the urge of skipping the staircase altogether. It was not easy.

The lessons in etiquette had not gone in vain. Though Fleur and Fancy Pants made it clear Chestnut didn’t have to pretend around them and she was free to act naturally, seeing her clothed in dignity and sophistication was immensely gratifying for the aspiring parents.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she spoke in a somewhat exaggerated, almost aristocratic manner.

“Say, how do you like my apparel?”

“You look wonderful!” Fleur replied. “And very classy! How do you feel?”

“Ah, you know, it’s just a scarf. Nothing special.” The filly lifted the fringes with nonchalance and let them dangle freely as if she couldn’t care less. That mask lasted for about three seconds, but was then dropped in favor of Chestnut tucking into the material and nuzzling her cheeks against its softness. “Oh, this winter’s going to be both cool and warm!” she exclaimed, quick to assume her ladylike poise back on. “Uhm, I mean, the upcoming season shall prove temperate and marvelistic alike. Yes. That’s definitely what I wanted to say.”

Fancy Pants laughed heartily. “We’ve told you that there’s no need to force your act around us, or anypony at all! What we wanted to show you were mere guidelines which you may find useful in the future, but you must not let that change who you really are. Sadly, it’s something that many of our acquaintances seem to have forgotten. Just do what feels right.”

Chestnut looked upon the unicorns with mild interest and went back to caressing her scarf. Fleur giggled, and the filly immediately smirked and gave a relaxed sigh, her posture morphing into that of a swashbuckling filly.

“I know. I was just practicing for the party,” she said. “So, what are you guys up to?”

“Myself, I’m needed at work,” Fancy Pants replied. “The embassy is struggling with a peculiar case of a Diamond Dog movement whose members no longer wish to be called that way. Instead, they want to establish diplomatic relations with Equestria from scratch as a new, independent nation they’re forming beyond the Macintosh Hills. Since we have no proper regulations for spiritual exoduses, Princess Celestia has requested somepony with experience on the job.”

Fleur brushed her lips on the stallion’s cheek. “She’s lucky she has you, then. No one has more experience with convincing foreign cultures to work with you than you do,” she said. “Go now, ambassador. Your country needs you.”

“I’ll do my best.” He gave them a nod and trotted outside. “Ladies.”

“Have fun diplomating!” Chestnut called.

Fleur waited for Fancy Pants to reach the gate and wave his goodbyes. She waved back, closed the door, then winced at the shredded gift wrap littering the floor. “That leaves me with tidying up the house for tomorrow. I have to sweep the floors, polish the silverware, clean the stains off the windows after that downpour… in short, I have a lot of boring, housekeeping chores to attend to. How about you? Do you have any plans for after your photo shoot?”

Chestnut, who up to this moment had been striking poses in front of the mirror, spun around and quickly piled up the litter. “I do! I’ll be helping you with your boring, housekeeping chores!”

Fleur’s jaw dropped a little. “C’est impossible! Why would a filly like you want to do that? Wouldn’t you rather spend this time reading your comic books or playing? I know there’s little things to play with around the house, but perhaps you’ll figure something out?”

“But I already have. I’ll be helping you,” Chestnut replied with adamant resolve. “Back at the Orphanarium we all have duties. Some of us help at the kitchen, others do the dishes, and others again clean the bathrooms. Since I’m, uhm, one of the oldest kids around I can do more than the others, but it’s fine by me. I mean, there’s more to life than just having fun, right?”

Hearing how responsible for her age the filly sounded, Fleur shivered at the mere thought of Chestnut having to grow up too soon due to her troubled past, but she took her husband’s advice and chose not to pursue the issue. For now, she certainly didn’t mind teaming up with a flying helper—hovering a feather duster with unicorn magic could only get her so far.

She pointed at the ravaged box. “Let’s start with this.” She headed down the hallway and under the stairs where in a small cupboard she kept all sorts of cleaning utensils, a dustpan, a brush, and a roll of trash bags included. “So, what else can you tell me about the Orphanarium?”

“Oh, everything!” Chestnut replied, but then frowned and stroked her chin. “Hmm, maybe not everything. I promised Glavia and Wind Whisper I won’t tell anyone about the thing. But there was that one time when we were setting the tables, right? It wasn’t anything special until I went to the kitchen to find the missing fork and…”

The next few hours they spent on household affairs Fleur counted among the most enjoyable experiences of the trial period. Between disposing of dust and rubbish, she and Chestnut had been exchanging stories about their lives as a supermodel and an orphan respectively—lives that just recently had taken an unexpected turn for them both.

With a certain dose of regret, Fleur noticed that the filly spoke highly of Doctor Hugs and his co-workers, and that she appeared to be someone akin to an older sister for the rest of the orphans. A thought she would describe as dreadful crossed her mind. What if Chestnut didn’t want their time together to last longer than a week?

She had to talk it over with Fancy Pants and decide when to ask Chestnut whether she’d like to stay with them.

The opportunity arose in the evening.

Fleur stepped out of the squeaky clean house and onto the balcony to indulge herself in stargazing. Some ponies said one could read their own future from the looks of the night sky during certain astrological occurrences, while others claimed that the stars were the world’s way of preserving the past in shimmering patterns. Fleur stayed skeptical either way. She would give a lot to know the outcome of tomorrow’s party, but for now she just silently admired the beauty of those tiny fireflies stuck far over the land. She never bothered to get a telescope, or to learn the names of constellations, so what future could she read from them other than the one she wanted to come true?

Something landed gently on her back, covering her croup and flanks, up to her neck. A blanket. She swaddled herself tightly and smiled.

“It’s a tad chilly outside, wouldn’t you say? And it will be only getting colder,” Fancy Pants said. He walked to the railings and embraced the mare who snuggled into his neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Everything. Tomorrow’s the party. Less than twenty-four hours from now, everything will become clear.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

After a moment of aimless meandering Fleur faced the truth.

“Chestnut. Chestnut has grown on me. We’ve had a good week, there’s no denying that, and I’d hate to send her away. The thing is, we talked about her life at the Orphanarium. She’s quite fond of Doctor Hugs and her friends there, and it occurred to me… what if she doesn’t want a family?”

“Ah, it crossed my mind as well,” Fancy Pants admitted. “Well, not the part about her not wanting to have a family, I’m certain every orphan does want that in the end, but about choosing us and this house for her new home. I suppose the only sure way to find out is to talk to her.”

“I know, but I don’t want to rush it!” Fleur said, furiously ironing the blanket underneath her hoof. “I need more time, I think. Chestnut and I are all good, but I don’t think I could go through it right now. What if she says no? I… I don’t want this little vacation to end, Fancy.” She turned her head away and quietly added, “I don’t want to be back to where I was before.”

Fancy Pants beamed and tightened the hug. “Oh, Mrs. Fleur, just listen to yourself! You’ve come a tremendous way for this filly, don’t let your nerves get the best of you now! I understand you don’t want to deal with it this very moment, but do keep in mind we’re having an appointment with Doctor Hugs in just two days. You need to talk to her beforehand.”

Fleur threw him a questioning stare. “Moi? What about you?”

“I’ll be around.” He tenderly cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. “Besides, I believe you already know my take on this particular affair.”

“I do.”

Under the myriads of stars, the two ponies locked their lips in a kiss.


* * *


Guided by a tight grip of the magical mist, a shining, silver teaspoon darted in the air and twirled over the buffet table. Avoiding imposing mountains of fruits and multilayered walls of cake, the spoon danced playfully around a half-empty glass of water, then struck it several times to send the universal message across the living room. For that one moment and one moment only, all eyes were on that spoon, and all ears turned to capture the resounding jingle.

Soon enough someone else stole the show.

“May I have your attention, please?” Fancy Pants said, putting the teaspoon aside and thus effectively ending its short-lived adventure. “Thank you. My friends, I would like to introduce the guest of honor for this utmost pleasant evening. While she may not be a celebrity many of you have expected, she is undoubtedly a pony worth getting acquainted. So, without further ado, I’d like you all to meet Chestnut, a lovely lady from a distant land of Tramplevania.”

A dozen pairs of eyes turned in anticipation as Fancy Pants pointed where none of them had bothered to look before. Some of the guests squinted in disbelief, a few dropped their jaws in surprise, but most of them simply acknowledged what they were seeing and refrained from passing a judgment on the apparent important invitee. For now.

Chestnut flicked her forelock off her brow and took a step forward. Not too slow to make it look ridiculous but not too hasty either, she walked across the room straightened up and keeping her head high, with a gentle smile adorning her face. She joined Fancy Pants by the buffet, proudly stepping among the ponies of the Canterlot Elite. She gave them a slight nod, otherwise keeping her gestures to an absolute minimum.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlecolts,” she said softly. “I hope you are having a great time tonight.”

“Chestnut has been staying with Fleur and I for a couple of days now. I hope you will prove as welcoming to her as you have been to our other distinguished guests in the past. Now please, enjoy the party!”

The ponies retreated to their cliques and so the game of social dodgeball was on. Ten points for not being the first one to comment on the unusual choice of the hosts. Twenty for playing it safe and finding out something either interesting or compromising about the exotic filly without talking to her in person. Fifty for voicing your opinion—a rather risky strategy!—and having somepony more important share it.

“You haven’t told them I’m an orphan,” Chestnut discreetly stated. “Why?”

“Neither have I mentioned your talents or interests,” Fancy Pants replied. “I didn’t want to put you into any specific role. That way nopony really knows what to expect so they’ll go easy on you. I wish I could elaborate further, but it seems somepony is already coming to meet you.”

Chestnut let out a distressed squeak.

“Any last minute tips?”

“Octavia. Cellist. Classical music. Good luck!” he quickly said and walked away. He stopped by the approaching mare, nodded, complimented her trademark pink bow tie, pointed at his own, then nodded again and trotted into the crowd, leaving Chestnut to deal with the challenges of the high society on her own.

Well, not entirely on her own.

A good lady of the house she was, Fleur was making sure that her guests would never run out of snacks or things to talk about. It was most unfortunate—and totally planned—that she had somehow forgotten to add the slices of a spiced peach pie with lattice crust to the buffet. Now she had to spend a good minute rearranging the dessert section of the buffet so that the composition of colors and shapes remained flawless. Coincidentally, she had a perfect view on the mare with coat only several tones brighter than Chestnut’s own.

Octavia Melody! Oh, how glad Fleur was to see it was her who first approached the filly.

Although during her performances she appeared as distant, even cold, Octavia had a gentle nature. She was a cultured and sophisticated mare who combined the vast knowledge of music with a knack for creating beautiful, yet sometimes tear-inducing tunes. She had every right to think of herself as a prodigy but she never used that to up her social score. In fact, she cared little about what the socialites thought of her, and unlike most of them she would never use another pony for her own gain.

“Good evening,” Octavia greeted the filly. “It’s Chestnut, isn’t it? I’m pleased to meet you.”

“And you must be Mrs. Octavia, ma’am,” Chestnut replied. “A cello, if I remember correctly? I heard that without you no classical musical ensemble is complete.”

Fleur allowed herself a smile. That’s a good start. Keep it up, Team Nuts!

“Oh, you’re too kind. I simply do what I love, and I continue to run into ponies who also enjoy my music,” Octavia said, helping herself to a cluster of grapes. “What about you? Are you more of a Beethooven or Mozheart enthusiast?”

“I enjoy any kind of music as long as it’s, uhm, loud.”

That could have gone better. There was certainly more to the many symphonies, concertos, and sonatas conceived by those great composers than just being ‘loud’. Fleur rebuked herself. She outfitted Chestnut with manners, but forgot about the general knowledge regarding the classics? Fancy Pants was right—she really should have cut short on teaching her how to accessorize shorter manes.

Much to Fleur’s surprise, Octavia giggled.

“You sound just like Vinyl! A DJ friend of mine, that is.”

“Excuse me, did you say Vinyl?” Chestnut replied in mounting excitement. “As in Vinyl Scratch, the pony who did all the audio mixing for the Shouts & Whispers by Gemtrance?”

“The very same! Though I wouldn’t consider myself a fan of ‘hard basses’ as she puts it, I have to admit there’s a certain merit in their loudness. Oh, before I forget—she’ll be performing at Brimstone here in Canterlot in about two weeks. The tickets have been sold out a few good months ago, but I think I could find a way to get you in if you’re interested.”

Thunderstruck with the idea, Chestnut replied, “I certainly am, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’m not old enough. The bouncers aren’t letting fillies like me in. From what I heard, that is.”

Octavia nibbled a grape and smiled mischievously.

“Who said anything about the main entrance?”

Fleur frowned. Was Octavia for real? Did she just offer a backstage pass for a rave at the most underground club of Canterlot to a filly who got lost after a trip to a music store across the street? No wonder that she never wanted to have children, she simply wouldn’t know how to cater for them. Not that Fleur herself was an expert in this field, but those were the basics!

“I was wondering—” the mare began, but a melodious, almost singing voice from across the room cut her off.

“Oh, my dear, dear Octaaavia! Would you mind coming up for a moment? I have something of extreme importance to share with you!”

The mare winced. “Hyacinth. She’s still trying to add her voice to my performances.” She leaned towards Chestnut in a conspiratorial manner and whispered, “Not going to happen!” She straightened up. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, miss, but I’m afraid I have to leave you for the time being.”

“I totally understand!” Chestnut said with a reassuring grin on her lips. “One has to handle ponies like Mrs. Hyacinth straight away. If you don’t go, then she’ll come here and sing at you until you have agreed to satisfy her wishes.”

The ease at which Chestnut was partaking in the conversation filled Fleur with pride. She wasn’t only making use of the rhetoric Fancy Pants taught her, but she was doing it within her own charm. Bravo, Team Nuts!

“Very much so!” Octavia giggled. “Enjoy the party!”

Would you look at that—Fleur decided she was content with the composition of the desserts the exact moment Octavia trotted away towards Hyacinth and Rich Card. It was a rather fortuitous coincidence that on her way back Fleur could also sneak upon Chestnut.

“So, you’ve met Octavia? How did it go?”

Without having to mind her manners, the filly’s composure melted. “Pretty good. I think. Or not. I need a drink.” She poured herself a glass of juice and emptied it in a single gulp. “I mean, there was a moment when she asked me about some fancy musicians and I had no idea who they were, but I took the advice you guys gave me and just told what felt right. It turned out well, I hope.”

“You’re doing great,” Fleur replied and stroked the filly’s back, bringing an unsure smile to her face. “But don’t be afraid to trot around and mingle with others. You are the guest of honor and you have every right to approach them.”

“But I know nothing about them!”

Fleur walked around the fruit display. She had already discerned the balance of power for tonight and she could now provide guidance for the filly. “Let me help you with that. First, do you see the bearded stallion standing by the clock? That’s Garlic Bread, the owner and chef de cuisine of Acquarellion, the restaurant by the Promenade. I heard he wants to enrich their winter specials with something exotic, and I think Tramplevanian chestnuts could be just the thing,” Fleur said. “That’s one. Now, the awful dress by the fireplace.”

“Is something wrong with her?”

The mare rolled her eyes. “Please. Beige is not a color. But don’t tell her that! Instead, know that Right Write is A.K. Yearling’s editor and probably knows a lot about the Daring Do series. Thus, you have a common topic to discuss.”

Chestnut’s ears flattened as she nervously shuffled her hooves. “Yeah, but she was staring at my wings earlier! It’s not easy being the only batpony around. And the only filly! I don’t suppose there’s a lot of ponies my age usually coming to your parties, right?”

“Not really, but perhaps there will be more after tonight,” Fleur replied. “I have to go now. You’re very brave, so keep it up and don’t worry. Fancy Pants and I are watching over you, alright? You’re doing great!”

The mare’s reassurance calmed Chestnut down and even emboldened her because she took a deep breath, peeled away from the buffet, and went partying—Canterlot manner, naturally. She was unaware that the rules of engagement for tonight had changed the moment Octavia approached her. From now on, whoever wanted to stay on good terms with the cellist, which would include everyone, had to avoid making faux pas around Chestnut. Inadvertently, Octavia upped the ante to a hundred points for reaching her through the filly.

As the evening progressed, Fleur was splitting her time between three major activities. She had to be an excellent hostess serving exquisite appetizers, a charming lady participating in all-important conversations, and most importantly, a kind of a wingmare for Chestnut. She couldn’t find a proper word describing that role, but she definitely enjoyed it the most. Keeping an eye for the filly, providing guidance when needed, or looking out for any emergencies should they arise, Fleur wanted to be there for her.

So far the only real emergency which required her swift intervention was the sudden shortage of snacks. She hurried to the kitchen to dice cheese and every type of pepper she could find. Between the red and green ones, she halted the knife.

She went back to how she used to imagine parenthood, to that picture of her being a perfect parent of a perfect child. In her impossible to fulfill dreams she was witnessing her child’s first steps, she was hearing their first spoken word, and she was framing the first, awkward doodle they made to hang on the wall. Of course none of that mattered now. Chestnut could walk and talk already, and drawing wasn’t among her hobbies, so that’s that.

A funny thought struck her.

They had indeed taught Chestnut how to walk and talk. What else was she doing right now if not moving smoothly from one high society pony to another while engaging in delightful chit-chats with them? The realization filled Fleur with glee. Thousands of mothers would teach their children how not to get messy in the backyard, but only she had the privilege of showing someone how to impress the high society of Canterlot.

That was it. In full awareness, Fleur thought of herself as Chestnut’s mother, which meant she was ready to accept the filly as her—

“How are we doing?”

The intrusion of Fancy Pants stealing a single bite of cheese broke Fleur out of her peaceful reverie. As if she had just awoken from a slumber, she looked at the suspended in mid-air knife and correctly assumed she was in the middle of preparing snacks.

“You tell me,” she replied, dicing more cheese. “Since we’ve run out of these, I assume no one wants to talk to anyone and they’re all just hiding behind appetizers and drinks?”

“Not really, no. These are only gone because Chef Garlic is taking them in bulks.”

“Vraiment? He only does that when he’s excited about something. Who’s he talking to?”

“Who do you think? Chestnut, of course.”

Fleur chuckled. “That explains it.” She moved away the little yellow cubes and returned to the green pepper she hadn’t processed yet. When she remembered why, her heart started to beat faster. She put down the knife and turned to her husband.

“Hey, remember pretty much every conversation we’ve had since we met Chestnut?” she asked. “I think I’m ready. I mean, I feel calm and collected, Chestnut’s behaving flawlessly, she’s practically running the party—”

Ding-dong!

“I’ll get it!” Chestnut called from the hallway.

“—and I feel calm and collected,” Fleur repeated. “And I know I have already said that, the point is, I don’t think the circumstances will get any better. We should talk to Chestnut about the adoption now. I no longer fear that word.”

“That’s wonderful, dearest!” Fancy Pants beamed with happiness, grabbed his wife’s hoof and put it next to his heart. “Shall I call her here, or do you want to announce it later, or…”

As he was still talking, something else caught Fleur’s attention. Her ears perked at the sound of the opening door, the voices of some newcomers entering the house, and the disturbed squeal of the filly who let them in.

“We’re terribly sorry for being late, but—YOU!”

Fleur knew that voice! She rushed out of the kitchen. As expected, the newly arrived guests were their acquaintances from the Canterlot Elite whose looks, bearing, and even names all formed the epitome of the high society.

She looked at Chestnut. The filly managed to maintain her poise despite facing a terrifying sight. Because while Jet Set seemed more concerned about his wife than the weirdly looking filly in front of him, Upper Crust, red on her face, was about to blow.

“Lady Bucket Head,” Chestnut replied with unparalleled dignity. “Alas, we meet again.”
> Chapter 8 – The Best of Both Worlds
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Throughout her life, Fleur had questioned a great deal of happenings.

She once questioned the results of a dishonestly predetermined—or to put it simply, fixed—fashion contest held in the Crystal Empire a few years back. There was no way some indigo mare of average looks could have beaten Rarity’s fabulous ensemble, especially not with Fleur in top form carrying it into the spotlight. But it happened, and she had to accept that.

Not so long ago she questioned the revelation which came with the fateful diagnosis. She did not deserve such a punishment, not when she was most open to the perspective of motherhood but also most vulnerable after withdrawing from the world of fashion. She was a good pony and she strayed from any wrongdoings, after all. But it happened, and she learned to live with that.

Most recently, she questioned the idea of a thestral invading her family. It was a preposterous notion that came at the risk of her socially relevant acquaintances ceasing to invite her to their get-togethers at best, and laughing and mocking and abruptly turning their collective hindquarters at her at worst. But it happened, and she was ready for that.

Inquisitive as she was, never before had Fleur questioned the reality itself.

What were the odds that Upper Crust, one of the most distinguished ponies of the Canterlot Elite was the so-called Lady Bucket Head, a villainous figure who chased Chestnut away from Lex Deux Maregots just a couple of days ago? Fleur almost left the incident behind, but now the sensation of Chestnut in peril was back, rousing her quicker than even a bucket of cold water would.

“You!” Upper Crust hissed. “Have you come to ruin my mane again, you little pest?”

Fleur had to move quickly to prevent this already volatile situation from escalating any further. Her guts told her to step in.

Fancy Pants stopped her in her tracks.

“Give her a chance,” he said.

What nonsense! Fleur didn’t need to give Chestnut a chance and she definitely didn’t need her to prove anything! She had already made up her mind and as much as she respected Upper Crust and the rest of the Canterlot Elite, she was not going to let any of them endanger the filly’s well-being.

“She doesn’t have to—”

“I meant Upper.”

Of course he did. While it helped with climbing up the social ladder, taking an exemplary gentlecolt for a husband came at the price of giving others a chance to fix their faux pas. Fleur could abide, but at times like this she would rather fling forgiveness out the window, especially since Upper Crust didn’t look like she was after redeeming herself, but staging a showdown instead.

Like those held at high noon, except that the sun had already set.

At one end of the dusty road outside the saloon—or, the perfectly clean hallway adjacent to the living room—stood Fleur seconded by Fancy Pants. At the other, Jet Set and Upper Crust who fixed her hateful glare on the filly. The rest of the Canterlot Elite did what was best for them and stayed in the room, but while some pretended they were too classy to get involved in whatever the fuss was all about, in truth they were glancing from behind their drinks and carefully moving around so that they could get the best seats in the house. The tension was palpable even if there would be no rolling tumbleweeds or unoiled batwing doors to accompany the silence when the chattering went dead.

The good, the bad, and the batpony remained still for a while, for everyone awaited Chestnut’s response.

“I am also delighted to see you again, madam,” she said, taking a slight bow at the furious mare. She bravely looked her in the eyes. “Might I say, I love what you’ve done with your mane. That hair clip really—”

“I do not care what you’re thinking!” Upper Crust drawled. “You didn’t seem to care much when you ruined it by the Maregots, did you?”

Chestnut endured the sudden outlash and kept her head high. “I deeply regret what happened back there, but as you may remember it was but an unfortunate accident. The window washer dropped the bucket, simple as that.” She smiled warmly and extended her hoof. “How about we leave that whole unpleasantery behind? No hard feelings?”

Without firing it once, Chestnut was making the best of her social revolver. That couldn’t have gone unnoticed by the ponies in the audience who were too engaged in the showdown to even whisper their bets to each other. Yet they were divided. Those who already had a chance to talk to the resolute filly were vastly impressed by her temper, but the rest had known Upper Crust much longer and were thus more inclined to stay on her side.

Despite her heart’s hammering, Fleur calmed down a bit. The recently discovered maternal feelings urged her to intervene, to step in, to take Chestnut as far as possible from the danger she found herself in. At the same time, she wanted to believe that the filly was capable of handling the situation on her own. Even more so, she believed Chestnut would find a way to bring the two worlds together for the sake of their family as much as her own. Besides, it would be pretty low of Upper Crust if she didn’t reciprocate the gesture in front of the Elite, wouldn’t it?

“Keep your dirty hooves away from me!” Upper Crust exploded. “Everypony knows your kind! You are all thieves and muggers, and you are the absolute worst of them all! You tried to steal my jewelry, you belong to a prison cell, and whoever let you in here must have been out of their mind, you batpony!”

Chestnut extended her black wings. She dropped the mask of unflappable manners under which she had been hiding a mingled expression of anger, regret, and broken spirit. All those emotions were soon replaced by something akin to acceptance of one’s sealed fate.

“Heh. At least I tried,” she silently said. She flew up just high enough to stay face to face with Upper Crust. “Listen up, lady! It’s kinda sad that you’re judging me, or my kind like that when you know nothing about us. You and me are different, true, but jumping to conclusions like that? Come on!”

“Don’t you dare speak—”

“I regret that you’re not listening to a word I say!” Chestnut shouted, but her voice was already slipping into trembling. “But I… but I just can’t get through to you! I wasn’t even going to bring that up in front of these cool ponies but you accused me of stealing your necklace when all I wanted to do was to give you that dumb necklace back! Which you dropped! You’d think a ‘thank you’ would be in order but no, you had to set the guardsponies on me! I mean, who does that?”

Her breath was coming in gasps.

“And for your information, those were Fleur and Fancy Pants who let me in here, and you better not speak of them like that because they’re the coolest, kindest, and bestest ponies I have ever met!”

Signing that declaration with heavy tears, she scurried upstairs.

“Chestnut, wait!” Fleur called.

“Leave me alone…”

Hoofsteps. Door slam. Silence.

“Hmph,” Upper Crust snorted, gloating over her triumph. She looked across the hallway. “I’m glad you took my advice and hired a maid, Fleur, but you really should be more careful. Batponies are nothing but trouble, and I can tell you that this particular one is a nasty individual. You should get rid of her as soon as possible.”

Fleur had enough.

Everything she hated in the high society—the snobbish sense of superiority, the eagerness to judge others without learning their story first, the supposed importance of one’s own image and putting it above all else—that and much more now converged in Lady Bucket Head, a mare that was about to get stomped into the floor. As Fleur turned around in frigid silence, her face took a rightfully vengeful look which caused every sane pony to take a step back.

Her personal trial by fire had come.

“Maid? A maid? That’s my DAUGHTER you’re talking about!”

“Y-your d-daughter?” Upper Crust mumbled, seeking answers among the guests who were equally stunned.

“That’s right, you heard me!” Fleur shouted, ignoring the painful protest of her vocal chords. She stomped across the hallway. “Let it be known that Fancy Pants and I have decided to expand our family by adopting that particular filly!”

Fancy Pants had never seen his wife so passionate about anything as she was now about protecting Chestnut. There stood a mare strong not in body but in spirit, armored with unyielding resolve more durable than the hardest steel. She was surrounded by flames of dedication as fiery as a dragon’s breath itself which she would wield to face those who opposed her. She had become the archetype of courage, ready to fight for what her heart told was right.

Well, that wasn’t exactly how she looked, but that’s how he wanted to remember her in this moment of truth.

Only a handful of Canterlot ponies didn’t have to look up to reach Fleur’s eye level. Upper Crust wasn’t of those. The witnesses would later claim she shrunk when Fleur approached and that she got even smaller when she tried to save what was already beyond saving.

“Surely you can’t be serious!” she shouted, words escaping her lips without much sense or order. “Somepony of your status… our status… the Elite… w-we mustn’t get involved with individuals like that! Batponies, they’re n-nothing but trouble!”

Fleur rolled her eyes and thundered, “Of, for Celestia’s and Luna’s combined sakes, they are called THESTRALS, you dumb racist! And Chestnut is, in fact, anything BUT trouble! She’s the most selfless filly I have ever met in my life, and I’m certain that unlike some of us”—she landed her hoof on the other mare’s chest—“she’ll grow into a fine mare who has every right to be counted among the Elite!” She pointed at the guests hiding from her wrath behind the corner. “And if you, or you, or anypony else have a problem with that, then feel free to cross me out from your parties and all. See if I care.”

She turned her back at Upper Crust and stormed off, leaving her and the rest of the ponies dumbstruck.

“Are you alright?” Fancy Pants asked as she stopped by him.

“Never felt better,” she grumbled back. She sighed. “I’m sorry. Please… please solve this for me, Fancy. I have to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

“Namely?”

“Face my social role of a mother.”


* * *


She was shaking so much she had to sit down.

Her heart was still pounding like the metaphorical hammer she had used to forge her near-heroic resolve, but the initial rush of adrenaline was wearing off fast. She could think clearly now. She wasn’t exactly proud of losing her temper and making a scene before Fancy Pants and their acquaintances, but what choice did she have? An excellent hostess or a charming lady would have probably solved the issue in a less controversial way, but as Chestnut’s wingmare she had to stand up for her.

She took a deep breath. Chestnut still needed her and Fleur couldn’t provide any help through the closed door. Exhale. Should she go in right now, or should she wait? What was she going to tell her? Argh! She shouldn’t have postponed the talk with Chestnut until just now. If she was only brave enough yesterday, or even an hour ago, or not so judgmental in the first place!

Another deep breath. Exhale.

Okay, maternal instincts. Now would be a really good time for you to kick in.

Fleur knocked on the door.

“Chestnut? Is everything alright?”

What a stupid question that was. No, everything was not alright. The party which had started off pretty well had just taken an unexpected, disastrous turn. Not that it mattered for Fleur right now, especially since she had Fancy Pants fixing the damage, but still.

“Go away,” a muffled response was heard.

Fleur waited. She wasn’t going anywhere but inside that room.

“May I come in?”

No answer.

“I’m coming in!” she announced herself and pushed the door.

The first thing she noticed about the room was a cardboard box standing in the middle of the fluffy rug. It was the same box Chestnut brought from the Orphanarium, the one labeled NuTsiE’s StuFF on the side. These words had been crossed out. Instead, the box had a much more proper, yet still slightly skewed Nutsie’s Belongings written underneath the original state of ownership, perhaps quite recently. Fleur couldn’t see the contents of the box but judging by the empty shelves Chestnut had already packed most of her things.

“Hey.”

“Hiya.”

“Are you packing?”

“I’ve heard that it’s always better to pack your stuff the night before. This way you have more time to sleep on the day you’re leaving.”

“Leaving?”

Chestnut didn’t dare to look up at the mare even when they both found themselves standing over the box. She folded up the poster of Gemtrance and put it inside. She threw a glance at the desk where the vial of mandarin ink, the pen, and the scarf were neatly placed. With a wince on her face, she closed the box.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have been eavesdropping and I’m sorry for that. It was wrong of me. But being a batpony means I can hear better than others and I… I overheard you guys talking the other night.”

Fleur froze. She and Fancy Pants must have had about eight billion conversations regarding Chestnut and their future. Some of the more recent ones were in favor of the filly but others, regrettably, were just the opposite. Had Chestnut heard any of those? Oh, please, let it be the one they had yesterday! Fleur didn’t want to pay the price for her stupid, immature bias!

“What did you hear?”

“About tonight’s party. You said you wanted to see if I can get along with your friends. Well, I kinda messed that one up, didn’t I?” Chestnut looked at Fleur with her big, wet, yellowy eyes. “I guess I’m going back.”


* * *


The front door remained open, but the gentle breeze that came through wasn’t enough to calm the still heated atmosphere in the hallway. The showdown was not over yet and the ponies of the Canterlot Elite were waiting for Upper Crust to blurt a response. They all secretly wondered if she had already realized how much blowing a small incident out of proportion was going to cost her.

“I want you to know,” the mare began, her voice trembling, “that the moment I encountered this batpony—”

“Thestral!” Garlic Bread boomed.

“Whatever!” Upper Crust shouted back. “It has been by far the most ruining event of my entire life. I’ve had my coiffure turned into an absolute mess, my best dress got covered in dirty, soapy water, I almost lost my favorite necklace, and I came late for the art exhibition I myself helped to set up! That said, I want to repeat what I’ve stated and with full conviction tell you that those batponies, or thestrals, are nothing but trouble!”

She turned to the guests crowded under the archway.

“I talked to many of you about the issue and I know you share my point of view. We have to uphold our image, and fraternizing with other races like that puts a scar on the beauty of the Canterlot Elite as we know it.” She pointed at one of the ponies. “Hyacinth agrees with me. Don’t you, Hyacinth?”

The mare in a giant peacock hat stepped forward eagerly, glad she was granted a chance to steal the show for herself.

Fancy Pants felt his stomach lurching. Hyacinth was one of the ponies who were silently opposing Chestnut, at least according to what Rich Card had confidentially told him. Unlike Hyacinth, the long-suffering husband was a tolerant and relaxed individual, and he was doing his utmost to calm his opinionated wife. No wonder she was against the filly—it was Chestnut and some Royal Guards who had crashed her Punch Taste-whatnot. Despite that, Fancy Pants and Fleur still invited her tonight in hope that her animosity would be trumped by her desire to join the high society.

The funny thing was, there was no applying for membership. You either were in the Canterlot Elite, or you were not.

Hyacinth didn’t know that but she had already proven to be an apt social dodgeball player. Staying around Fancy Pants and Fleur usually allowed her to score most points but Jet Set and Upper Crust were equally influential. Perhaps one Lady Bucket Head couldn’t do a thing, but if she had gathered likeminded ponies around she would break the high society apart. It would be like an avalanche started by throwing a chestnut-sized object at the unsteady pile of ponies and their opinions.

Fancy Pants checked on Jet Set. He seemed embarrassed by his wife’s lack of manners, and he definitely didn’t want to get involved in her grand crusade. Good for him. As the poet William Coltgreve once said, Tartarus hath no fury for a mare such scorned. Yet ‘scorned’ didn’t even begin to describe the state in which Upper Crust found herself.

“I do recall the day Upper Crust is talking about,” Hyacinth proclaimed. “Why, I should remember it quite well as I was hosting one of my Punch Tastextravaganzas back then. You are all cordially invited this Saturday, naturally.” She gave away a couple of smiles and nods in no particular direction. It was a miracle she wasn’t also waving her hoof like a princess from the balcony of the Royal Castle. “It is true that a thestral named Chestnut has been involved in some unfortunate accident concurrently, but it did not threaten the exquisiteness of the event itself, I assure you.”

Upper Crust scowled. “What? Just yesterday you and me were talking about thestrals being the worst thing that could happen to our city and now, all of a sudden, you’re okay with one of them ruining your party? What got into you?” She looked around, looking for support elsewhere. “What about you, Right Write? Blue Moon? Anypony?”

The humdrum editor slowly rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re clearly exaggerating, my dear. I think it is wonderful that Fleur and Fancy Pants are so keen to adopt such an intriguing little filly.”

“Quite so indeed!” Blue Moon added.

Hyacinth let out her trademark chuckle she usually utilized to bring the attention back to her. “I think we can all agree on what Right Write said.” She turned her back at Upper Crust, inadvertently stroking Octavia’s face with an over-the-top, flamboyant feather protruding from her hat. “Ah, here you are, dear. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate thestral arias? They are truly the lou-deeest!”

Struck by the sudden amount of decibels, Octavia put a hoof to her forehead.

“Yes, Hyacinth,” she said. “They are like that.”

The guests returned to the living room, all in unison with Garlic Bread who proposed that a snack was in order after such an emotional scene. The showdown was over and the ponies who kept track of their social scores summed up the amassed points. Maintaining their savoir faire when the hostess raged over, two hundred points. Being on the right side of the barricade after she did, like Hyacinth was, five hundred points. Not ending like Upper Crust—that is, socially obliterated and left in disgrace—win, win, win.

Fancy Pants would burst out laughing if the situation wasn’t so ridiculously tense. He didn’t expect Hyacinth of all ponies to take their side, not after what happened on the Promenade, but fortunately she was a bona fide turncoat. He never though he’d be grateful for something like that.

He approached Upper Crust so that nopony but her and Jet Set could hear his quiet tone.

“Fleur told me what happened that day. I also recall you arrived late for the exhibition, claiming that you couldn’t find a proper apparel for the occasion. You see, if I had only known the truth earlier we would have been able to avoid this entire charade.”

Upper Crust snorted. “Don’t get all pitiful on me, Fancy. I’ve been playing this game for as long as you and I know I lost this one. But let me drop this pretty convention for a moment. I respect you and Fleur but I do not regret anything I’ve said. I still think that opening our society for foreign influences is a mistake,” she firmly stated. “What comes next, griffons? Diamond Dogs? Changelings? Mark my words, Fancy Pants, for you will be the one rummaging through ashes of what the Canterlot Elite used to stand for.”

“I respect your opinion on this one,” Fancy Pants replied. “However, allow me to drop the convention as well.” He leaned dangerously close to Upper Crust’s face and drawled, “If you ever, through action or inaction, cause any harm come to Chestnut, I will find you and I will remind you what I think about setting the Royal Guard on innocent fillies.”

The mare mustered up one last glare, doing her best to hide the fear in her eyes.

“So be it. I see that I am no longer in demand for your parties even though everything I did was perfectly justified. I’m afraid Jet Set and I have to leave early tonight.” She trotted outside, trying to keep together the remnants of her shattered dignity.

“I wish you both a pleasant evening,” Fancy Pants said. He turned to the stallion. “Are you still up for our game of cricket this weekend, Jet?”

“I certainly am,” Jet Set replied in his phlegmatic tone. “Apologies for Upper. She’ll get over it. We’re sure that you will make a great family.”

“JET SET!”

Fancy Pants sighed compassionately.

In all her haughtiness Upper Crust was right about one thing. The Canterlot Elite had to uphold the image that would then set standards for the ponies living in the capital, and consequently for the rest of Equestria. Cultural changes always flourished, or were nipped in the bud through the so-called elites like theirs, but since they often seemed too radical for some there was no way of introducing them smoothly. Especially if you were the first pair of unicorns to acknowledge them.

Some may follow your example, but others will turn against you.

Fancy Pants recalled Mister Inkblot’s words. He was right once again, that old geezer!

Chuckling to himself, he closed the door and headed upstairs, convinced that his wife had already explained the whole situation to Chestnut.


* * *


Fleur had no idea how to explain the whole situation to Chestnut.

Turning the party into a proving ground for the filly seemed reasonable in the ancient times of last Saturday when Fleur didn’t know what she wanted from life. As the days passed, she realized how dear to her Chestnut had become, and she decided she was going to accept her regardless of tonight’s get-together outcome.

Now she found herself on the verge of losing her.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, you know,” Fleur said. “I was actually hoping it would be just the beginning.”

She seated herself on the bed and invited Chestnut to join in. The filly hesitated. She stared at her box but eventually shuffled across the room and perched at the edge, at a certain distance from the mare. Fleur considered pulling her closer right away, but she doubted she had ever earned enough of the filly’s trust to allow herself such straightforwardness.

“I want you to know that Fancy Pants and I had a great time with you and we’d hate to see you go.”

Chestnut stared at her wide-eyed but then turned her head away.

“But I failed your test.”

“Oh, forget it. We’ve only come up with this idea because we—because I didn’t know what to think about you.” She let out a saddened murmur. “Letting go of my plans, visiting the Orphanarium, seeing you for the first time. It was all very confusing for me, so if anypony failed anything that would be me, not you.”

“What about Lady Bucket Head? You wanted to see if I can fit in. What I did there clearly shows that I can’t!”

Fleur shrugged. “Yet charming Octavia, Garlic Bread, and the rest clearly proves otherwise,” she replied. “Listen, don’t worry about what you said to Lady Bucket Head, or Upper Crust as that’s her real name. You tried to reason with her even though she didn’t want to be reasoned with, so that’s a win in my book. In fact, you handled her better than I did.”

“Really?” Chestnut said, her tufty ears standing on attention. “What did you do?”

The mare rubbed the soreness off her throat. “I shouted, mostly,” she said. “But I told her the truth. That you’re a wonderful filly, that we care about you. I also told her something I should have probably discussed with you beforehand but I couldn’t find the courage to do so.”

She clammed up struggling to find the proper wording. Much like the filly was actively avoiding eye contact, Fleur also found her own hooves immensely fascinating. Their shape, texture, hardiness—oh, where was Fancy Pants and his eloquence when you needed them? Downstairs, dealing with the troublesome guest, that’s where. Fleur was on her own now.

“Tell me, Chestnut,” she finally uttered. “Would you like to stay with us?”

There, she asked the big question. It was all about hearing yes or no in the seconds to come and maybe then her heart would kindly stop its frantic drumming. Yet the only thing Fleur could hear was prolonging silence. She wouldn’t throw a single glance at Chestnut.

She waited.

“I don’t know,” the filly whispered.

“What do you mean? You don’t like it here?”

Chestnut livened up. The reserves of youthful energy which she usually manifested through unbeatable cheer fueled an emotional outburst.

“Are you nuts? Of course I like it!” she exclaimed, turning to the mare. “Let me tell you something. Do you know what we orphans often do? We make up stories about our future families and houses. You know how it works. Every filly likes to think that her mother will be the most beautiful mare in the world. So they mostly dream about being adopted by one of the Princesses and living with them at the Royal Castle.”

“Is that what you dream about as well?”

Chestnut waved her hoof. “Nah, I’m far too old for things like that. Or so I thought, because one day, bam! You came around, beautiful as any princess, and together with your Prince Charming you took me to this castle of a house. This room, this very bed here?” She rolled towards the middle of the bed and mashed the sheets furiously. “It has more pillows than I have hooves! How could anyone not like it?”

Fleur disregarded a wave of warmth which came to her cheeks. She moved around and sat in front of the filly.

“Then what is it? Please, tell me so I could understand!”

“I don’t belong to your world! You guys have your perfect lives and works, you’re meeting important ponies every day, and you’re throwing awesome parties for them! You’re just… you’re just so cool! Even your cutie marks are cool! Fancy Pants has golden crowns, you have your pretty squid-thingies. And me? I’m just a farmpony, and a pretty useless one anywhere outside Tramplevania. I.. I just don’t want to get your fancy lives ruined with who I am.”

Fleur quivered upon hearing that.

The filly didn’t sound like she was against the perspective itself but she was definitely conflicted about it. Fleur had a general idea why and, in all honesty, she could relate—whether you were adopting or being adopted, either of those required you to face many new, sometimes difficult challenges. It was a big turning point in life for both parties by which neither of them could pass indifferently.

Equestria was no Tramplevania. Pegasi weren’t the same as thestrals. Life at the nonetheless decent orphanage was in no way compensating for the loss of family and home. Chestnut must have spent a greater part of her life adjusting to those changes, but letting go of all she knew after spending only a couple of days with some newly met ponies called for even greater courage. At least Fleur could always count on her husband to back her up. Chestnut had no one but herself to turn to.

“Being a farmpony isn’t worse than being anypony else,” Fleur said, but the filly shook her head. “Hey, do you want to know what I think about chestnuts? I think that they are little treasures hidden in plain sight.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Just think about it! A chestnut falls from a tree, unexpectedly. It’s easy to prick yourself because of its shell so some don’t even bother to pick it up. But those who are patient soon discover that there’s a shiny, beautiful treasure hidden inside. And for me that’s you! You’re the treasure!”

However cheap that sounded, it was the truth. Chestnut came into Fleur’s life rather fortuitously and the mare had been reluctant to ‘pick her up’ in the beginning. In time, she realized that this chestnut was most definitely worth pricking your hoof even if all of her acquaintances were going to have a laugh at her because of that.

“You know, so far you’ve made my life better, not worse or ruined. And to be honest, I don’t care about the opinion of ponies like Upper Crust. I care about you, Chestnut. That’s exactly why we would like to adopt you. But we can’t force you if it’s not something you want as well.”

An uneasy silence fell upon the mare, at least on the outside, because her mind was like a raging battlefield where her past dreams and future prospects had been clashing for the last couple of days. Finally, her prejudice breathed its last when she vanquished it. The seemingly unbreakable rules of the high society fell apart when she rallied her dedication against them. She was victorious, and she was bringing back a new, more mature understanding of motherhood—the solution she needed at last.

She glanced at Chestnut as she stared down, her eyes obscured by the fringe of her forelock. With one of her hooves facing the other she was drawing never-ending circles, likely fighting fierce battles of her own. She appeared calm, but so did Fleur.

The lack of response was agonizing for the mare. More difficult to bear with every passing second. Anything beyond what she had already said that could help her win Chestnut was now sealed between her lips. But she didn’t have to say anything else.

The answer came by itself.

“Remember that talk we had about having a dream in life?” Chestnut asked, looking Fleur directly in the eyes. The mare nodded. “You know, I still don’t know who I want to be in the future. But thanks to the week I spent here I know who I want to be now.”

Chestnut’s voice faltered and her eyes filled with tears despite her best attempts to maintain her composure.

“I want to be your daughter. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Chestnut!” Fleur pulled the filly closer. “Of course I’ll have you, sweetie!”

Letting out something between a squeak and a gasp of relief, Chestnut fell into Fleur’s secure embrace. There was no way either of them could stop the tears which came along with the warmth of the hug, but neither Fleur nor Chestnut felt it was necessary to withhold them. Those were just what they needed to temper the heated bond which formed between them. The bond between the mother and the daughter which nothing in the entire world could ever break or strain, forged from hope, trust, and most importantly, gladness of not being alone anymore.

The bond of unconditional love.

Chestnut tightened the hug to lift herself closer to Fleur’s ear.

“You’re the best, Mom.”

“And you’re the bestest… Nutsie.”
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A cheerful chuckle resounded across the office.

“It sounds like you’ve had a busy week!” Doctor Hugs said. “Is there anything else either of you would like to add before we continue?”

Fleur gazed into the cup and stirred the remaining sip’s worth of tea, pondering over the events of the past week.

Per the doctor’s request she had recounted pretty much everything there was to cover—the awkward first days spent around Chestnut, losing and finding her on the Promenade, the lessons in poise and pizzazz, up to yesterday’s grand event with its numerous, more or less successful encounters with the Canterlot Elite. A busy week indeed! Fancy Pants supplemented her story with various small steps of his own involving crosswords, adventure books, and elderly shopkeepers, but even with his help Fleur felt their report was lacking. Chestnut would know what details they missed but she was waiting outside for the time being, as it was apparently required on this stage of the evaluation session.

She put the cup away.

“Only that neither Nutsie nor I realized Fancy Pants was in the doorway all along.” She threw a glance at her husband. “How long have you been standing there, anyway?”

“I got upstairs just in time to witness one of the most heartwarming scenes I have ever seen. Chestnut’s beautiful dream, standing there when she called Fleur ‘Mom’ for the first time… it was an exceptional experience, to say the least. Oh, and don’t get me started on all the hugging and snuggling! I know I cried myself, there’s no denying that.”

Fleur murmured in agreement. “I have to admit I was rather surprised to see our acquaintances acting so supportive about our decision, especially after my outburst. I realize some of them weren’t completely honest, but since our little guest of honor was in demand for the rest of the evening I suppose in the end it turned out pretty well.”

Doctor Hugs joined his hooves in a loud clap.

“Splendid! I understand that you’re ready to finalize the adoption procedures, yes?” he said, to which the unicorns nodded. “Do you recognize the thestral filly named Chestnut as your adopted daughter? Will you do everything in your power to provide her with home and caring as her legal mother and father from here on out?”

A shiver of excitement went down Fleur’s spine. It was really happening!

“We certainly do!” she almost shouted.

“And we will,” Fancy Pants added. “I believe it’s safe to say we’ve learned a lot about ourselves from Chestnut. Perhaps our lives haven’t suddenly turned one hundred and eighty degrees because of her, but frankly, after the week we’ve spent together, I can no longer imagine her voice, her presence not accompanying us in our everyday routines.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Doctor Hugs replied, for once not turning into a living smiley face but keeping a serious, yet nonetheless warm expression. “Just keep in mind that your unique relationship with Chestnut will be challenged in many ways in the days to come. But, from what I can see, you’re going to do just fine.” He shot his hoof at the mare. “Mrs. Fleur, when we met for the first time, you defined the word ‘mother’ as someone who gave birth to a child. I’m curious, did the trial period change anything regarding that?”

“But of course! I now understand that being a mother can be a matter of bond and not necessarily blood. It’s such a wonderful feeling, taking up this mantle, and even as an adopted one, I mean mother, it’s like…”

Her voice trailed off as she found herself struggling for the right words. She thought about her recently reshaped idea of motherhood. What it meant to her, how she felt in that role, why Chestnut was so important to her. Regrettably, the entire concept didn’t want to translate itself into words.

She smiled apologetically. “It’s difficult to explain. I’m sorry, doctor. You probably know by now that I’m not very good at talking about these things. But I do feel them.” She pointed at her chest. “Right here.”

The stallion chuckled. “It’s quite alright, madam, quite alright. I can definitely see a change in your views and I do believe it’s one for the better,” he said. “By the way, if you don’t know how to talk about your feelings you can always try writing them down first.”

“And who would read that, I wonder?”

“Only those with whom you’d share it or no one at all. My point is, you’ve collected quite a few beautiful moments already and there are many more yet to come. Might as well start keeping track of them.”

Fleur liked the sound of that. She had been preserving her accomplishments in photos, dresses, and magazine covers, but not in words. She never had a diary or a journal in which she would be writing down her day-to-day life. Perhaps it was a good time to set one up? It wasn’t on her retirement list of potential hobbies but she could probably squeeze it somewhere between amateur painting and playing checkers.

She shrugged. “You know what, doctor? I might give it a shot.”

Once again a beaming smile came to the stallion’s face. He stood up.

“If you don’t have any more questions at this point, I’d like you to wait outside,” he said. “Please ask Chestnut to come in. For this next part of the evaluation session I need to talk with the adoptee in private.”

As the unicorns reached the door and were about to leave the office, Fancy Pants turned around.

“Actually, there is one thing that’s been bugging me,” he admitted. “That questionnaire of yours, supposedly revealing the most appropriate choice? I doubt that a tried and tested scientific method would bring Chestnut specifically to us, so I’ll venture a guess and say that is not how it really works. Would I be wrong in my assumption?”

“Ah! I was wondering if you’d ask that!” Doctor Hugs replied. “You see, the truth is that no questionnaire, test, or any tool I have in that cabinet can determine if a couple will be compatible with a given child. Such a relationship is way too complex, it involved too many factors to be put into numbers and measured.” His smile didn’t wear off, but he chose his next words carefully. “I hope you’ll forgive this… misinformation on my part. Since Chestnut was the only choice I could recommend to a couple like you, the questionnaire was a way of ensuring you’d give her a chance.”

Fleur cocked her eyebrow. “The only choice? Why would that be?”

“Most of the kids here are much younger than Chestnut. They are still in a delicate process of shaping their individual personalities, and because of that they are extremely susceptible to outside influences or pressures,” the stallion said. “Now, you came to the Orphanarium with a well thought-out vision of you and your perfect child. Let’s say you chose to adopt a young filly who doesn’t even have her cutie mark. A blank slate, so to speak. Let’s say I recommended her. What do you think would happen?”

Fancy Pants wasn’t the only one who learned something about himself, and Fleur wasn’t going to fall for the shrink’s tricks this time, either. “I guess I’d impose my dreams and throw my ways on her instead of trying to bring her into my life,” she swiftly replied. “I see you point, doctor. If you were afraid that I would do that you inferred correctly, as much as I am now ashamed to admit it.”

“There is nothing worse for a growing child than a parent trying to set expectations where love and acceptance should take hold. Chestnut has, shall we say, just enough herself in her character, so if you’d tried to force changes onto her she would oppose them. I was hoping you’d learn to compromise instead, and I think I’m not disappointed.”

“You seem to be putting an awful lot of faith in others,” Fancy Pants said with a frown.

Doctor Hugs opened his forelegs in an innocent shrug.

“What would become of us ponies if we weren’t?”

Fleur smirked. Sunlit Hugs? More like Sneaky Hugs. Yet he was right nonetheless—it was too easy to imagine what she would do if she had been introduced to Chestnut right after crossing the threshold of the Orphanarium, without a test to pair her with the filly. She would laugh at the doctor and miss the greatest learning experience of her life.

Somewhat conflicted still and wondering what to think about ponies deceiving others for the greater good, Fleur and Fancy Pants walked out of the office and let Chestnut take their place. The filly only grinned at them, her fangs shining like the playful sparks dancing in her eyes.

“Hiya, Doc!” she cheerfully exclaimed.

When she closed the door behind her, Fleur instinctively headed towards the nearest wall.

“Oh dear. I’m so nervous! I have never been so nervous in my entire life! I’m not going to faint from that, am I?”

Fancy Pants checked on her but found nothing alarming about her state. She was shuffling her hooves in anticipation, beaming like a pony who had just unexpectedly won the mysterious prize at the Ponyville’s Fable Fair. He spotted traces of pride mixed with healthy consternation in her eyes, but those were to be expected.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Though I find the good doctor’s ethical stance a tad questionable, it’s nothing unusual that he needs to talk to Chestnut alone. After all, he’s been sheltering and educating her for quite some time now.”

“It’s so real right now. I suddenly feel so… so adult! We’re going to be parents!”

The stallion looked at her, amused. “In case you haven’t noticed, dear, we’ve been parents for the past week, and I daresay we performed admirably. I suggest we stay on course and just keep doing whatever we’ve been doing, only better.”

“Oui, you’re probably right.” She raised to the tips of her hooves and went for a kiss, but she got distracted halfway and her lips never reached the stallion’s cheek. She hurried to the window. “What’s that? Is it… is it snowing already?”

Down below in the street, a trio of unicorns wearing blue-white vests of the Weather Corps were casting their spells at a fluffy cloud hovering over their heads. With each surge of magic the cloud grew larger, and it soon exploded into tiny pieces of frozen water which fell down in their icy dance. Since it wasn’t exactly cold outside, a lot of them melted long before reaching the ground, but the show of swirling snowflakes sufficed to catch everyone’s attention. Some of the passers-by stopped in their rush and stuck out their tongues to celebrate the foretaste of winter, but those more grumpy ones were unwilling to make silly faces and instead began their endless tirade about the upcoming weather change.

Fancy Pants joined his wife, hoping to collect the kiss he was denied. “Hmm, I see a couple of enchanted clouds and—ah, it’s the Weather Corps, here to remind us to get some warm garments soon! But conjuring the snow here? That’s odd.”

“Do read the bulletin sometimes, husband. They need to warm up their weather spells some time before the season. Hearth’s Warming is less than a month away. You wouldn’t want the city spires not to be white by then, would you?”

He shook his head. “It’s just that I thought they would be practicing only near schools and kindergartens. You know, to get the children excited about the winter.”

An audible rumble came from the office. Fleur turned around.

“You were saying?”

The door opened with a mighty slam. Chestnut blasted outside, made a few spins in search for Fleur and Fancy Pants, then dashed towards the window. “Mom! Dad! Have you seen that? It’s snowing already! How cool is that?” She crouched by them and upon sweeping the floor with her mane she jumped to the ceiling. “We’re going to build the biggest snowpony ever!”

“Aw, Nutsie…”

Overwhelmed with emotions Fleur slumped to the floor, welcoming Chestnut in a tight grip. Fancy Pants did his best to maintain his posture and just ruffled the exuberant filly’s forelock, but when she and Fleur reached out and pulled him into their hug he had no choice but to capitulate. He fell to his knees and joined the chorus of laughs that reverberated across the corridor, receiving a big kiss from his wife soon after. That, together with the filly snuggling between them and enfolding them with her wings sealed the deal—they were now Chestnut’s parents, and she was their daughter.

And so the family lasted in that blissful embrace, oblivious to the world around them.

Doctor Hugs let out a satisfied sigh as he headed back to his office.

“I’ll bring the papers.”