Argentum was not among the notable mansions of Canterlot, even when considering only those of the old earth pony families, none of whom could quite shake the shameful affliction of practicality. It wasn’t the largest, the tallest, or the most glamorous. It was, however, one of the oldest. Many of the rooms were so thoroughly colonized by antiques and heirlooms that there was barely any room left for ponies to move through them, much less inhabit them. As such, the building was like Canterlot itself in miniature, a millennium of shifting architectural trends captured in layers of renovations and outbuildings as it sought ever more room to contain both its inhabitants and its history.
But at Argentum's core, there was one room that had been kept habitable for all of the mansion's days. The same low ceiling, the same brick fireplace, even the same hunting trophies from the days when the Canterhorn had fought against the unwelcome growth on its side. The furniture was somewhat younger, but even the newest piece was still centuries old.
Silver Shill hated the place. The armchairs obviously hadn’t been made with pony anatomy in mind. The room was always stuffy, given how it was stuck in the center of a constantly expanding building, and the fireplace made it absolutely stifling. The still-sparkling eyes of the stuffed Capricorn head always seemed to be staring at him, judging him. His mother certainly was, the old nag. She didn't just look old. Grey on grey, wrinkles on wrinkles, she looked like the concept of Age itself.
“Son,” said Silver Medal, “do you know why I asked you here?”
Shill looked away, focusing on the floor. “You think I’m an idiot,” he grumbled.
“Oh, Shilly.” Medal sighed. “I don’t think that. I just don’t think you’re living up to your potential.”
His head darted up so he could glare at her. “Because I dare to dream!”
“There's nothing wrong with dreaming, son, but you have to wake up sometime."
Shill snorted. "To what?"
Medal shook her head. "I just don't understand it. I had hoped this was some foalish rebellious phase, but here you are, twenty-two years old and still living at home."
Silver Shill scowled and crossed his forelegs. He knew how this went. Trying to interrupt his mother would be futile. Next, she’d bring up his siblings.
”Look at your siblings,” said Medal. “Silver Dollar is the number-two stallion in the Royal Exchequer. Silver Platter is the assistant of Castle Canterlot's chief of staff. Even her daughter is the best friend of a burgeoning corporate empire's heiress. Shilly, what am I supposed to do with you when even little Spoony is further along than you are?"
"You don't need to do anything," Shill spat.
"I'm your mother, Shilly. I need to do something. But I can't if I don't understand what's going through that head of yours. How can you refuse to follow the tradition that has made the Silver clan one of the most enduring families of Canterlot?”
That did it. Silver Shill forced himself out of the painful chair, staggering as he got to his hooves. "Because we didn't earn it, Mother!" He stalked closer to her. "That tradition is nothing but hitching rides on other ponies' wagons. No member of this family has earned anything since Princess Celestia gave Sir Silversheen this patch of land!"
Silver Medal sagged in her seat. "You think you can pull your own wagon, then?"
"I know I can."
"How? Shilly, even your special talent is advising others."
Shill rolled his eyes. "Oh, like I've never heard that one before. Ponies will pay good money for my two cents. There's all kinds of businesses like that these days. Financial advisors, political analysts, life coaches—"
"Life coaches?" Medal shook her head. "How do you plan on coaching anypony on how to live when you haven't even gotten your own life started?"
"Because you and Dad coddled me from the moment I was born!" Shill took a deep breath. In the cramped confines of the den, even that outburst had him sweating. "Look, I know I was the baby of the family, fine, but I don't want to just get hoofed some cushy do-nothing job with an important sounding title."
Medal gave her son a flat look. "You'd be doing exactly what you want to do, and you'd be earning at least five times as much."
Shill glowered. "It's not about the money, Mother, it's about knowing that I'm the one who earned it. Not you, not Dad, not hundreds of generations of tarnished old Silvers looking back at me!"
Silver Medal slumped in her seat. "You want to go out on your own?"
"Yes!"
"Go and prove you can be your own stallion?"
"Yes!"
"Then go."
"Well, I'll show you! I'll..." Shill blinked. "Huh?"
"You heard me, Silver Shill. Go. Leave. Vamoose, as those charmingly rustic Ponyvillians might say. Nopony's stopping you." Medal's gaze narrowed, pinning Shill on the spot. "But nopony's helping you, either. If you don't want to respect the traditions that have kept this family afloat for centuries, then by all means, don't. But that means you don't get to benefit from them." A hint of warmth crept into the corners of her eyes and mouth. "If you ever want to come back home, then you'll always be welcome." A fresh wave of cold swept across her muzzle. "But until then, Mr. Entrepreneur, you aren't getting one silver cent out of this family."
Shill straightened up. "Okay, then, Mrs. Silver Medal. I'll show you just what one stallion can do." He turned on a hoof and marched out of the stuffy little den, head held high. He'd show them, all right. They'd be sorry the day they cut Silver Shill loose.
"Do you have any previous experience in the field, Mr. Shill?"
"Well, no, but I'm very good at giving advice."
"I see..."
"You didn't provide any references?"
"Mother never really let me go out much."
Don't call us, we'll call you."
"Aren't your telephones only on an internal network?"
"We'll. Call. You."
"I have made a terrible mistake."
Two weeks. After just two measly weeks, Silver Shill was in dire straits. He'd burned through his meager personal savings on travel expenses alone, hadn't found a single job he both wanted and was qualified for, and was now hopelessly lost. It turned out that familiarity with a map of the nation did not translate well when trying to navigate it on hoof.
But Shill walked on. He wasn't sure how far it was to the next town, or what it was called, or even if the road he walked actually led to one. But darn it, he had his pride. He wasn't ever setting hoof back in Canterlot unless he could do it as a success.
His ears perked up as he heard a faint strain of music. Well, it wasn't like he had anything more promising to work with. He followed the tune to its source, a pavilion tent nestled in a copse a fair distance from the road.
As Shill got closer, his hoofsteps unconsciously in time with the music, he could make out the lyrics as well.
"That's why you're so lucky we've got the thing for you.
Just come on up, we've always got some more
Of the Flimflam Miracle Curative Tonic..."
There was an expectant pause, the unseen band holding a chord. After one beat too many, the music deflated. Silver Shill found himself just outside of the tent flaps, where he could hear both singers.
"And that's where it all falls apart," said one.
"There's just no getting around it," said the other. "We need a third pony to make the song airtight."
"Just thinking about how that old nag took a verse for herself—"
"We made a lot of mistakes that day, brother, but we learned from them. This one's going to go off without a hitch once we find our missing pony."
Well, that was an opportunity if there ever was one. Shill walked into the tent. "Excuse me, gentlecolts, but I heard your song, and I believe I can be of some assistance."
The stallions, tall twin unicorns distinguished only by one's mustache, turned to him. Their faces flickered through expressions faster than he could process, and then they were flanking him. The fuzz-lipped one had an eyebrow raised. "Well now, confident, are we? I admire that in a pony, don't you, Flim?"
"I do, Flam." Flim—apparently—leaned in close. "However, we can't be accepting anypony who walks in off the street."
"That we can't. Why do you think you're the stallion for the job, Mister...?"
"Silver Shill." Shill wilted. "And... well, I don't have any references."
The brothers laughed, and Silver Shill sighed and turned. As he took his first steps out of the tent, one of them—he couldn't really tell without looking—cried, "Wait, Mr. Shill! Wait!"
"I'm afraid there's been a bit of a misunderstanding," said the other.
Shill looked back, ears perking back up. "There has?"
"We're only laughing," said Flim, "because we couldn't care less about who you know."
"After all," said Flam, "how would we check?"
"We're not far from a town that's literally called 'Nowhere.' A dozen miles or so, and we'd be in the middle of it."
"So tell us, Mr. Shill, what can you offer us?"
"Well..." Shill looked at the ground. "I'm good at giving ponies advice." It wasn't much, but it was all he had.
"Hmm... Elaborate, please."
Shill looked back up. The brothers seemed genuinely interested, giving him appraising looks instead of the indifferent glances that had met that statement in all his past interviews. "W-well, it's not just telling somepony what to do. Anypony can do that. But when I give a pony a suggestion, they always listen. They don't always follow it, but everypony thinks about it."
The brothers looked at each other for a moment, then nodded. Some sort of sibling connection, Shill supposed. "Mr. Shill, we would be honored to include you in this little operation of ours," said Flim.
"Really?"
Flam nodded. "Most definitely."
"I... Well, gosh! Are you sure?" Shill beamed and just let the words flow. "I mean, I've never done this kind of thing before."
"Not to worry," said Flim, "We are strong believers in on-the-job training."
"You'll begin in an entry-level position," said Flam, "but I'm sure you'll work your way up the ladder in a blink!"
"Wow." Silver Shill paused. "Um... but what exactly are we doing?"
Flim smiled. "Excellent question, Mr. Shill."
"How much of the song did you hear?" asked Flam.
"Just the last few lines," said Shill.
Flim nodded. "I see. Well, you know what we're selling, at least."
Flam held up a bottle in his magic. "The Flimflam Miracle Curative Tonic."
"Using all-natural ingredients."
"With no artificial additives."
"Prepared on the premises."
"Guaranteed safe for all ages."
"No harmful side-effects."
"What does it do?" asked Silver Shill.
"Ah, cutting to the heart of the matter!" said Flim.
"You see," said Flam, "the Flimflam Miracle Curative Tonic does much, much more than any other medicine on the market."
"It doesn't address just one complaint."
"It doesn't treat just one ailment."
"No, the Tonic is a true panacea, for it gives ponies something no other curative can."
The brothers spoke as one, doffing their hats. "Hope."
Silver Shill tilted his head. "Huh?"
Flim stomped a hoof. "Hope, Mr. Shill, hope! Hope that the disease has not won."
"Hope of a life revitalized," said Flam.
"Hope of a cure to the incurable."
"Of relief from anything and everything this side of the grave!"
Silver Shill boggled at this, mouth hanging open. "It really cures everything?"
Both brothers looked away, teeth gritted and ears low. "Well..."
"Not per se," said Flam.
"Not directly."
Shill drooped. "So this is all a scam?"
Both brothers flinched at this. "No!" Flim cried.
"Not at all!"
"I'm afraid that you're making a drastic oversimplification, Mr. Shill."
"You see," said Flam, "while the Tonic itself may be no more than apple juice and beet leaf extract—"
"Which, it should be noted, are still nutritious and fortifying—"
"The real miracle lies in the pony who drinks it."
"What the mind believes, the body does."
"And with the hope of a cure, the body can cure itself."
Shill tilted his head as he considered this. "Really?"
Flim nodded. "Of course!"
"Why, it's just like getting a cutie mark."
"When you knew what your purpose in life was, your body took that conviction and displayed it for all of the world to see."
"And when ponies take a dose of the Flimflam Miracle Curative Tonic, their belief in its incredible properties will set their bodies right."
"Huh. I guess that makes sense." Silver Shill looked down and kicked at the dirt. "But why would you even need a pony like me when you've got something like that?"
Shill found his vision boxed in by a unicorn on each side. "Ah, Mr. Shill." Flim draped a foreleg over his withers. "You fulfill a very important role."
"You see," said Flam, "before ponies can benefit from the Flimflam Miracle Curative Tonic, they must first believe it is helping them."
"And while some may simply take our word for it—"
"There are others whose misfortunes have rendered them cynical—"
"Skeptical—"
"And jaded."
"Such ponies need concrete evidence."
"Hard proof."
"A live demonstration."
"And that is where you come in."
"Oh." Silver Shill backed out from between the brothers and glared at them. "Oh, I see now."
The unicorns shared a glance. "Er, you do?" asked Flim.
Shill snorted and shouted, "I'm just a flunky to you two! A stooge!"
"No!" Flim cried.
Flam shook his head. "No, no, no!"
"Yes! You could get anypony to fake being cured, you... you shysters!"
Flim quirked an eyebrow. "Anypony can fake it, Mr. Shill?"
Flam bore a bemused little grin. "Why, by that argument, anypony could make it in Applewood."
Shill staggered as his indignant train of thought was wrenched off of the tracks. "Huh?"
"You're not going to be a flunky, Mr. Shill," said Flim.
"You're going to be an actor."
"An actor?" Silver Shill had never even considered acting. "Me?"
Flim nodded. "Oh yes!"
"We may be the masters of ceremonies—"
"But you'll be the star attraction."
"The star..." Shill murmured. Him. A star. Not an assistant. Not a junior partner. A star.
"Yes, and no show can go on without its star."
"We literally can't do this without you," said Flam.
The brothers fell to their knees. "Please, Mr. Shill," said Flim.
"Please say you'll do it."
"We're wagering our last bit on this venture."
"We couldn't ask for a better spokespony."
"Will you help these poor souls?"
"Not just us—"
"But every pony who might be helped by our product."
"And we do mean our product."
"You're as much a part of this as Flam or I."
"What do you say?"
Silver Shill looked from one brother to the other. He'd been bowed to before, but they'd always been the shallow ones due to the third son of an old but relatively unimportant house. Never had a pony ever begged him for anything.
He kind of liked it.
"Fellas," he said, smiling, "let's do business."
Author's Note
"I shall please" is the English translation of the Latin "placebo." "Bromide" can also mean a pleasant but empty platitude in addition to its chemical denotation.
Silver Spoon as Silver Shill's niece makes sense to me. After the events of "Leap of Faith," I figured he spent some time with his sister's family as he put his life back together.
As for the names, pony names always tend to be a crapshoot. Between Applejack and Pinkie, we have evidence of surname going before and after given name for earth ponies. I went with the Apple option for House Silver.
