> The First 'Prettiest Young Changeling' Contest
>  by Wise Cracker
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Announcement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

By changeling standards, Seta was a beautiful girl.  

Her golden yellow forelimbs were adorned with a cute little bee-like fuzz, her haunches were well-developed from years of cheerleader practice, and she had a toned dark brown torso that would almost make one think she’d skipped all of the starvation periods their kind had suffered.  

Admiring her form in the mirror, the girl sighed. Seta was sixteen years old now, and her infiltration into a high-end school in Phillydelphia had transitioned smoothly into open acceptance, a scholarship grant, and even more attention from the local colts now that she had her own form to show off.  

She’d even taken two nymphs under her wing, at the start. Those two were now otherwise occupied, but she kept in touch, for obvious reasons.  

Truly, Seta was the epitome of a beautiful changeling, a benevolent queen bee, something all girls aspired to.

“Ocellus? Ready for the Forum?”  

All the more reason why Ocellus hated dropping that form once she was done admiring herself.  

A quick flash of green flame, and Ocellus was her normal self again. A fourteen-year-old, with oversized eyes, no strong haunches to speak of, a drab green colour scheme offset by a tacky ladybug carapace, and a slight asymmetry in her ears that no one else noticed but she swore was there.  

Not a cheerleader, but a nerd. Not a girl who dances, but a girl who reads.

Not a beautiful girl, but a smart girl, as if that matters for anything important. 

Scoots is probably dating some cheerleader by now.  

She groaned. “I’m ready, mom.”





The Feelings Forum was a place for changelings to share their concerns and their innermost questions, to discuss deep matters of psychology and emotion.

“So am I a reddish orange or an orangey red?”  

Some matters were a little more practical than others. Not every changeling had had the good fortune to grow up literate, for starters. Even more basic issues like maintaining a consistent character or dealing with emotions you hadn’t picked up from feeding were a struggle for some.

“Be what you want to be,” Tymbal, the head of the Forum, replied. A kind changeling mare who acted older than she was, she’d imbibed on a few hippies in her time, and had absorbed their inner calm as a result. Like most of the calm changelings, she was a light green, though it was considered a faux pas to point out that sort of thing. “Be orange, be red, change it day by day.”

“Okay, but that’s not really an answer. When I drop my disguise, I’m obviously one or the other. I can’t be both,” came the retort. “And I don’t know which.”

Tymbal sighed and looked around. Most of the changelings were nodding in agreement.  

Today was Colour Discussion day, and Ocellus was struggling with some basic questions just as much as the rest of them.

“And does everyone else feel the same way?” Tymbal asked.

More nods came, and this time Ocellus nodded right along.  

“Alright, then. Your natural colour doesn’t really mean anything,” Tymbal said. “It’s just a random thing that happened when you transitioned from feeding on love to sharing. It’s superficial, nothing to worry about. You can change it whenever you like.”

“Easy for you to say: you’re just green, and you don’t even have a horn,” a greenish yellow changeling replied. “The rest of us aren’t so lucky. We have to worry about how many nicks our horn has, where they’re pointed…”

“Having a horn or no horn doesn’t matter, either. Our magic is in our souls,” Tymbal insisted. “And so is our character.”

Ocellus raised a hoof, and waited for Tymbal to let her speak. “That’s true, but you can’t deny that our colour shows our character a lot of the time, right? If you really look at it.”

“And what do you think it means? You’re blueish, you’re smart.” One of the lighter yellow changelings asked.  

Ocellus shivered and looked away, trying to weigh her words. “I think maybe our shapeshifting magic mixed in with our characters, and that’s why yellow changelings tend to be, you know, the way they are, and same with red changelings and green changelings. I read up on chakras and colour theory in Ponyville, and I think it kind of matches in a few ways. It’s not a perfect match, though.”

“So what, red changelings have too much of a temper, is that what you’re saying?” The red one growled.  

“Are you saying yellowbellies are emotional?” Said a changeling with a yellow belly, gasping emotionally.

“No, I’m saying maybe our natural colour is like a pony’s cutie mark. It means something, it shows something, but it’s not, umm, definitive. You’ve all turned into ponies at some point, you’ve seen them, you know how they act, how odd they get about their flanks.” She blushed, as her mind wandered to Scoots again.  

“Especially the little ones,” a green and yellow changeling said. “They practically kill themselves trying to figure things out.”

“So, umm, you know, maybe that’s a better way to look at it? We have our natural colour, but we’re still magical, horn or no horn. Maybe colour’s just like a cutie mark: it doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone, but it does mean something, and it might mean something important. Maybe we should figure that out first.”

“That is an excellent idea, Ocellus,” said Tymbal. “Perhaps reframing is the right way to go about it. Don’t think in terms of red or yellow or green, think about what the colour means.”

“Okay, but that still doesn’t answer my question: am I orangey red or reddish orange?” asked the first changeling.  

Tymbal took a deep breath in, held it, then grumbled. “We’re going to need a colour swatch. Who’s got the Neighkia catalogue?”

“I think one of the little ones ate it,” came the reply.  

“Fine, we’ll make do.” Right when Tymbal was about to grab a book about the works of Van Dough and Moneigh, a gong rang throughout the Hive.

“That’s odd. Thorax already did his morning announcements. Why would he need to do another round?” one of the changelings asked.

“Perhaps Pharynx wants to organise a fight pit.” Tymbal growled. “Again. Alright, Feelings Forum adjourned.”





Pharynx stood stoically upon his podium, and the changelings around were discussing things as they usually did: by jumping to conclusions and ignoring all evidence or lack thereof.

It took Ocellus five steps to get to the front of the crowd. In those five steps, she heard at least three bets that Pharynx had finally dethroned his brother, two questions about which foreign nation was attacking this time, and one remark about soup supplies. 

All in all, a pretty average crowd by Hive standards.  

“Everyone, settle down!” Pharynx called out. “I have an announcement for all the young girls of the Hive.”

“Are we instituting forced marriage again?” One changeling asked.

“That was one time and it was annulled,” Pharynx retorted, before shuddering. “I’m still picking yak fur out of my joints. But no, we’re not doing that.”

“Virgin sacrifice?” asked another.

“We only just planted those olive trees, no! We are not doing sacrifice yet! No, we’re going to have a beauty contest!” He shouted. “Tomorrow!”

Silence fell over the crowd. From the looks of it, most of them were adults, male and female, so there weren’t a lot of potential candidates present.

“Tomorrow? Why?” came a cry from the back. 

Ocellus squinted and looked behind her. 

That almost sounded like Professor Fluttershy. 

“Well, for one thing: doing it last-minute stops anyone from spying on contestants and trying to sabotage the thing. That means you, Trachea!” He called out.

No reply came.

Ocellus looked around, and found that for once, Trachea wasn’t eavesdropping on the proceedings. “That’s odd, she usually doesn’t miss-”

Pharynx picked up a rock, threw it behind him, and one of the vines decorating the walls turned back into the Hive’s resident ninja fanatic.

Ocellus rolled her eyes. “Of course.” 

“Anyway, we’ve got an invitation from the Touslemane Wax Museum in Geneighva. They want us to send a couple models for their new exhibition, something about ‘Children of the World’ or nonsense like that. A lot of pony cities are sending their kids to model, one boy and one girl. Same with the yaks, the griffons, you name it. But apparently someone almost caused a diplomatic incident and forgot to invite us. Now, we’ve already got a boy we can send: we had a model ready and waiting for another job in Phillydelphia. For the girl, well… we need someone who represents us properly, and that’s gonna take a little more thinking. You know, considering the last female that represented us?”

A collective shudder went through the crowd. 

“So just pick one at random already!” one of the male adults called out, again from way in the back.

Ocellus’s ears twitched. Who’s doing a Discord impression back there? I’d know that voice anywhere. 

Pharynx sighed. “Wish I could, but no. We can’t just send someone at random, not for this. They specifically want a model to represent our future. They want someone who is everything a changeling ought to be. You can’t just shapeshift into whatever they’re going to sculpt. This is going to matter for a couple of decades. Whoever goes, she has to be the best example we have. The only way to settle that is a contest. And we need to settle it by tomorrow. Everything’s already been arranged: the winner will be going on a trip to Geneighva for two weeks, with the other model, and a chaperone.”

“You could just explain we need more time.” The changeling with the Fluttershy voice argued.

“Do you want Thorax to go begging to some candlemaker just so we can get a few more days?” Pharynx grinned at the prospect. 

“Point taken.”

Ocellus pondered the option. 

I can’t join in a beauty contest, can I? I’m not pretty enough for that. I’m not a model, or a cheerleader, or a dancer. 

“So,” Pharynx started. “Who wants to sign up?”

“I do!”

Ocellus shuddered. The first contender was a sickeningly pink girl whose reddish carapace had heart-shaped spots. Like most changelings of her generation, the girl didn’t look as uniform as the elders, having grown into her new form and deviated from their old standard build. This particular girl had additional armour on the ends of her hooves, making it look like she had shoes grafted to her.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she spoke with a strange pony accent. 

“Cuticle,” Ocellus growled under her breath, with all the suppressed anger of a Hooffield greeting a McColt, or a Tableturner addressing a Dinkleberry. 

“Okay, so Cutie’s gonna be our first contestant, of course.” Pharynx stifled a groan, before grabbing a book and a scroll and quill. He gave the book to Cuticle and wrote down her name on the scroll. “Anyone else wanna get in on this?”

Ocellus gritted her teeth. 

“What’s the matter?” Cuticle mocked as she walked by. “Not up to the challenge? Catfish got your tongue? I know how much you like to swim in the mud back in pony country.”

“That was one time and it was for a rescue,” Ocellus retorted. 

“Whatever. You’d better sit this one out, Celly. Gosh, just think, you might faint when you get up on stage. If you even manage to get that far, of course. I’d hate to see you get embarrassed in front of everyone, in your own home, no less.” She faked a cute and babyish pout for maximum effect. 

“I’ll have you know I’ve already done cheerleading, thank you very much.”

Part of Ocellus thought back to when Cozy Glow was turned to stone. She’d silently hoped that Cozy’s disappearance would coincide with Cuticle going missing under mysterious circumstances. Ocellus still wasn’t sure if she would have reported that if it had happened. 

“Oh, I know you did, I heard all about it. You went on stage for a contest with Princesses in the audience. And, you know, with your friends behind you, and two professionals, carrying your weight. And in pony country, where no one really cares if you mess up. Come on, we all know how forgiving ponies can be.” Cuticle leaned in and grinned. “There aren’t any ponies here, Ocellus. This is gonna be one on one, on the home ground, in front of everyone we know. If you even have the guts for it, of course.”

Ocellus huffed. “Hey, you leave Viscera out of this. She didn’t know those birds were a fire hazard!”

“Well?” Pharynx asked. “You girls gonna make it a real duel, or are you just gonna stand there and talk big to each other?”

“I’m in!” Another girl called out.

Anger made way to fear, and Ocellus felt her skin crawl at the sound of that voice. Even Cuticle winced. 

“Serrate, honey!” Cuticle turned to face the new arrival, her voice dripping with fake politeness. “Golly, I didn’t know you were back. How was, umm… how was boot camp?”

Ocellus didn’t need a dumb question to know how it had gone. Serrate was known among her peers for two things: her military-style discipline that matched her camo colours, and the serrated blade she kept at her side at all times. 

However many times that girl had seen the entire ‘Bambo’ film series, it was twice as much as she should have. Ocellus was pretty sure Serrate could turn into Sylvestrus Millstone with her eyes closed. 

“It went okay,” Serrate replied. “So, beauty contest, right? Count me in, sir.”

Pharynx, for the first time that morning, let out a genuine smile. “Perfect.” He wrote down her name and gave her another book. “I hope you go far. It’d be nice to have a changeling with discipline be the model for the rest of us.”

Ocellus gulped. Competing with Cuticle over who was prettiest was a daunting prospect, but manageable, at least. Ocellus had a few angles she could play out against that one. But Serrate? Serrate was intimidating as far as changeling girls went. All the obsessing over military traditions and physical discipline had left her looking lean and sleek. In a contest of pure physical attractiveness, Serrate would be a tough contender.

“Umm, I’d like to apply, too, if that’s okay.”

That was the last straw. If even that girl was competing...

“Sensilla?” Pharynx asked. “Are you sure? You’re gonna have to go in public for this.”

“I’m sure.” The girl walked up to recieve her book. 

Ocellus and Sensilla didn’t mingle, as a rule, but they tended to get mentioned together a lot, as they had similar colours, even if Sensilla’s green shades were much darker and her reds a little browner. Sensilla shared the aversion Ocellus had to social gatherings, as well as the habit of speaking softly. Where the two differed was in Ocellus liking books and Sensilla liking things that liked books.

That is to say, Sensilla was a nature girl, and had a fondness for many creatures that listed ‘paper’ as a favourite food. The pattern on Sensilla’s face was supposed to look like a butterfly pattern of sorts, as far as Ocellus understood it, but it ended up giving Sensilla the look of a raccoon more than anything else. The forest and autumn colours of her carapace only added to the look. 

And curse it all, Sensilla was smart enough to make that look cute. 

Ocellus felt her stomach churn with nerves. All those eyes on her, it made her want to burrow into a nice, comfy hole and hibernate. Unfortunately, she still had trouble turning into moles, with the whole blindness and everything, so she was stuck standing there, awkwardly. 

“Okay, you girls have fun with that,” she finally said. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“Suit yourself,” Pharynx started, before turning to the competitors. “Now, girls, that book you’ve got there is the rules for the contest, and the list of the events. Read it carefully, and start preparing. I’m gonna go do my rounds and make sure everyone else knows.”

Once he was gone, Trachea came to talk to Ocellus. 

Trachea was odd like that: her blue coat made her blend in perfectly at night, but stood out like a loose nail during the day. Beyond that, she was well-read on topics like assassination and espionage, but for some reason she was usually friendly.

Ocellus had often wondered about that back when Chrysalis was still in charge. Then life in Ponyville had introduced her to Neighruto, and now Ocellus just wondered whether there was a secret stash of those manega somewhere in the Hive. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to compete?” the ninja girl asked. 

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh, I snuck my name on the list when Pharynx wasn’t looking. I could sneak yours on there, too, if you like, he’s pretty easy to distract.”

“No, thank you.” Ocellus forced out a smile. “This isn’t my thing, and there’s nothing for me to win, anyway.”

Trachea looked left and right, making sure there were no eavesdroppers, then leaned in to whisper. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure your little Scoots would notice if you won.”

Ocellus blushed fierce and hushed the ninja girl. “Don’t mention that in public!” She hissed.

“Why not? Everyone knows about it.” 

“No, everyone does not!” Ocellus insisted. “I’m not even sure if I know.”

“It’s not that hard to see, Celly,” Trachea joked. “I mean, if you have a thing for orange, that’s okay. If you have a thing for purple, that’s okay, too. If you have a thing for both, maybe start calling dibs while you can. It’s not like anyone would mind. Well, unless they do in pony country…”

Ocellus felt herself changing colours in the cheek region, and not in the magical way. “I need to go, and you need to go practice for the contest. Good luck!”

With that, she flew off.





Ocellus was still second-guessing herself when she got back to the Forum. There was a sign out front. 

“Feelings Forum is on hiatus until further notice, due to jury duties.”

Ocellus groaned. “Great. I guess it could have been worse.”

“Ocellus! Why didn’t you sign up for the contest?”

Again, she groaned, both at the sound and the sight. Seta was one of the few girls Ocellus had spent a lot of time with on infiltration duty, usually playing the younger subordinate geek to Seta’s dominant cheerleader character. After the fall of Chrysalis, Seta had been one of the few girls who took charge of things, having been fed on a steady diet of cheerleader admiration as well as getting an actual education. 

Ocellus wasn’t jealous, per se: she just wished she had everything Seta had, totally different.

“I didn’t want to sign up because I have enough problems trying to figure out who or what I am without making a fool of myself on stage.”

Seta was taken aback by that. “But I thought you tried cheerleading already?”

“I did.”

“And you were good at it?”

Ocellus winced. “That really depends on who you ask. It’s not like anyone asked me out on a date afterward.”

“But are you good at it?”

“At dating?” She pondered for a moment. “I could tell you if a spellbook was Pre- or Post-Classical, but regular dates? No.”

Seta rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean that. Are you good at cheerleading?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? But even if I am, I’m not pretty enough for that.”

“Well, then we’re gonna have to pretty you up fast. You’re competing tomorrow, I signed you up.”

“What?! You can’t do that!”

Seta grinned. “Shapeshifters, Celly. You’re not that hard to copy.”

“Well, then I’m signing out of the competition right now.” Ocellus made to storm off. “You can’t make me compete, Seta. And you can’t mind control me: I went to private school.”

“I know, I know.” Seta rolled her eyes with a giggle, before looking pleadingly at the younger girl. “Please just do this for me? I’m sure you can win, easily.”

“Why would I?”

She gulped. “Because Scutum happens to be the boy they’re sending on this trip, and I don’t want my brother stuck with one of those psychos for two weeks.”
> The Obligatory Training Montage
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean, Scutum’s the model? I thought he was recovering from surgery?”

Seta winced. “He is, but you know the funny thing about recovery? Eventually you recover. And, well, Scoots was around me and the girls for a long time, remember? He didn’t get phased out into recon like you did. He met the same ponies I did, and he got the same try-outs, mostly. He kind of got an offer recently, pretty much the same thing I got. It’s a pretty good deal, modelling pony clothes. Especially since, you know, he can show off three sizes and still look like the same pony. It’s hard work, but the pay is gonna be mint. I’m surprised none of us thought of that sooner, actually.”

Ocellus chuckled. Scutum was a handsome boy, by changeling standards. His lithe body, grown deceptively strong in recent years, was mostly orange with some purple on the mane and tail, and said mane and tail were unlike those of most of his peers. Most young changelings had turned out with a dragonfly wing sort of structure to act as mane or tail, cosmetics, as some called them. Scutum was different: his cosmetics had more of a scaly texture, like a moth wing mohawk on his head, and a long rigid extension for a tail. His carapace was slightly different, too, in that it was more angular and bug-like rather than the round beetle shapes that were the norm in the Hive.

“That’s… really nice to hear, actually. I’m glad he’s doing well.” Ocellus shook her head to clear it of any daydreaming. “Okay, but then why not let the other girls go with him? They’re not that bad.”

Seta glared at Ocellus for a moment.  

Ocellus rolled her eyes. “Okay, point taken. But then why don’t you do it? You’re his sister, you won’t drive him nuts, and you could win, easily.”

The older girl sighed. “Maybe, if I wasn’t too old to compete. I already asked Pharynx. They’re not asking for someone like me. They’re asking for girls the same age as Scoots, girls like you. And you’re the only girl I can ask.”

Ocellus gritted her teeth.

“Please?” Seta pleaded. “I know how much you like him.”

“It’s almost like everyone knows, except him.”

Seta smiled in a mix of sympathy and awkwardness, something Ocellus suspected she’d be doing soon enough with her own siblings. “Well, he doesn’t hate you, for one thing. I don’t know how he really feels about you. You’re not around often enough to get a read on it.”

That remark hurt like a dagger to the chest. “I know, I know. I missed Hearth’s Warming. Gallus, he…”

“I know,” Seta said. “But hey, if you win this, you can be with Scutum all you want for two weeks, and you’ll get to model for a statue, and your story will get recorded. Do you realise how big that would be? The two of you would be an example for little changelings everywhere. You’d have your whole world-saving deal written down someplace that doesn’t have vermin eating permanent records. And, you know, it’s not like you’re a bad example to follow. The fact that you like my brother is just icing on the cake.”

“I’m not sure if I do like him that much, Seta. Or that way, I mean. Ever since we changed, ever since we got our new forms, he hasn’t looked at me the same,” Ocellus admitted.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Like… like he’s not sure if I’m the same girl he went to school with. Like he doesn’t remember, or he doesn’t recognise me. What if something changed, and I didn’t notice?”

Seta nodded. “No real way to know, I suppose. Do you have any clues what it might be?”

“No. I can’t figure it out, and I can’t figure out how I feel, either. It’s been… confusing.”

“All the more reason you should try. Do something meaningful, together. Have a heart to heart. It might be something you understand, it might not be. But if it’s not, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you trying.”

Ocellus shivered. For a cheerleader, Seta had a good grasp of logic.  

Stupid scholarship programs…

“Alright, fine. I’ll do it. I’ll compete. But how am I supposed to win? I’m going to have to go up against Cutie, Sensilla, Trachea!” She froze. “For all I know, Trachea’s gonna try and kill me in my sleep!”

“Nah, she won’t. I already talked to her, she’s gonna play fair. Something about her Nin-Donut or something.”

Then again, maybe that education advantage isn’t as big as it looked.

“That still doesn’t answer my question. How am I supposed to win?”

Seta produced a copy of the rulebook. “Let’s start with what you like most: reading!”





Ocellus let out a pouty grunt after she got through the rulebook.  

“Wow,” Seta said. “They’re being awfully specific. Why was there a whole bit about banana pudding?”

“I’m not sure, but the part with the haybales, I can understand, at least.”

“Yeah, that one made way more sense. Okay, so, now we know the events and the rules. Next step is to get you ready to compete in them! Starting with the ballroom gown interview. Do you have a gown at all?”

Ocellus nodded. “I have one from my field trip to Canterlot. But I don’t know if that’ll be enough.”

“Don’t worry: the gown just has to match you, it’s the interview that counts the most.”

Ocellus tilted her head. “Hold on. Have you done these before?”

“I’ve infiltrated pageants once or twice, quick solo missions in and out, but not contests like this. The interview stuff is pretty normal, though. You just have to prepare for the questions.”  

“I don’t think Trachea’s going to share the questions with me, Seta, if she can steal any in the first place.”

Seta let out an unladylike chortle. “Psh, why would you wanna steal them? They’re predictable. Look, no one ever asks a tough question at these things. Like, say: why do you want to win this pageant?”

Ocellus blinked and thought for a moment. “Because you told me to?”

“No! Because you want to be a shining example for changeling girls everywhere!”

“We only have one Hive, Seta,” Ocellus argued. “Changeling girls ‘everywhere’ just means all the changeling girls here. And I don’t think they’ll see me as a shining example just because I beat them.”

“Meh, it worked for Pharynx after his little free-for-all with his recruits.”

There, she had to concede the point. “Okay. I want to win because I want to be a shining example for changeling girls everywhere.”

“Perfect. Another fun question: What makes you unique?”

“I can read?”

“That’s not unique, Ocellus.”

“At my level? It kind of is. Which is a little worrying, actually, and kind of depressing.” Ocellus stifled a shudder.  

“Focus, Ocellus! Do you want future generations of ponies to see Cuticle as a prime example of a changeling girl?”

“Cuticle…” Ocellus hissed. “Okay, umm, what makes me unique is how I help my friends be the best they can be!” She forced out a peppy smile like what she’d learned from cheerleading practice.  

It was awkward, it was fake.  

“Perfect,” Seta said. “Where do you expect to be in five years?”

“Graduating from the School of Friendship, maybe still be in Ponyville?”

“No!” Seta shouted. “You expect to be in a steady relationship, following higher education, and pursuing a career. You’re gonna have it all, and you’ll look great doing it. That’s the answer they expect.”

Ocellus tilted her head. “I thought we stopped pursuing career ponies after that executive marathon disaster?”

“Not career ponies: a career. The job you’re going to do when you grow up. You do know what job you’re gonna get, right?”

Ocellus felt her heart sink. “Umm… no?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You love reading, you love books. You’ll be a librarian, and you’ll look great doing it. I’m sure the contest ponies will have a sexy librarian outfit ready for you by tomorrow if you wanna use that for a costume.”

“I don’t know if I really want to look, umm… that word? I’m probably not old enough for that.”

Seta nodded as she realised. “Right, you never visited Califoalnia. Hmm, well at least that rules out about a dozen diseases you could’ve picked up. Maybe that’s a good question to prepare for, too: if you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. I’ve already been to Canterlot, and Ponyville. I never got to go to the Crystal Empire library, though.”

“Perfect, go with that, lean into the librarian look. That’ll really pull the rug out from under the judges once you get to the swimsuit portion.”

Her left eye twitched. “Swimsuit portion?”





Ocellus and Seta stood before one of the few pools of water in the Hive’s territory. It was far enough away from the main hill to be private, but close enough not to be dangerous.  

Ocellus had her swimsuit on: a sleek and shiny green onepiece that hugged her body like a tight coccoon, kept her wings open through a hole in the back, while perfectly drawing the eye to regions she preferred not to name outside of an anatomy class. She certainly didn’t like admitting the fact that she enjoyed wearing it, and she especially did not like to be reminded of when and why she’d bought it in the first place.  

“That’s a pretty nice suit,” Seta said.  

Ocellus dreaded the next part.

“Did you pick that out for yourself?”

Not exactly the question she’d been expecting, but still a big red flag.  

“Yeah, kind of. M-me and my friends, we, umm, we went shopping a few times in Canterlot, and we needed some outfits to go on a field trip to Rainbow Falls. Lots of water there, you know, some fun slides, but not the sort of thing you want to do with a bare, umm…”

“Right. Well, it looks nice, it shows off your assets. That’ll help.” Seta flipped a hoof through her webby mane, showing off her own two-piece that left her neck nice and exposed, as well as leaving her taut muscles on display.  

Ocellus gulped, and idly wondered if Scutum was already spoken for, and Seta just didn’t know it. Hanging out with cheerleaders all the time, a boy that handsome, even with a caring big sister like her, it was certainly possible one of the younger ponies had already made a move. Scutum was still a changeling, after all, and keeping secrets was in their nature.  

Seta didn’t notice the pondering. “Now, the swimsuit portion of a beauty contest is a little controversial these days. Something about turning girls into statues or something, but since we don’t turn kids to stone, that’s nothing to worry about.”

Ocellus considered that for a moment, and quickly decided Seta simply didn’t know what the actual meaning of ‘objectifying’ was.  

Not that she minded either way: Ocellus had done quite a lot of observation in the field during that Rainbow Falls trip, and most boys she’d seen made it very obvious they enjoyed her reaction. She blushed at the thought. The idea that any boy would want her attention, even if it was for a moment, made her heart flutter. Maybe she did stand a chance, then.  

“Stop daydreaming, Celly, this is important,” Seta snapped.  

“Yes, Ma’am.” Ocellus went rigid as a board and stared straight ahead.  

“Now, the swimsuit portion usually focuses on showing off physical fitness. You want your suit to draw the eye to what’s important. So, what part of your body looks the hottest?”

Ocellus gave that a moment’s thought. “My wings.” She opened up her beetle shields and flared out her flappers through the hole in her suit’s back. “They are biggest surface area, and they catch the maximum amount of sunlight.”

Seta glared. “Cute, but wrong. Which part of you looks the most attractive? Which part is in the best shape? What’s getting hugged the snuggest by that suit?”

The younger changeling groaned to herself. “I’m not a jock, Seta. Even in my swimsuit, I still look, you know, childish. I don’t think I have anything that’s, umm… that word.”

“Sexy?”

Ocellus shivered. “Yeah, that. I don’t get how you can say that so easily. You know I’m only as old as your brother, right?”

Seta nodded and smiled. “I do. And you know that’s the age you usually start thinking about that sort of thing, right?”

“Is it? It’s been a while since I read anything about developmental psychology.”

Seta rubbed her temples with her hooves. “Okay, bad example. I guess some changelings grow up a little more slowly than others. Bottom line is: you’re gonna go up against girls who know what looks good, so you need to know what looks good on you, too.”

“That does sound a little objectifying, to be honest.”

“Oh yeah?” Seta shook her head. “Tell me, back in Ponyville, did you ever watch the boys playing sports, of any kind? Did you ever go to a gym or a game?”

“Sure. They look so dreamy when they flex their forelegs and their haunches get all tense when they rear up for a kick-” She shook her head. “That is totally different! I only needed to know that for anatomy studies.”

“Uhuh. Okay, so think about anatomy. Which part of your anatomy is worth showing off? What’s prettier on you than it is on other girls?”

Ocellus looked down at herself. Arms? Gangly. Legs? Slender, but not in an elegant way. Belly? Flat, sure, but then so were most in the Hive, stupid starvations.  

None of it felt hot. None of it felt attractive in the physical sense. She was old enough to feel the beginnings of a physical attraction, yes, much to her embarrassment, but to use her own powers of attraction? To try and look good? She hadn’t grown into any ‘assets’ as Seta referred to them. In fact, the only thing that was truly different in her was… “You know, I do hear I have pretty eyes. It’s not, umm, hot, but I can do cute. Cute’s good, right?”

The cheerleader rubbed her chin, thinking. “Hmm… not what I was expecting, but we can work with that. Okay, then: let’s work on drawing the eye to, well, your eyes. Let me see you flutter and wink!”  

Ocellus gulped, took a deep breath, then tried a strut, swishing her front and hind legs around like she’d seen some dancers do at the Ponyville Farmer’s Fair.  

“Oh, wow, you are a natural,” Seta said. “Now do the eyes.”

Gritting her teeth, Ocellus tried fluttering her eyelashes.  

“Not like that: that makes you look like you’ve wandered into a dust cloud.”

Again, Ocellus tried to flutter, more slowly this time, and threw in a little wiggle of her wings to boot.

“Better, but you’re still not selling it. Try smiling while you do it.”

She wanted to throw up, she felt so embarrassed. But still, she persisted, and took one strut, two struts, eyelash flutter, and a wing wiggle, with a smile wide enough to qualify for a horror movie villain or a Pinkie Pie replacement.  

“Perfect!” Seta cheered. “Now do that five hundred more times to get the hang of it.”

Ocellus groaned. “And why do we need to do this in a swimsuit again?”

“Eh, probably because it looks nice, or maybe because they’ll want us to swim afterwards. You can swim, right? You and Scutum went to the same classes back when I was doing the whole, you know…”

That took Ocellus back down memory lane. Scutum looked so cute pretending to be a colt in school. They never went on a replacement mission together, but they got to pick their own forms instead. He usually played the part of adorable little brother to Seta’s infiltration persona, giving him a steady diet of kind affections and attempts at embarrassment. Not that he needed his sister’s presence, either: he was an avid reader, though more of fiction, even pulp, than Ocellus was. He also had a good grasp of the arts, especially when it came to sketching. His linework and mastery of greyscales matched perfectly with his fake cutie mark of an inkwell and a blank sheet of paper. It even matched the look of his persona most of the time: he always went for simple greyscale coats and manes.  

She’d seen a Pegasus colt around Ponyville with similar though less pronounced colours, but she was pretty sure that boy didn’t get that much attention from the girls, except perhaps Sweetie Belle, but that was a mix between warm loving adoration and red-hot frustration every time he walked past.  

Ponies were weird like that, fillies doubly so.  

Snapping out of her revery, she rubbed her already sore cheeks. “Yup, until they found that quarterback unconscious and figured out they had infiltrators.”  

“Which is so unfair: that wasn’t even us. Anyway, once you’re done with that, let’s see how well you can swim. You never know if Pharynx has any weird ideas about this event, and I’m not taking any chances.”

“Okay. And after that?”

“We’ll work on your talent show performance. Have you thought about what to do for that?”

“I guess I could try my cheerleading routine again?”

Seta nodded gravely. “That’s gonna take a lot of practice. Eye flutters first, then swimming, then cheerleading.” She thought for a second. “Actually, you know what? Let’s multi-task. Get in the water, do your eye-flutters and show me your cheerleading underwater.”

“What?! I can’t do cheerleading underwater.”

“You’re a shapeshifter, Ocellus, grow some gills! Do you want Cuticle to win?”

Even without chlorinated water in them, Ocellus felt her eyes turn red. “Cuticle…” she hissed, before diving into the water. She popped her head up for a moment. “Wait. How long do I have to do this?”

Seta snorted and glared. “Until it’s good enough.”





What happened? I feel like I just pulled an all-nighter. 

Ocellus felt her body betray her as memories came back. She’d nodded off for a few seconds, or blacked out, it was hard to tell.  

She remembered Seta telling her to practise her routines until it was good enough.  

Once it was ‘good enough,’ Ocellus had headed to her room to dry off.  

But her uniform had called to her.  

The one time she’d felt like she had a real voice.  

The one time she felt pretty, like she belonged with the popular girls, and not as an impostor.

Against her own better judgement, when faced with her own anxieties, she never stood a chance.  

Sundown had come and gone, and Ocellus was still at it.  

Standing split, pompom shake, backflip, ballet twirl… she’d done it all countless times, in any number of permutations.  

She remembered resting her head for a second.  

She did not remember that second turning into an hour.  

She got back on her hooves and contemplated practising some more. Her arms were getting tired. Her legs were getting wobbly. If she kept this up, she’d be too tired for the contest. Resigning herself to a break, Ocellus dropped her pompoms and stared out at the night sky through one of the holes in the Hive. She looked up and furrowed her brow when she noticed an oddity in the sky.

Huh. Was Orion’s Belt sagging yesterday? 

She chuckled to herself. There were no shooting stars to make a wish to, but a celestial rarity like that, she might as well.

I hope I win tomorrow. I hope Scutum still likes me. It’d be nice to figure out these feelings, at least. 

“Storytime! Storytime!” came a cry from the other room.  

Her mother, Cornea, came in and gestured to the books Ocellus had collected over the years, both undercover and in the open. “You heard them, honey. Fillyform and Tarsus want a story, and they’ll only accept one from you.” She smiled and gestured to the other room. “If you’re not feeling up to it, though, I understand. I can take over for tonight if you want me to.”

Her heart fluttered. Even if she didn’t feed off of it like she used to, Ocellus could feel her mother’s love. No judgement, no pressure (aside from the little bits that, all things considered, Ocellus didn’t mind so much), just a calm, warm, and accepting love, mixed with an unusual bit of admiration. She pondered where that might have come from, before realising she still had her cheerleader outfit on. That glittery purple and teal uniform, that made her look and feel like a pretty girl.

Pretty girl, not a smart girl.  

She quickly took it off and folded it neatly on her bed. “No, I’ll do it.”

Ocellus walked over to her makeshift book case and pulled out a used book she’d gotten from Headmare, now Princess, Twilight.  

What story should I read tonight?  

Maybe Seta was right, and I am a librarian deep down.  

Probably not a good sign, unless there’s some multiclassing I can do into cheerleader.  

Is it level-based, I wonder? Can you just stop being what you are and be something else? 

If you can, then what does it mean to be anything?

Guess it boils down to what you decide on, really.  

“Storytime, Ocellus!” came a cry from the other room.

Better decide quickly, then.

She grabbed a book, without even thinking about it, and flipped to the right page. “The Land With No Apples. They haven’t heard this one yet.”

Book held in her magic, she walked over to her siblings, two little nymphs, twin brother and sister. One was a yellowish green, the other a dark pink. They perked up when they saw her, as they always did, and they perked up even more when they saw their mother behind her. Deep down, Ocellus supposed they knew the difference, but they never brought it up.  

“Okay, you two,” she started. “Storytime, then off to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, sis,” said Tarsus.

“Promise,” Fillyform added.  

Ocellus smiled as she opened the book. The pictures in it were old-fashioned, as stories with a traditional moral often were. “Once upon a time, in a land long forgotten by pony kind, there was an Earth pony, and like a lot of Earth ponies, he was a merchant.” She waited for her little brother and sister to ooh at the picture of the faerie tale city. “That means he bought and sold things to earn his money.” She was very careful not to use the phrase ‘make money,’ as that had gotten a fair number of changelings in trouble after some very special craft time projects and a friendly visit from the Equestrian Revenue Service.  

“One day, this merchant ran into one of his suppliers, a fruit seller.” She pointed to the pony with a cart full of strawberries, blueberries, melons, apples, and pears. “And he noticed his old friend had a lot more coin on him than usual. So, of course, he asked why. An inheritance, a lucky gamble, or perhaps a rare fruit he’d managed to sell?”

“You know, it’s the darnedest thing,” Ocellus narrated, imitating the fruit seller. “I got lost on my way East, and I stumbled into a little city state on the edge of the desert. I was lucky to have all my goods intact, I tell you. Of course I tried to sell my wares, what was left of them, but only the apples went for a high price. Because wouldn’t you know it? These ponies had never tasted apples!”

Tarsus gasped. “No apples? But ponies love apples!”

“I know,” Ocellus replied. “But, as the fruit seller explained, this was a city state that was isolated. They didn’t get a lot of contact with their neighbours, so they were out of the loop on a lot of things. And our merchant, well, he saw an opportunity there.”

“And those apples went for a nice price, then?” Ocellus mimicked the merchant’s voice again.

“I’ll say. My apples made it all the way to the throne room. And let me tell you: this land with no apples is ruled by a fair and just King. He does not suffer swindlers, and he pays a fair price, always.”

Ocellus giggled as the two little changelings tried to clamber closer to the pictures. “Can you guess what happened next?”

“He got some apples to sell?” Tarsus suggested.  

“He did. Our merchant went and bought as many apples as he and his family could carry, and then he went on a long and difficult trip to find this Land With No Apples. But that wasn’t the only thing he bought up. He went and found some saplings of apple trees: grafted plants ready for an orchard. Because if apples went for such a high price, it was only a matter of time before the ponies would ask for an apple tree of their own.” She turned the page. “Our clever merchant went before the King and presented his wares like any good salespony would.”

“These are the best fruits you’ve ever tasted, Your Highness. They can be sweet, sour, soft, hard. Eaten alone, they are a prime source of refreshment. Baked into pies, they are a delicacy. Covered in molten sugar, a decided pick-me-up after a long day.”

“The King made sure the apples were checked for their quality, and our clever merchant expected no less. That very night, a feast was prepared with the new bounty of apples: apple pies, apple fritters, caramel apples, and all the nobles of the court agreed that this was good food, worth its weight in gold, and the merchant should be compensated justly. They also agreed that the merchant had been polite and respectful in bringing apple trees, for the King did not want his ponies to be deprived of this new fruit, not if he could help it. For that, too, a just reward was in order.”

If the little ones caught the reason why Ocellus emphasised that last part, they didn’t show it. So much the better, she figured.  

“First, the king ordered his vaults to be filled with the rest of the apples, so they wouldn’t spoil. The King With a Vault Full of Apples then, of course, asked his wisest and most trusted advisors how to repay this revelation and this kindness. And so it was that the clever merchant went home with a bag full of diamonds and precious gems, as well as a chest of gold that would be carried by two porters, now in his service. Besides that, it was decided that this pony was now considered a friend of the court, and would be welcome to return to the markets when he pleased.”

“Wow,” said Fillyform. “That’s a lot just for a load of apples.”

“Well, hold on, there’s more. The king planted the trees, and found that they mostly didn’t grow in desert soil. But, as luck would have it, there was a patch where the trees took root and thrived. That means they grew really well. So, while it would take years for the kingdom to have its own apples, and many more for a regional variety to develop, thanks to the merchant the kingdom was now no longer a Kingdom with No Apples.”

“So the merchant made everyone happy, even though he did it for himself. That’s a nice story,” Tarsus said.  

“Ah, but not everyone was happy.” Ocellus turned the page. “There was another merchant, who heard of this, and he thought to himself: ‘Well, if they like apples so much, they’ll love pears! Pears are juicier, stronger in flavour, superior to apples in every way. And what a fool to give them trees, why let them grow their own? Doesn’t he know that common things are worthless and rare things are precious? Keep them wanting, that’s the ticket. All I need do is get a small stock and I can fleece them for whatever I want!’”

Ocellus felt a tinge of pride when Fillyform’s nose curled in disgust. Tarsus just tilted his head, thinking.  

“And so he did,” Ocellus continued. “This greedy merchant didn’t bother buying up all the pears, just enough for him to carry and make a single feast. Not needing any help from his family, and not wanting to share, he gathered up his bags and trekked on his own to the Land of a Few Apple Trees In The Near Future. He went before the King and made his case.”

“Your Highness, I bring you a superior fruit, better than any apple,” Ocellus said in a different voice. “A pear is juicier, its flavour drips from its very core. Surely you must agree that a single pear is worth more than ten apples?”

The twins went silent, pondering. They had that same clever streak Ocellus had, though Tarsus was more of a schemer and Fillyform was even more of a planner than her sister was. Both were engrossed in the tale, clearly trying to guess what the next page might say.

“The King went to his advisors again, seeing the bags of pears delivered to him. He couldn’t refuse the offer, for he was a just and fair King who treated everyone equally. But at the same time, he couldn’t empty his gold reserves even for this many pears, rare though they may be. The King had only one solution: to pay for the pears with the one thing in the kingdom more valuable than gold.”

“Gems?” asked Fillyform.

“Platina?” asked Tarsus.

Ocellus shook her head, turned the page, and revealed a miserable pony with a worthless cargo. “And so it was that the greedy merchant went home with a buttload of apples.”

The two little changelings giggled and rolled back onto their beds.  

“Now, the lesson here, you two, is simple: learn from what someone else does. Be fair, but don’t let yourself get swindled. And most important of all: be careful what you wish for. The end.” She closed the book. “Now be good and go to sleep, okay?” She kissed them both on the forehead before tucking them in.  

“Good night, sis,” Tarsus said.

“Thanks for the story,” Fillyform added.  

“Good night.” Ocellus sighed once she was out of earshot.  

Her mother had heard. “You really are good at that, you know.”  

“I know.”

The exertions of the day caught up to her as she flopped onto her bed. Twirl, standing stretch, pompom toss, her body reminded her of all the things she’d put it through with little aches and reflex twitches. She paid them no heed: a shapeshifter controls her body, after all, not the other way around. She tried to relax on her bed, another import to the Hive. The soft pillows were a relatively recent addition, but a much-needed one. She snorted when she caught sight of her neatly folded cheerleader uniform.

“Something wrong, honey?” her mother asked.

“No, I was just thinking it’s a shame storytelling isn’t any good in a beauty contest.”
> Big Day
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Ocellus woke up sore and with about twenty percent more anxiety than usual, which was well within the margins for an examination day, and this beauty contest definitely fell into that category. 

She was quiet all through breakfast, and both her parents and siblings were kind enough to let her be. Eventually, when she’d freshened up and checked her clothes, and checked them again, and checked the weather forecast for good measure, she packed up and went to the Hive’s main meeting  hall.

It was on the ground floor, not too close to the entrance (Pharynx insisted on at least a minimal level of security), and wide enough to hold five hundred prisoners, though it had been stretched to seven hundred in the past a few times.

She checked in with one of the officials, and went behind a curtain into one of the side rooms and into sweet, sweet privacy, as much as could be had with a bunch of girls in the same room. With all the holes still in the place, it was pretty easy to find a spot to spy on the stage without being seen by the audience, but there wasn’t much to see yet. 

Okay, I’m in. 

I have my dress, I have my bathing suit, I have my cheerleader uniform. 

I look good. 

I look pretty. 

She looked around.

Oh no, and everyone else is looking gorgeous. 

Cuticle was looking buffed up and shiny, and judging from how she was talking to some of the other contestants, she looked confident. 

As Ocellus sat down nearby the discussion, she heard Serrate pipe up. A quick glance told her Serrate was, for once, not carrying a blade. That only worried Ocellus more, as it implied either the girl was taking this very seriously, or Serrate was packing a back-up someplace secret. 

“Don’t forget Pharynx is one of the judges today,” Serrate said. “And you all know I’m his favourite.”

“You’re his favourite propaganda piece for the Home Guard, you’re not his favourite girl. You’re not even related by blood,” Trachea replied, getting in on the action with all the smooth confidence one would expect from a ninja.

“You’re one to talk,” Cuticle retorted, flashing her shiny hooves. “How’s anyone going to think you’re the prettiest? Half the time you try to be invisible.”

“It’s called Dandere and it’s considered very cute in the East,” Trachea replied. 

“Are you sure it’s not Yandere?” Sensilla asked. “I thought Yandere was the one with the slashing.”

And there’s Sensilla. I hope she’s not going to show off her trained bats again; that’s a tough act to follow.

“Eh, I could go either way,” Trachea joked. 

Ocellus gulped. Trachea, like Serrate, didn’t appear to be carrying any ninja kit, but much like Serrate, there were plenty of options for concealed weapons. 

“And what do you think, Sensilla?” Cuticle asked. “It’s probably kinda new for you to do a show on your own instead of bringing one of your fleabags.”

Sensilla flashed her a kind smile. “That’s okay, Cutie: I asked the fleas to crawl into your dress last night. You really should lock your room better.”

“Y-you’re lying.” Cuticle shivered. 

“And water that rose on your windowsill, for crying out loud. That poor thing was parched.”

In a reflex, Cuticle started scratching herself. Part of Ocellus wanted to object to that dirty trick. A much larger part was wondering where in the friendship lessons the concept of ‘karma’ came in. 

Finally, Trachea motioned to Ocellus, the first to notice her. “You’re awfully quiet. More than usual. Are you okay?”

“I hope so,” Ocellus replied. “Good luck out there.” She meant it, too: out of all the girls, Trachea was probably the one with the best set of moral values, even if the Neighruto overdose gave her a tendency towards making a scene. 

“You too.” She smiled softly. “I do kinda wanna know how this goes. F-for research purposes, of course. A good kunoichi must be able to blend in among all levels of society, even the highest ones.”

“Of course.”

Right at that moment, a clamour erupted from beyond the improvised dressing room. 

A stallion called out, walking onto the hurriedly constructed stage, from the sound of it. “Ladies and gentlelings, welcome to the Hive’s first Prettiest Young Changeling Contest! My name is Cheese Sandwich and I’ll be hosting today’s events.”

Ocellus felt her heart sink. They got him to do this? How? When? Why?

Cuticle poked her head out to get a quick look. “Cheese Sandwich? Is he famous for something?”

“Believe it. He’s a highly influential party planner in Equestria,” Trachea noted. “Top of the industry when it comes to entertainment.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He can’t be bigger than Pinkie Pie.” Ocellus tried her best not to sound nervous, but if Trachea was up to speed on Cheese Sandwich...

“Pinkie Pie is mostly local. Cheese Sandwich is national,” came the reply.

Yup, she knew.

“And one thing he is notorious for: he knows a proper laugh when he sees one.” Trachea growled. “Well, that just bumped this mission up to S-rank difficulty. Whoever got him for this knew what they were doing. You’ll never get a fake smile past the likes of him.”

Ocellus gulped. She’d figured as much. 

Cheese Sandwich kept on rattling off his introductory speech, wrapping it up with the judges. “And judging this lovely contest, we have our panel: Tymbal, head of the Feelings Forum.”

“It’s a pleasure to be here, and I hope to see some genuine and sincere displays today,” Tymbal said. 

“We have Photo Finish, of Canterlot Fashion fame.”

“Let us see how these girls can perform under the pressure of a professional standard. Let me see… da magics!”

Ocellus only vaguely recognised that voice, but a professional fashion pony made sense. It’d be impartial, at least.

She shuddered when she realised the flaw in her logic. Photo Finish would be impartial, unless one of the girls had mistreated her on a kidnapping. She wasn’t even sure if Photo Finish ever got kidnapped. And on the bright side: the whole kidnapping thing happened when every changeling looked the same, so holding a grudge would likely be a lost cause. 

“And rounding us out, we have the Hive’s big brother, the one changeling who’ll give a noogie to any invader: Pharynx!”

Even in the back rooms, all the girls could hear Pharynx chuckle. “You can be pretty and act cute all you like, but remember we’re here to send a representative. I’m not going to let us be seen as weaklings. Do your best, show us what you’re made of.”

Ocellus shuddered. “Sounds like he wants to send us into war.”

Cuticle psh-ed. “We’re girls. War is for boys, remember?”

“We’re shapeshifters, Cuticle,” Sensilla noted. “War is an equal-opportunity tragedy for us.”

“Whatever, flea bag.”

“Wax addict.”

Cheese Sandwich, oblivious to the backroom banter, blew on a horn to sound the signal. “So, let’s get this show started!”





Ocellus felt like a Princess once she got into her dress. It was one of Rarity’s older designs, something that would later inspire the ‘Princess Dress’ fad that had taken over Canterlot a year or two ago. It matched her colours, it had little white dots that went well with her ladybug carapace, it looked fine, even if she hardly ever wore it.

Most of the other girls had, apparently, gone for the full experience, and rather than getting the prototype, they had the actual Princess Dress. 

Cuticle was up for the interview portion first, and she’d taken the time to replace the wings on the original Princess Dress with butterfly wings. 

Well, minimal effort is still better than nothing.

The other girls leaned out of the holes in the back room to get a good look at the proceedings, unseen by the crowds. 

“Alright, first up we have a girl who was nominated ‘Most Likely to Replace Royalty,’ a girl who can wind anyone around her finger as soon as she turns into something with fingers, give it up for the cutie, Cuticle!” Cheese announced, and Cuticle strode onto the stage with all the confidence and air of superiority of a swan in a duck pond. “So, Cuticle, if you had the powers of Discord for one day, what would you do?” 

Cuticle bared her teeth in a broad and fake smile and replied “I’d make all the ugliness in the world go away with a snap of my fingers.”

Cheese Sandwich’s ears flicked. “Wow. Do you really mean that?”

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“It just sounds like something you might have copied from a book, is all. Next question: If you could go anywhere in the world, what would it be and why?”

Cuticle feigned some kindness and a bleeding heart, aww-ing. “Oh, golly. I’d go to Griffonstone to give away soup to all the poor starving griffons.”

At this point, Ocellus could see Cheese Sandwich had seen through her. He flipped a few questions ahead on his list to find a tricky one. “What was the most recent book you read?”

Without a second thought, she replied “Fur, Feather, and Fame: How to Win any Beauty Contest as a Young Griffon.”

Silence fell over the crowd. The judges were shaking their heads.

Cuticle shrugged. “Well, you know, technically that is the most useful thing for me to read.”

Cheese Sandwich kept up his smile. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. That’ll be all, next up, we have the Hive’s resident animal caretaker, future veterinarian, if it has fleas in its hair, she will care: give it up for Sensilla!” 

Sensilla, for her part, had gone with a more traditional dress. In fact, Ocellus was pretty sure that was the same dress Professor Fluttershy wore to a Gala or two. How Sensilla had gotten a hold of that design, she didn’t know, but she made a mental note to tell her Kindness teacher to do a background check on the local squirrels. 

Sensilla’s first question was an easy one. “What do you think is the most pressing issue in our environment today?”

Sensilla pouted and thought for a moment. “I think it’s a little worrying that our entire planet is one pony tribal dispute away from a global Ice Age, and one pony scavenger hunt away from losing all magic in the world. We should really think of something to stop global cooling, and secure our magic.”

Cheese Sandwich, rather than taking offence, nodded. “Eh, fair point. Next question: what would be your perfect day off?”

Sensilla sighed. “Swimming with dolphins, brunch with lemurs, and dinner with eagles.”

Ocellus glanced at the response, and at the other girls. Everyone behind her looked like they’d made the mistake of underestimating Sensilla. Cheese Sandwich, again, nodded in appreciation. Pharynx didn’t look too impressed, but Photo Finish and Tymbal were smiling as they took notes.

Not a good sign.

“Last question: How important is it to look good at all times?”

“Oh, my animals don’t really care about that,” the girl blurted out. “In fact, they like it more when I’m dirty.”

Ocellus winced. Ran right into that one. Still, two out of three, that’ll be tough to beat. 

“Well, at least you’re honest. That will be all.” He nodded and Sensilla walked off. 

Ocellus gulped. Her heart started pounding in her neck. 

“Next up we have a girl with smarts to match to match her looks. Her eyes get a glint for anything mint in print. Global saviour of magic and student under a Princess, let’s hear it for Ocellus!”

Oh yeah, I did help save the world once. 

Funny, I didn’t feel so scared back then.

Could I go back to that now, maybe?

She barely felt the ground under her hooves when she landed from her high vantage point. She practically glided onto the stage, one hoof after the other, careful not to trip over her dress. Once she stood, facing the crowd, facing the judges, she took a deep breath and smiled, steadying herself for the onslaught of questions that would surely break her and destroy her public image.

“Now, Ocellus, you are a bookish type,” Cheese Sandwich started. “What makes you think you can compete in a contest of beauty and come out victorious?”

She gulped. “Honestly? I’m not sure. But I want to give it a try, and I want to do my best.” She flashed a genuine smile. “Just because I might not be great at it at first, doesn’t mean I can’t try, and it doesn’t mean I don’t stand a chance.”

She didn’t see Cheese’s response, but Tymbal nodded in appreciation. 

“What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, and why did you go through with it anyway?”

“Cheerleading,” she blurted out, and instantly regretted it. Saving the world was much more prestigious, but it didn’t feel right to bring that up. “It’s hard for me to speak up, but I thought it was important that I learn how. Plus, like you said, I’m more of a bookish girl. There’s a lot of times I know things that other ponies, or other changelings, don’t. If I can’t make myself heard, if no one listens, then there’s not much of a point in being smarter. Not that I think I’m always smarter, of course. But learning to speak up was, umm, important for me. So, I did.”

That answer was too long, she was sure of it. The crowd didn’t know what to make of it. 

The flipping of flash cards snapped her out of her reverie. “Okay, then. Take your time on this one, because it might take a little while. What is your favorite book, and why?”

If she’d been overthinking before, she stopped thinking at that one. 

Favorite book? The one I enjoy the most? The one I enjoy reading to others the most? The one I’ve read the most often? 

She took a deep breath, and then nodded to herself. “I guess I have to say… The Sorcerer of Em, first book of the series. That was one of the first ones I learned to read, and it’s my favorite because all of Little Gale’s friends look like they’re broken, but really, they’re perfect for what they have to do. The Scarecrow fends off the swarm of birds, the Steel Stonecutter chips down the megaliths… oh, that’s a stone creature, by the way. It gets confused for golems a lot, but technically they’re… n-never mind. And then the Crying Wolf chases away the dogs with his howling. The only one that doesn’t seem special is Little Gale herself, but she’s the one who decides to go on the trip. She decides she’ll help, even if she doesn’t have to.”

Ocellus stopped when she felt everyone staring at her. 

“I don’t know, that just kind of appeals to me.”

Cheese Sandwich nodded. “And rightly so, from the sound of it. I’ll have to read that one myself. That’ll be all.”

She turned and walked back to the changing room. She didn’t even hear the other girls remark on her performance. 

I blabbed way too much on that. 

Sorcerer of Em? Seriously? That’s a children’s book. Why didn’t you just say Friendship Journal? Star Swirl’s Compendium? That’s way more respectable, and they would have believed that! 

At least Cuticle messed up more. 

Still, I’ll have to catch up on the swimsuit portion. 





Trachea was the last girl to go, and Cuticle had been too busy moping to change her clothes. Ocellus had donned her swimsuit right from the start, but a few of the girls weren’t dressed for the next portion yet. 

That’s odd. Maybe they don’t have any swimsuits?

One of the changelings helping with the proceedings poked her head in. “Okay, girls, curtain’s down. You have five minutes to change into your bathing suits, make sure you’re ready for the lineup.” 

Cuticle harrumphed. “Like it takes us that long to change.”

“It takes me 0.1 seconds,” Trachea boasted.

Ocellus tilted her head. “That sounds like a lie, honestly. No one can do it that fast.” 

“Bet you I can do it faster.” Serrate joined in the fray, also not dressed.

“Uh, girls? I don’t think you understand the assignment here,” Ocellus tried.

“It’s not about speed,” Sensilla joined in, “but about form and functionality. And on that, I think I have all of you beat. You can’t beat a natural design.”

“Big deal. I can do it before a pony can blink,” Trachea added. “A true ninja can change on a whim, after all.”

Ocellus rolled her eyes and went out to the lineup behind the curtain, deciding that the argument was going to happen regardless. 

One girl came out, not dressed in a swimsuit.

Then another, and another.

Oh no.

“Change” into your swimsuit? Seriously, girls?

“Alright, and now without further ado, let’s see what the swimsuit portion has in store for us!” 

The curtain went up, and one by one, green flames erupted from all the girls, leaving only scattered piles of soft, stretchy, and undoubtedly hydrodynamic fabric. 

Ocellus winced when the girl next to her poofed into a bikini. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and admitted defeat to herself.

She flopped onto the floor, a perfect copy of her own swimsuit, except for the pair of eyes that was still present.

“Well, zat’s a first,” Photo Finish remarked from the judges’ table. “But in hindsight, perhaps we should have been more specific. You are supposed to wear the swimsuits, girls, not become them!”

Ocellus turned back, and caught Tymbal looking disappointed. 

It didn’t take long for the contestants to get dressed properly, though it did leave Ocellus standing awkwardly and alone for a while.  

Cheese Sandwich cleared his throat. “Okay, after that interlude: the swimsuit portion! You will be doing a rescue for this event, to show you can handle tough situations and prioritise the safety of those around you.”

Serrate, wearing her camo green onepiece (possibly stolen from a military depot) raised a hoof. “So what’s the rescue?”

Cheese Sandwich smiled. “You have to get a citizen out of harm’s way. We went with a classic this time: an innocent pony dangling over a pool of piranhas.”

Trachea furrowed her brow. “So who will be the one dangling over piranhas?”

That smile turned into a grin. “The real Cheese Sandwich.”

A few dozen changelings came flying by, carrying ropes to hold a water tank partly suspended in magic. There was a crane mechanism connected to the edge above, which held a tied up and suspended Cheese Sandwich. 

Pharynx dropped his disguise. “Feels good to flex the old deception muscles again. ”

Ocellus looked at the table where the judges sat, and sure enough, Pharynx had swapped himself out with a bundle of straw and carved wood. “Umm, Mister Cheese, sir? Are you okay?” she cried out.

The stallion was dangling over the tank, but he was still smiling, happy as ever. “Oh, I’m fine, thanks for asking!” He yelped when one of the fish jumped up to nip at him, narrowly dodging the bite. “It’s the second time in this week I’ve been in this position, it’s fine, really.”

Ocellus shook her head in confusion. “How do you get yourself dangling over a piranha tank twice in one week?”

He chuckled at that. “You don’t get to be top party planner of Equestria without making a few enemies. Anyway, girls, as Pharynx was saying: I need saving! You have to get to me, quickly, and get me out of the pool before I get eaten.”

Cuticle barely managed to pick up her jaw. “I thought this was supposed to be a beauty contest?”

“It is,” Pharynx replied. “You all think you’re beauties, and you’re competing. I told you: I’m not gonna let our Hive be represented by weaklings.”

Ocellus looked at herself and her clothes. “And why do we need to be in our swimsuits for this?”

“Because we can hide an injury with our magic,” Pharynx replied. “But hiding damage to your clothes, well, that’s a little tougher. So, Cutie? You’re up first.”

Cuticle growled and braced herself. 

“Go!” One of the changelings flicked a lever and dunked Cheese Sandwich in the tank, leaving Cuticle mere seconds to fly up, dive in, and rescue the stallion. 

“Ow!” she yelped, flicking one of the fish off of her. 

Pharynx inspected the damage to both her and her rescue. “Two bites, three nips, and one nibble. Not bad, but a little slow. Next!”

Ocellus took her spot on the lineup. She looked up and started calculating her trajectory. 

“Please don’t be too slow?” Cheese Sandwich asked. “There are a lot of you, and I don’t think these fish are lactose intolerant.”

Ocellus smiled up at him. “Don’t worry, sir. I know what to do.”

“Go!” Pharynx sounded the signal. 

With a mightly leap, she dove into the pool and started splashing to draw the attention of the fish. 

Then she turned into a giant teal piranha, opened her mouth, and let nature take its course.

With their survival instinct driving them far away from the bigger fish, Ocellus had no trouble picking up Cheese Sandwich and getting him out of the pool.  

“Wow. I didn’t get a single bite on that one,” he said, shaking his head to get his mane dry. 

Pharynx stood and stared at her, stunned. “A fear effect. You used a genuine, proper fear effect. I’ve gotta admit, didn’t think you had that kind of firepower in you, Ocellus. Nice one.”

She blushed. “It’s, umm, it’s something I picked up in school.”

“Huh. Guess some of those ponies are tougher than I gave’em credit for.”

“You have no idea,” Cheese Sandwich agreed. 

“Okay, next up: Sensilla!” Pharynx called out. “If our victim would assume the position?”

Ocellus flew down to the stage where the other girls were. She grabbed a towel and idly hoped it wasn’t a contestant while Sensilla repeated the trick of turning into a predator to scare the fish away. 

It wasn’t a giant piranha this time, though. She couldn’t quite tell what it was from that distance. “That’s a little small, isn’t it?”

“But more effective,” Trachea answered.

With a flash of green, Sensilla turned back and carried the stallion out.

“Wow, an Amarezonian giant otter,” Cheese Sandwich noted once he was out. “Smart thinking: those things literally eat piranha for breakfast.”

Ocellus furrowed her brow. 

“How do you know that?” Pharynx asked him.

The stallion chuckled. “You don’t get to where I am without making a few enemies, and a few weird friends. Next!”

“He seems a little too enthusiastic to be dangling over a piranha tank.” Ocellus breathed out a sigh of relief. “But at least I did okay. Good job, Sensilla.”

“Thank you, Ocellus.” Sensilla smiled as Ocellus gave her a dry towel. “It’s nice to see I’m not the only girl around with some animal smarts. I think the two of us might have the high scores on this one.”

“Serrate? You coming or what?” Pharynx called out. 

Serrate marched up to the tank. “Sorry, sir. Had to sharpen my knife.” Then she put her knife between her teeth and grinned at the tank. 

The fish took one look at her and spontaneously evolved the gift of flight, jumping out of the tank and splashing helplessly in fear.

Ocellus groaned. “Oh. Right. Fear effect. Guess this one’s a lot easier once you know what works.”





Ocellus took a deep breath, staring at her own reflection. Her cheerleader outfit was clean, it was intact, it was good.

Trachea walked past her. She was, true to form, dressed in a purple ninja outfit, complete with mouth-covering mask, hood, and a few weapons dangling from her waist.

“Good luck,” Ocellus said.

“Thank you. You too.”

Trachea lined up and waited for the signal.

“Okay, and now for our final event: the talent show! Let me remind everyone what this is all about. Our contestants will be showing off what they think is their greatest talent, what their defining feature is, and how it makes them beautiful.”

Ocellus gulped, looking down at herself again.  

Scoots likes girls who wear this. That means it’s beautiful, right?

“And first on stage for this event is Trachea! Trachea, what do you have for us?”

Heavy percussion sounds started playing, an Eastern Unicorn composition from the sounds of it.  

Everyone gasped when Trachea dashed onto the stage and did a backflip, unhooking a chain from her waist. It had a weight on one end, and a small scythe on the other.  

A kusarigama. Wow, I didn’t even know she had one of those. Does she know how to use that?

If she didn’t, she certainly knew how to put up a good show. Trachea practically danced with her chain, lashing out and spinning the weight towards an imaginary opponent. She kept the scythe end of it close by, only slashing at the air until she went into the finale.  

First she let the chain loop around her waist again, then she grabbed both ends and started whirling them around her faster and faster, the sound of it cutting through the air almost louder than the actual music.  

With a one final ‘thump’ of the drums, she brought the chains to a standstill and presented weight and scythe to the judges.

Ocellus felt her heart sink.

“Wow,” Serrate said. “That’s a tough act to follow.”

“For a martial arts tournament, maybe,” Cuticle retorted. “But it’s a beauty contest, you silly goose. What’s the point of competing if you’re just going to wear a mask?”

Ocellus gulped. As much as she hated to say it, Cuticle had a point.

She looked over at Cuticle then. The girl had a point, and a pretty good outfit.

In fact, she had an outfit that looked a lot like what Ocellus was wearing.

Including the cheerleader pompoms.

“For our next act, we have Cuticle!”

“Wish me luck, Celly,” she taunted, grabbing a megaphone on her way out.

“She wouldn’t…” Ocellus started.

Right away, Cuticle hit the stage with a backflip into a frontal split, timing it to music that Ocellus had heard a few times before back in school.

Unfazed by the split, Cuticle jumped up and shouted into her megaphone. “Okay, here’s how it works! I’m gonna yell Changeling! And you yell Hive!”

From backstage, Ocellus hissed under her breath. “Cuticle…”

“That… kind of sounds like what you were talking about,” Sensilla started.

“No, that’s exactly what you were talking about,” Trachea added. “I was there the first time, this is your act.”

“You saw that?” Ocellus cringed.

“Ninja training,” Trachea replied. “Plus, I… I wanted to see how you were doing. And you did well. Apparently, Cuticle thinks so, too.”

The act was exactly the same, though cut up into bits and pieces. Aside from copying the shouts and the music, Cuticle changed herself into copies of the other cheerleaders to do parts of the dance, the heavy ground slam Yona had done, everything.

“She stole your act,” Trachea said.

“Want me to get even?” Serrate offered.

Ocellus, for her part, sighed. She let her head hang, getting another good look at herself in the process.

Who am I really kidding?

That act wasn’t mine in the first place.

I can’t do this.

It’s just not me.

And I don’t even know what is.
> "The Things I Do For Scoots..."
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ocellus, you’re up,” Serrate started.  

What am I supposed to do? I can’t do my cheerleader act now. 

“Ocellus? Come on, it’s your turn,” Trachea added.  

But I have to. Everyone’s watching.

She looked out into the crowds. Her mother and father were there, in the back, along with Tarsus and Fillyform.

Ocellus smiled.  

Everyone’s watching.  

Then it hit her.

So everyone will be listening.  

Okay, I can do this. I’ve still got one talent worth showing off.

She let off a little green flare to come onto the stage without her outfit, and instead went right to the middle of the podium.  

“Hello, everyone. My name is Ocellus, and for my talent portion I’d like to do something a little different, if that’s okay.” She looked over to Cheese Sandwich.

“Different, how?” he asked.

“My talent… is storytelling. And I’d like to dedicate this story to my little brother and sister sitting back there. No spoilers, you two!”

The pair giggled.  

“Once upon a time, in a land long forgotten by pony kind, there was an Earth pony, and like a lot of Earth ponies, he was a merchant. He would travel the lands to find good wares to sell where they were rare.” Ocellus closed her eyes, concentrated, and turned herself into an Earth pony stallion with a turban and traditional desert garb. 

“One day, this merchant ran across one of his suppliers, a fruit seller. And he noticed his old friend had a lot more coin on him than usual. So, of course, he asked why. An inheritance, a lucky gamble, or perhaps a rare fruit he’d managed to sell?”

She changed into a different stallion and warped her voice to narrate his part. “You know, it’s the darnedest thing. I got lost on my way East, and I stumbled into a little city state on the edge of the desert. I was lucky to have all my goods intact, I tell you. Of course I tried to sell my wares, what was left of them, but only the apples for a high price. Wouldn’t you know it? These ponies had never tasted apples!”

Hopping back in her normal form, she used a minor illusion spell she’d picked up from Miss Trixie to show a crudely drawn map. “This was an isolated city state. They didn’t get a lot of contact with their neighbours, so they were out of the loop on a lot of things. And like any good salespony, well, the merchant saw an opportunity there.”

Back into merchant form she went, stroking that fake beard. “And those apples went for a nice price, you say?”

Another quick change, and the fruit seller replied, “I’ll say. My apples made it all the way to the throne room. And let me tell you: this land with no apples is ruled by a fair and just King. He does not suffer swindlers, and he pays a fair price, always.”

Balancing the illusion magic with her shapeshifting strained her concentration, but she managed it just barely. She made some red dots appear on the map to chart out a course and went back into her normal form, suppressing the beads of sweat forming on her brow. “The merchant went and bought as many apples as he and his family could carry, and then he went on a long and difficult trip to find this Land With No Apples. But that wasn’t the only thing he bought up. He went and found some saplings of apple trees: grafted plants ready for an orchard. Because, of course, if apples were so valuable, and these ponies really wanted them, eventually they’d start asking for trees of their own. He was welcomed in, and brought before the King.”

Another shift, and this time the illusion showed a throne room, another illustration from the book. “These are the best fruits you’ve ever tasted, Your Highness. They can be sweet, sour, soft, hard. Eaten alone, they are a prime source of refreshment. Baked into pies, they are a delicacy. Covered in molten sugar, a decided pick-me-up after a long day.”

She chanced a glance at the crowds, and was pleased to see a lot of her fellow changelings nodding along, a few even getting hungry, from the looks of it. 

No response from the judges, though. 

Back into her normal form she went, back straight and chest out to show confidence. “The king made sure the apples were checked for their quality, and our clever merchant expected no less. That very night, a feast was prepared with the new bounty of apples: apple pies, apple fritters, caramel apples, and all the nobles of the court agreed that this was good food and the merchant should be compensated justly. They also agreed that the merchant had been polite and respectful in bringing apple trees, because this King did not want his ponies to be deprived of this new fruit, not if he could help it.”

That got a few nods of appreciation, most likely because of everyone’s experience with royalty. 

She cleared her throat and shifted the illusion to show a vault full of apples. “First, the king ordered his vaults to be filled with the rest of the apples, so they wouldn’t spoil. The King With a Vault Full of Apples then, of course, asked his wisest and most trusted advisors how to repay this revelation and this kindness. And so it was that the clever merchant went home with a bag full of diamonds and precious gems, as well as a chest of gold that would be carried by two porters, now in his service. Besides that, it was decided that this pony was now considered a friend of the court, and would be welcome to return to the markets when he pleased.”

For the finale, she turned herself into the merchant again, completely bedecked in fine fabrics and jewelry. 

“As for the trees? The King had them planted, and found that they mostly didn’t grow in desert soil. But, as luck would have it, there was a patch where the trees took root and thrived. That means they grew really well. So, while it would take years for the kingdom to have apples like its neighbours did, and many more for them to have their own kind of apples, thanks to the merchant the kingdom was now no longer a Kingdom with No Apples. A good deal was done, and everyone was happy. Or, almost everyone.”

There was a wave of hesitation in the crowds, a few who’d wanted to applaud too soon. 

Ocellus continued, and turned herself into a different stallion, one with a little more show in his movements. “There was another merchant, who heard of this, and he thought to himself: 'Well, if they like apples so much, they’ll love pears! Pears are juicier, stronger in flavour, superior to apples in every way. And what a fool to bring them their own trees, doesn’t he know that rare things are priceless and common things are worthless? The less they have, the more they’ll pay for it. I’ll go alone and be covered in gold for my troubles!'”

Ocellus paused as she shifted back to her normal self. Confusion washed over the crowds, but she knew she had their attention. “And so he did. He bought up as many pears as he could carry on his own, and he trekked to the Land of a Few Apple Trees In The Near Future. He went before the King and made his case.”

Again, she shifted the illusion, to show a sinful glut of pears (though still only enough for a single feast) behind a salespony, presenting himself to the King. 

This was her favorite part. “Your Highness, I bring you a superior fruit, better than any apple. A pear is juicier, its flavour drips from its very core. Surely you must agree that a pear is worth more than an apple?”

She shed that form, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Her voice felt worn out, her word quota for the day already more than surpassed. 

“The King went to his advisors again, seeing the load of pears delivered to him. He couldn’t refuse the offer, for he was a just and fair King who treated everyone equally. But at the same time, he couldn’t empty his gold reserves even for something so precious. The King had only one solution: to pay for the pears with the one thing more valuable than gold.”

She let the pause hang for dramatic effect, then shifted the illusion again to show the result of the negotiations. 

“And so it was that the greedy merchant went home with a buttload of apples.” 

Laughter erupted from the crowds. Polite, soft laughter, nothing so raucous as a Ponyville comedy act. 

Now came the truly terrifying part: the moralising. Ocellus hated doing this to her peers, or to adults. “There are a few lessons to this story. The obvious one is to be fair in every trade, don’t try to swindle others, and to be careful what you wish for.”

She looked out at her family and smiled.

“But the other lesson is a little harder to see, and might be even more important to think about. What’s priceless to you might be worthless to someone else. And what you think is worthless… might be priceless to someone else. So try to keep a close eye on which is which. Thank you.” With that, she took a bow.





The day went past in a blur. Serrate got a lot of praise for her clarion act, Sensilla and her trained raccoons did pretty well (until one of them took a bite out of Cheese Sandwich’s cutie mark), all in all it seemed like a close game.

“You okay?” 

Ocellus looked up. Seta had come backstage. Ocellus was sitting in a corner, thinking. 

“I think so,” she replied, rubbing her sore throat. “Sorry I couldn’t do it. I tried my best.”

“Don’t be sorry. You did really well.”

Ocellus sighed.

“In fact… I’m proud of you, Ocellus. And you should be proud of yourself.”

“What for?”

“For doing something that’s against your nature, and still finding a way to stay true to it. That’s a tough thing to do for anyone. Ponies, changelings, grownups, kids… you did a hard thing, and you did great.” True to form, Seta cheered her up, if only a little. 

“Thanks.”

“And hey, at least Cuticle messed up pretty badly. It’s not gonna be her, most likely. And maybe the other girls aren’t so bad.”

Right at that moment, a shuriken flew through the air, followed by a grenade tossed in the opposite direction, which was retaliated with a flying raccoon.  

Both girls stood stoically as the explosion sounded behind them, and the sounds of feral trash pandas mixed in with calls of ‘jutsu’ this and ‘nani’ that.  

“Okay, that’s a big maybe.”

One of the contest changelings came into the changing room. “Girls? The judges have reached a verdict. Line up, please.”

Seta offered a hoof. “You’re on.”

Ocellus sighed and let Seta pull her back on her hooves.  

“Hey, Ocellus?”

“Yeah?”

“Good job on the story. The whole worthless and priceless thing? That’s pretty deep.”

“Thanks.”

“You should consider which is which for you, too.”





The girls lined up with much of the same enthusiasm as for a criminal lineup, which in the case of at least three contestants was a recurring thing.  

Cheese Sandwich wasted no time with pleasantries now. “Alright, everyone, after much deliberation, the judges have made their decision, and the winner of The Changeling Hive’s first Prettiest Young Changeling Contest is…” He fiddled with an envelope, read it, checked with the judges, and waited for them to nod.  

Ocellus sighed in defeat. “Trachea?”

“Ocellus!”

She froze. All the girls in the line stared at her.  

She shook her head. “What?”

“Step on up, Ocellus, you won!”

Slowly, haltingly, she stepped forward to receive her prize: a train ticket to Geneighva. “But how? Why?”

“Your presentation showed character, and integrity,” Photo Finish started. “You reminded me of a lot of of the more recent models in Canterlot and Ponyville. It’s easy for a strong pony to show weakness, but it’s much harder for a weak pony to show strength. You are not so weak as you feel to be, but still, a rare skill in the modelling business.”

“I think I know better than anyone here that this was not easy for you,” Tymbal added. “And yet you didn’t buckle under the audience pressure, you composed yourself when you had to. You acted like a natural.”

“You can think quick under pressure, and look good doing it,” Pharynx finished. “You can follow through with your decisions, and as for your talents… I’m okay with a storyteller being our representative. We’re gonna need more of that soon.”

“I-I… I don’t know what to say.” She felt the blush setting in.

“The traditional response is ‘thank you,’” Cheese Sandwich joked. “But being flustered does happen, even to the best. So, how about we get the lucky pair together for a picture?”

The crowd erupted with cheers.  

Ocellus gulped. “Wait, pair? Scutes is here?”

“Just got here five minutes ago,” a voice said behind her.

She gulped. Her wings bunched up under her carapace. She didn’t dare turn around. “Scutum?”

He went to stand beside her and smiled. “Good to see you, Ocellus.”

She felt him next to her before she saw him, before she had to look up just a smidge. He’d had a growth spurt since last time, but then so had she. Not much had changed, though: he still had the same vibrant orange on his body, contrasted with a deep purple in his scaly mane. His chin was starting shape up nicely, too, losing some of that boyish softness already.  

His smile had lost nothing of its softness, though, and neither had his eyes. She’d missed that look, that perpetual mix of wonder, curiosity, and bravery.  

Then again, it might have just been her imagination. She did let that run away with her sometimes.  

Still, seeing him again after so long, the family resemblance with Seta was barely noticeable, but it wasn’t hard to see why both siblings  got into the modelling business.  

Ocellus chuckled softly, and for once, she didn’t bother trying to hide her blush. “Umm, hi. Good to see you, too.”





“Okay, so… we leave tomorrow, Headmare Starlight knows already, I’ve packed my things, and I made sure to get some new reading material and bring money in case anything happens. What am I forgetting?” Ocellus checked and double-checked her luggage, before pacing back and forth in her room.  

“Maybe you should go and talk to someone?” her mother said.

“Who’s there to talk to?”

“Well, either Scutum or the two dozen girls who decided they want to look like you. I swear, I’ve grounded at least eight of them on my way here.”

A knock came at the door.  

Cornea called out. “Ocellus, honey? Someone here to see you.”

She cantered over to the door and, mixed feelings rushing through her, Scutum was there.

He chuckled and waved in greeting. “Hey, Ocellus. Can I talk to you in private? Assuming that’s the real Ocellus? You kinda ran off after the contest.”

“I did not,” Ocellus objected.

“You turned into a rabbit and bolted through the Hive like you were being hunted,” he replied.  

She bit her lip. “I… needed to use the bathroom really quickly?”

Her mother was having none of it. “That’s her, and she can talk in private. And she will, or you can report it to me.”

Ocellus groaned and went outside. “Fine, mom. You don’t have to go full inquisitor on me. I’ll talk.”

Of course, she delayed that promise as long as she could, and Scutum didn’t press the issue as they made their way through the vine- and hole-riddled structure of the Hive.  

Once they were clear of any eavesdroppers, Scutum sat down on a rock. “So, beauty contest, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Did my sister put you up to it?”

“Yup.”

“I’m glad.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Y-you are?”

“Of course. We get to be together for a little bit, catch up. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course it is,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He fidgeted. “Because you, you know…”

She winced. “Right, I never got to apologise for that. I missed Hearth’s Warming Eve, I’m sorry. There was an emergency at school. I had to.”

“So it’s not because you don’t… umm…”

“I don't like you?” she blurted out. “No, of course not, I do like you. A-as a friend, of course. Or, umm, w-whatever ponies might call a close friend. I mean, we learned how to read together, we went on infiltrations together, why wouldn’t I like you?”

Scutum nodded. “So it’s just because we spent time together, then?”

“No. I mean, it helps, but… we spent important time together. You’ve seen me when I’m scared. Not that everyone else hasn’t, obviously, but you’re the only one who helps. That means something, doesn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But what?”

“I don’t know. It means something. I’d like to find out what, exactly.”

Again, he nodded. “I guess I should probably come clean, then.”

“About what?”

“You know how I got surgery recently?”

She tensed up. “Yeah?”

“And nobody knows what for, or why?”

Oh no. “What happened?”

“I, umm… do you remember when we were little, and I always turned into the same sort of colt? Black and white, or grey shades, never into a specific pony?”

The memories came flooding back. They never replaced anypony, they only inserted themselves as fake personas. Scutum always picked a form in shades of gray, or white and black. Even when they had art class, he specialised in black and white.  

She’d always just assumed he liked it that way. And why not? Most print media was in black and white, pulp fiction was in black and white, it was a legitimate art form, one he was really good at.  

It had never occurred to her he might not have had a choice in the matter.

“Oh. I never noticed. You mean you were-”

“Born colourblind, yeah,” he admitted. “That’s what they went and fixed. Had to use magic for it, obviously, since you can’t get a sense that you don’t know yourself. I’ve… never been able to see colours before now.”

“So when we changed…” Ocellus slapped herself. “That’s why you started looking at me so weird. Everyone got colours, and you couldn’t even tell.”

He wiped away a tear and stared into her eyes. “It really is good to see you, you know. All of it. I like your colours. It’s calming, but strong.”

The implications still hadn’t fully sunk in. “Gosh. You were colourblind this whole time? If Chrysalis knew, she might have-”

“No, she would have, that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always been. That’s why it was a secret for so long.” He shrugged. “Does that change anything?”

“Why would it?”

“I shouldn’t be alive by now, Ocellus, not with how things used to be. I was born defective. And now that I’m not? I’m gonna have to figure out what I am. How much of me is me, and how much was just a handicap? Are you sure you want to hang out with me, knowing that?”

She shuffled closer and pulled him in for a hug.  

“I think we both need to figure some things out. And there’s no one I’d rather have with me than you. I know that much.”

Slowly, carefully, he hugged her back. “So what do we do? Are we dating now? Is that what you're supposed to do? Is that what this is? I never really saw that sort of thing.”

Of course Seta shielded her little brother from that sort of thing; she shielded Ocellus the same way back when they were on a mission. Ocellus shrugged. “I don’t know. I'm sure I could ask my friends in Ponyville." She shuddered at the thought of some of the possible outcomes. "Okay, some of them must have good advice, statistically speaking. Besides, I'm sure they'd love to meet you.”

"You really think so?"

"I'm sure. And hey, no matter what happens: we'll always have Geneighva."

The End.