Somepony Tries to Sell Twilight Insurance

by The Minister of Scones

Rating: everyone
Tags: Twilight Sparkle, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Comedy, Random, Slice of Life
Length: 6233

It goes predictably badly.

Ballpoint Smudge has one job. It's not an easy one, but it's one he's determined to do to the best of his ability. The only problem is that as soon as he meets Twilight Sparkle, everything he's ever learned about princesses goes flying out of the window. He was expecting her to be regal, haughty and bossy. Instead she's warm, friendly and welcoming. Perhaps she's genuinely a nice pony? Nah. It's got to be a test.

Based on an idea by Ambrose Bierce, from his excellent Devil's Dictionary. Just look up 'Insurance'.

Featured at 12.30 GMT on 15/06/2016. I am very pleased indeed about that.

Published 2016-06-15 02:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-06-15 02:40:02 UTC

Strong Stuff, This Insurance

The sun climbed high across the foal-blue sky, proudly casting his rays across all of Equestria, glaring down at all those who dared look him in the face, gently warming the land beneath, and coaxing life out of every corner, nook and cranny of the country.

As the heat of a Midsummer morning coursed indiscriminately down upon bird and beast alike, bleary-eyed, old-fashioned Ponyville stumbled out into the sun, and went about its business. Schoolfoals frolicked in the street, some making their way to school, others making nothing but a nuisance of themselves. Weatherponies flapped about overhead, pushing clouds around in order to ensure there was at least some cover from the blazing heat. Housewives wandered around the marketplace, haggling over the price of carrots; old-timers took advantage of the weather to snooze in the park, letting rose-tinted memories of times gone by play across their troubled minds; delivery colts, bearing huge baskets of fresh produce, staggered from house to house, doing their collective best to maintain friendly smiles, and so secure a bigger tip.

All was serenity (albeit a bustling serenity), all was normal. Ponyville was a bizarre place, to be sure, but her citizens knew perfectly well that today would probably be a very similar day to yesterday, and that tomorrow, allowing for a monster attack or two, would probably be much the same again. And yet, for one pony amongst all the others, today was a great deal more. Today was sink or swim day, the day that would decide his entire future.

All of Ponyville's charm and picturesque nature barely registered in the brain of Ballpoint Smudge. Trot trot trot through the wide streets, head down, eyes focussed on the cobblestones, dead to the clamours of the world, panicking a little. Sure, he'd met a few important, not to say rich, ponies in his time – even Fancy Pants, once – but a princess? This would be a new experience.

For the millionth time since he'd left Canterlot, he ran through the royal protocol he'd been briefed on: bow low once, avoid making eye-contact (that would make his job tricky, but rules were rules), and refer to her as 'your majesty' upon addressing her for the first time and 'ma'am' thereafter. There were numerous other little quibbles and delicacies with which he had to be acquainted, but as he knew, first impressions were important.

To this end, his wavy ginger mane had been immaculately styled to give him a formal-but-friendly look; his navy blue pinstripe jacket, which went surprisingly well with his pale yellow fur, had been specially dry-cleaned and ironed the day before; and his best horseshoes had been polished so much that he could have seen his face in them, if for some reason he had decided to look at the underside of one of his hooves.

His train of thought found itself obliged to come to a grinding halt as out of nowhere loomed the figure of an elderly stallion. By the time the distracted Ballpoint had processed this information, it was too late. With a dreadful 'Thump!' the two collided, ending up sprawled on the cobbles.

“Hey!” barked the bespectacled stallion into whom he had just bumped, “why don't you look where you're going? And they call me short-sighted!” He picked himself up and dusted himself off. “Old folks bruise easily, y'know!”

Picking himself up, Ballpoint muttered a shamefaced apology and hurried on, leaving the elderly gentlecolt to his mutterings. Five minutes since he'd got off the train, and already he'd messed up. He could only hope it wasn't an omen of the meeting to come.

After what seemed like an age, but was really less than a quarter of an hour, Ballpoint found himself standing at the door to Princess Twilight Sparkle's Castle of Friendship. He looked up at the vast crystal structure. The vast crystalline structure didn't look back. That's not how crystalline structures work. It did, however, loom rather threateningly. He shuddered, and looked about for a doorbell or a knocker. It didn't take long to find the small white button set into the crystal. His heart in his mouth, he raised a trembling hoof and pressed it.

He shuddered at the distant 'bing-bong' from within the castle's depths. No turning back now.

Would she be friendly? One would expect that of the Princess of Friendship, but still… a princess… If she was in a bad mood, would she get bored with him and cast him into the dungeon, or feed him to the crocodiles, or have him boiled in oil? He hadn't really been briefed for worming his way out of a torture situation.

To his annoyance, he realised that no one had answered the door yet. He scowled. Wasn't there a butler, or something? He made to ring it again, but just at that moment, the door swung open, revealing a very short – and rather plump – purple and green dragon, who gave him a quizzical look and asked, sounding a little bored “Appointment?”

Ballpoint gulped. They hadn't told him he'd need an appointment. “N- no,” he stammered, tilting his head downwards to look the strange creature in the eye, “but I'm here on business to see Princess Twilight. Is she in?”

“Yes, she is in… front of you,” said a new voice. Lifting his head up, Ballpoint found himself face to face with an all-too-familiar lavender alicorn, who was wearing the least regal expression he had ever seen. He had been ready for haughty self-assurance, or simmering rage, but not a genial smile. He stared at her, dumbly.

“Did you want something, or did you just come to look?” Though she was being sarcastic, there wasn't a hint of malice in her voice – just a sort of general amusement, as if she'd just been given some excellent news, and had come to answer the door in the middle of celebrating.

To his horror, Ballpoint realised he was breaking royal protocol by looking into her eyes. Shamefaced, he immediately cast his eyes down at the ground.

“What's the matter?” asked the princess, in the same tone, almost like a chuckle, “Does my appearance not live up to your expectations?”

“I- I-” was all he could manage, then he finally remembered to bow, and did so.

“That's okay,” said the princess, “most ponies are a little tongue-tied.” She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Sometimes I lie awake at night, thinking of mean things to say to them if they're too shy to speak.”

“It's true,” added the dragon, absently examining one of his claws, “sometimes I can hear her laughing in the next room.”

“I do not!” insisted the princess with mock-indignance, aiming a playful kick at her servant, which he easily dodged.

“I must apologise for Spike,” she said, turning back to Ballpoint, “He still seems to think he's the funny one around here.” Spike rolled his eyes. The princess smiled at her hapless visitor again, a smile full of warmth and welcome, almost daring him to make eye-contact.

Was that what this was? A test, to see if he was worthy of an audience with her? It had to be. Nothing he'd been told about how to behave in front of royalty seemed appropriate, so this was obviously to throw him off his guard, and determine whether he really did have good enough manners. He just had to pass.

“Now,” continued Princess Twilight, her tone a little more business-like, “what can I do for you? Is it a friendship problem?”

The petrified Ballpoint could only shake his head.

“Oh.” The princess looked a little deflated at this. More than a little.

Well, no sense wasting time. Keeping his eye-line as low as possible, Ballpoint hesitantly began “Good morning, your majesty. I, er… I represent the Canterlot insurance firm of Bingo, Bullseye and Jackpot.”

“And which are you?” asked the princess, sweetly. “No, let me guess… Bullseye?”

“I- I am none of them, ma'am, merely a representative. My name is Ballpoint Smudge.” Sweet Celestia, now she was teasing him!

“I see,” she said, simply. “Listen, I know you're embarrassed, but there's no need to stare at the ground like that. I promise not to bite.”

His brief was simple: persuade the princess to have Friendship Castle insured. His boss had been very clear on that two days ago, when he'd called him into his office.

“Smudge,” he had begun, leaning forward and peering over his massive oak desk, “I've been watching you.”

That sounded ominous. “Watching me, Mr Jackpot?” he ventured, trying to let as little emotion as possible enter his voice. He was scared of Mr Crystal Jackpot, everypony was. He was frightened of his slit-eyed stares, of his high, bald, domed forehead, of his bushy blond eyebrows, and of the enormous cigars he was always smoking. Everyone knew he was the real boss of the three – Bingo and Bullseye were originally his equal partners, but had already devolved into yes-ponies.

“Yes.” His movements as clean-cut as cheese-slices, Mr Jackpot stood up, and crossed to the window, peering out between the slats of the blinds. He eyed the ponies coming in and out of the building. Suddenly he spun round, fixing Ballpoint in a piercing glare whose meaning was completely unfathomable. Ballpoint flinched under his gaze. “I've been rather worried about your work. Not quite up to its past high standards, if you know what I mean.”

Ballpoint simply nodded, wishing that Mr Jackpot would just hurry up and fire him, if that was what he was going to do, so that he could get out of the office. Jackpot was famous for firing ponies. In fact, although he owned seven major companies in Canterlot alone, he apparently made it a point of personal honour to fire at least one employee from each one every day.

“In recent months, there have been several botch-jobs,” he went on. “I didn't get where I am today without recognising a botch-job when I see one.” He raised his enormous eyebrows at Ballpoint, who felt that some sort of response was expected of him.

“I'm sure you didn't, Mr Jackpot,” he said, in as near to a confident tone as he could muster.

“In a few cases you've made a complete mess of the whole affair. I didn't get where I am today without recognising a complete mess when I see one.”

Jackpot's claims were not entirely without foundation – which is to say that they were completely accurate. Ballpoint had spent the last few weeks in a state of futile resentment and job dissatisfaction. His work had suffered accordingly. Only the day before he had caught himself filing a letter from Mr Buttons under M for Mr. “Of course not, Mr Jackpot,” he said simply.

“You haven't been trying your hardest. Not giving 110%. Neither Mrs Jackpot nor I has ever failed to give 110%.”

“No, Mr Jackpot.” This was taken more or less on trust. The actual existence of a 'Mrs Jackpot' was, to the employees, entirely based on Mr Jackpot's testimony, for nopony who worked for the firm had ever actually seen her.

Mr Jackpot returned to his high-backed plush-velvet office-chair, whence he looked down from on-high at Ballpoint on his scratchy, uncomfortable 'easy'-chair. “I've come to a decision,” he said, firmly. “I do recognise the importance of being decisive. We're not one of those dreadful firms that dithers endlessly over small decisions.”

Ballpoint knew this wasn't true, but said “Certainly not, Mr Jackpot,” all the same.

“I'll come straight to the point. It's no use beating about the bush.”

“No, Mr Jackpot.”

“Dragging things out never does anyone any good.”

“No, Mr Jackpot.”

“I didn't get where I am today by beating about the bush.”

“I quite agree, Mr Jackpot.”

“I think you lack incentive. Do you lack incentive, Ballpoint?”

“Of course not, Mr Jackpot.”

“Are you contradicting me?”

“Not at all, Mr Jackpot.”

“Good. Neither Mrs Jackpot nor I has ever been contradicted.”

“I'm sure you haven't, Mr Jackpot.”

“I'm going to give you a new assignment. It'll be a tough nut to crack, mind you.”

“I'm very glad to hear it.”

“I'm very glad to hear that you're very glad to hear it, Ballpoint.”

“I'm… glad, Mr Jackpot.”

Crystal Jackpot leaned back in his chair and smiled at the ceiling. “You've heard of Princess Twilight Sparkle?”

“Of course.”

“She's just built a new castle.”

“Built? Herself?”

“Apparently. Used magic, I believe. I didn't get where I am today by using magic.”

Ballpoint rather awkwardly scratched his horn.

“A castle is worth a great deal,” continued the business tycoon, “but apparently it isn't insured, yet.”

“Not many places are, Mr Jackpot,” pointed out Ballpoint. “Insurance is still quite a new idea.”

“Castles should be insured.”

“Of course, Mr Jackpot.”

“I want you to go along there and convince her to have it insured. I'm sure it'll be no trouble for a stallion of your calibre.”

“I'm sure it won't, Mr Jackpot.”

“Succeed – instant promotion. Incentive, you see?”

Ballpoint just nodded. He was running out of phrases to use to agree with him.

“Fail – instant dismissal. No use having a carrot without a stick. You can lead a cow to water, but you can't teach an old dog nuclear physics.”

Ballpoint felt like protesting, but had long since learned that arguing with Mr Jackpot was rather like punching mist.

Jackpot stood again, returning to the window. In a movement as violent as it was sudden, he flung open the blinds, and recommenced his scrutiny of the exterior. And scrutiny was the right word for it; those tiny, piggy, half-closed eyes never missed a single detail, from a slow watch to an egg stain on an employee's tie.

“You'll never manage it, of course,” he said distractedly.

“But- but sir, why give me the job if-”

“Not you. Chap outside's trying to chat up a lemonade-stand filly. Doesn't stand a chance.” He spun to face Ballpoint. “I'm expecting great things of you, Ballpoint Smudge. We're not one of those dreadful firms that think a stallion no good after he's turned 26 goodbye, Ballpoint!” He really did say it like that, the two sentences running straight into each other, and the last two words uttered with an air of such finality that Ballpoint decided to leave the office post haste. “Goodbye, Mr Jackpot!” he called, and pulled the door shut behind him.

The secretary outside shot him a quizzical look over her bright-pink spectacles. 'How did it go?' it said.

Ballpoint replied with a look which said 'As well as could be expected.' It was quite a feat to say that with a look.

And so it was that the mild-mannered Ballpoint came to find himself on the doorstep of Princess Twilight Sparkle, being scared out of his wits by her totally unexpected friendliness, and having just been asked to make eye-contact with her, which was exactly what he had been told not to do.

With bated breath, expecting the vengeance of a wrathful princess to rain down on his head at any moment, he gradually raised his eyes until he met her gaze. It wasn't nearly as frightening as he had expected. Instead, he felt almost more confident, happy to see her; he felt as though he had known the mare for years. 'I suppose that explains why they made her the Princess of Friendship,' he thought to himself.

“So, would you like to come in? Visitors tend to draw a bit of a crowd.” She looked rather pointedly over his shoulder. Turning, he found that two or three ponies had already gathered near the castle's entrance, and were watching the proceedings in solemn silence.

“Oh, uh...” He shook his head to clear it. “Of course, ma'am.”

“Follow me.” The princess turned and headed into the castle, and Ballpoint followed, a little nervously. As soon as he stepped inside, the beauty of the place really hit him for the first time. While it had loomed from the outside, from the inside it gleamed – and he was sure it was far bigger than it ought to have been. The vast, arching halls with their crystal facets were like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was quite astonishing. He hurried after the princess, who was walking quite quickly down the hallway, her dragon-secretary-thing following her.

Glancing behind her, Twilight noticed the awestruck look on his face. “I know,” she said, grinning, “I still remember the first time I saw it.”

“I… it's incredible. Ma'am!” he added hastily.

“Oh, please don't bother with all that. I'm still not really used to even being a princess. I don't know if I ever will be.” She laughed; a pleasant, tinkling, infectious little laugh. “Just call me Twilight.”

“Whatever you say… Twilight.” He didn't really feel comfortable being so informal with her – even though she was far friendlier than he had feared. Still, an order was an order. Even if it was delivered in the form of a request – well, almost an offer, really. His head was beginning to spin. He had been expecting a surprising day, of course – the problem was that these were entirely the wrong sort of surprises. Surprising surprises. The very worst sort.

Abruptly, the princess turned left through one of the many identical doorways. Ballpoint followed, and found himself in a much smaller, curving corridor – again lined with identical doorways.

“I'm glad of the company, actually,” the princess was saying, and to his shame, Ballpoint realised that she'd been talking more-or-less constantly since they'd entered the building, and he hadn't taken in a single word. “Rarity's still out of town at her new boutique, and I let Starlight go with her to help out with sales, and what with Applejack so busy on the farm and Rainbow Dash sleeping half the day, I don't really… I'm sorry, I hope I'm not boring you?”

“Not at all,” said Ballpoint, hurriedly.

“Good. Ponies say I can sometimes be oblivious to others' feelings, so I like to make sure.” She beamed at him.

The dragon, who had followed them all the while, fell behind a little, until he was level with Ballpoint, then conspiratorially hissed in his ear “She's just overcompensating.”

“W- what? How do you mean?”

“She thinks everypony's terrified of her, so she acts super, extra-friendly around ponies she doesn't know. Don't let it fool you.”

“Thanks. I knew a real princess couldn't be this friendly,” whispered Ballpoint, his worst fears confirmed.

“Huh? I just meant she isn't really this goofy.”

Before Ballpoint could give the dragon's reply any thought, the princess sang out “Here we are!” She pushed a door open with a hoof, and ushered Ballpoint inside. He stepped through the doorway, and gasped. He was standing in a library containing more books than he had thought it possible to fit inside a whole house, let alone one room. Books to the right of him, books to the left of him; books on huge cases that stretched up to the ceiling; excess books stacked on tables, waiting to be accommodated; old and valuable books in sturdy looking cabinets – which had yet more books piled on top. He realised his jaw was hanging open, so he shut it.

“Sorry about the mess,” apologised the princess, “we're just in the middle of re-shelving.”

“For the third time this month,” muttered Spike. Twilight shushed him.

“I quite understand, ma'am. This is the biggest library I've ever seen!”

The princess looked puzzled. “Library? This is a sitting room. The library's two doors down. And by the way, you'll never start calling me Twilight if you don't stop thinking of me as 'the princess'.

“How did you know I-”

“Everypony does. Spike, could you get us some tea?”

Spike looked a little put out, but hurried off, presumably to the kitchen. “Sure thing, Twilight! Being your slave, what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire?”

“I'm so proud of him,” remarked Twilight, after the door had shut. “Those poetry sessions we've been having have really paid off. Not many assistants can be rebellious via allusions to classical literature.” She led him to a number of comfortable-looking chairs in the middle of the room, which were huddled together round a table, pressed up close like eager gossips; and sat down, gesturing for him to do the same.

Ballpoint steeled himself. This moment was crucial. “So, ma'am-”

“Hmm?'

“Uh, I mean Twilight, as I was saying, I work for Bingo, Bullseye and Jackpot.”

“I'm afraid I've only heard of them once before,” apologised Twilight, “and that was just now.”

“We're an insurance firm in Canterlot.”

“Insurance?” Twilight leaned forward, apparently very interested.

“Insurance is an exciting new way to protect your property,” began Ballpoint, effortlessly launching into his sales patter – at last he was on familiar territory.

“So, is this a popular service?”

“Yes, ma'am! Our illustrious clients include Fancy Pants, Sapphire Shores, and Countess Coloratura. Having drawn up an insurance policy with us, you could protect your castle – and all its contents – from fire, flooding; any form of destruction known to ponykind.”

Twilight had to suppress a giggle at this. “I'm actually quite some way above sea-level, here. If my castle were flooded, a large area of Ponyville would be underwater. I'd have more serious things to worry about than my belongings.”

“Theft, then.”

“Hmm. Well, I have to admit, that does sound interesting. Although Ponyville's crime rates aren't exactly soaring right now.”

“An act of Celestia?”

“Pardon?”

“It's what we term a natural accident that we couldn't foresee.”

“I think she'd write and tell me first. It's not like Celestia to cause a disaster without letting me know well in advance.”

Ballpoint hadn't had that particular response before. “We can protect the contents, too.” He thought hard. “You're famous for your magical experimentation, right?”

Twilight looked pleased. “Really? Thanks!”

“And you've got a few enemies?”

“I suppose so.”

“So what if a spell went wrong, or a monster attacked, and destroyed some of your, um...” He glanced around, looking for inspiration. “Books?”

At this, Twilight's entire body went rigid, and her eyes wide. She stared directly ahead, focused on something that seemed to be in the far distance – though she was looking straight at a wall.

“Uh, your maj- Twilight? Are you okay?”

“Keep talking,” said Twilight, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper, “you have my attention.”

“So, uh… with an insurance policy against damage to the castle and its contents through magical malpractice or malignant machinations, you would pay us a fixed amount of money, called a 'premium', every month, and if your castle or its contents were destroyed or damaged in such a way, we would reimburse you their value in full.”

“No questions asked?” queried Twilight, who was beginning to return to her old self.

Ballpoint engaged in a brief wrestle with his conscience. He won. “Not too many.”

“I hope you'll forgive my cynicism,” Twilight replied, “but it sounds to me as if you'll be protecting my bank-balance, not my property.”

“But still, with the bits you got after the disaster, you could always just… er…”

“Buy myself a new crystal castle?”

“Umm…”

“Not everything can be bought with bits, you know.”

“I suppose not…” Ballpoint was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Twilight reminded him a little too much of his old schoolteacher, and he was already starting to feel like a little colt being taught his first lesson in mathematics. His drooping ears perked up a little when a thought occurred to him: “But what about the books? You could buy new books.”

“Believe me, some of these books are completely irreplaceable… but still, I see what you mean.”

“So you are interested?”

Twilight responded with a wry smile. “Call me curious.”

Ballpoint didn't quite know what to make of that. Luckily, Spike took the opportunity to interrupt by kicking the door open, knocking a couple of books off an adjacent table in the process, and strutting proudly in, bearing a tray on which was precariously balanced a beautiful china tea-set.

“Your tea, your royal highness,” he announced grandly, setting the tray down on the table between the princess and her guest.

“Thank you, Spike,” she replied gracefully, but with the shadow of yet another one of her seemingly limitless smiles dancing across her lips. “Shall I be mother?” she asked, levitating the teapot and pouring its steaming contents into the cups. “Spike, you've brought the one with the crack in it,” she said sternly to the little dragon, who just blushed in response. “Milk?” she asked Ballpoint.

“Oh, uh…” Ballpoint was a little nonplussed.

“Take your time. It doesn't do to rush into these decisions,” she said, mischievously.

“Yes, please.”

“One lump or two?”

“Two.”

“Sugar?”

“I- I beg your pardon?”

“My little joke,” explained Twilight, and levitated the cup without the crack over to him. He took it, gratefully.

“Now then, about these…”

“Hem-hem.” The noise was Spike clearing his throat. He had been casting Twilight expectant glances since he had put the tray down.

“What is it? Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, cringing a little, “your afternoon off. Alright, off you go.”

“Yes!” cried the little dragon, punching the air. He was quite cute once you got to know him, thought Ballpoint.

“How are you planning on spending it, by the way?” asked Twilight.

“I'm gonna see if I can find any more gems for Rarity.”

“I don't know why I even asked,” Twilight muttered to herself as Spike headed out of the room. “So, about these premiums; I assume that they would be a certain fraction of the castle's total worth?”

“That's right.”

“So, how do you calculate them?”

“Well, we assess the area and its history, local demographic trends, weather conditions and climate, the castle's security and structural soundness, the allure to thieves, charlatans and super-villains, the political situation, what the castle is used for… that sort of thing; and then we calculate the approximate risk of your castle or its contents being stolen or destroyed, and set the premiums based on how likely that is to happen.”

“Simplicity itself,” remarked Twilight, drily, “but could you set the premiums so low that by the time my castle was, say, burned down, I would probably have paid you less money than the policy's value?”

Ballpoint appeared rather amused at this. “Twilight, please. If we did that, we wouldn't really stand to make any money out of the whole business.”

“I see. So on average, if somepony's house burned down, she would probably have paid you more bits than she actually got in recompense.”

“Well, probably… but last month Fancy Pants' holiday home on the East coast was destroyed in an earthquake before he'd even given us a tenth of the value.”

“But what about Sapphire Shores? Or Countess Coloratura?”

“Well… nothing's gone wrong for them yet, but… better safe than sorry.”

“Hmm. So according to your calculations, I am more likely to lose money than to gain it.”

“Yes… I mean no! Er… I suppose so…”

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to give you money based on the idea that my castle may burn down before you say it probably will.”

Ballpoint prepared to play his trump card. “But if your castle burns down without insurance, it will be a total loss!”

“If I could just pick you up on one small point there, I will, of course, have probably saved more bits than you would give me if my castle burned down simply by not taking out a policy in the first place. Remember, the premiums cost more than you would pay me.”

“I… erm…”

“And besides, if it does burn down before you say it will – and you say I can't afford that if it's not insured – how could you afford it if it were insured?”

“Well, obviously through the premiums from the clients whose houses don't burn down. They pay for your loss.”

“So if their houses burn down, and my castle doesn't, I pay for their loss.”

“Um…” Ballpoint thought hard for a convincing counter-argument. “Yes.” Darn it!

“But their houses are just as likely to burn before you say they will as mine is. Listen, you take more money from ponies than you give back to them, right?”

“Well, I mean, if we didn't-”

“I wouldn't trust you with my bits. That seems reasonable. But the point is, if it's certain that your clients as a single body will lose money, then it is probable that any specific one of them will.”

“I- I'll take your word for it.” Ballpoint could already see the weeks he was going to spend hunting for another job. Desperately, he clutched at his last remaining straw: “But if you don't pay us premiums, you probably won't hang on to the money. What if you waste it all? Then you won't have anything to cover your loss. We're offering you protection of your money.”

Twilight just laughed – a pleasant, tinkling little laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. That wasn't a good sign. “You know,” she said at last, “you're not the first pony to ask if you can take some of my bits, and I'm sure you won't be the last, but I think you're the first to offer to do it as a personal favour to me.”

Ballpoint let Twilight's words sink in. “I haven't convinced you, have I?”

“I'm afraid not. Sorry.” She seemed to mean her apology, at least.

“Oh.” Ballpoint decided to maintain his poker-face, rather than let Twilight realise he was upset.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” He never had been very good at poker-faces.

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

“This was important, wasn't it?”

Ballpoint didn't really want to talk about it – he was planning on getting upset later, somewhere where there were no other ponies, especially princesses – but surely refusing to answer a princess's question was treason? Something like that, anyway. “Well… this was my last chance. I've not been doing so well at work lately, and my boss decided to give me this assignment as a kind of trial. Promotion if I succeed, dismissal if I fail.”

“Oh… I'm sorry.” This was the first time Ballpoint had had Twilight on the back hoof, instead of the other way round – not counting the mini-seizure she had apparently had when he mentioned her books being destroyed – but he wasn't enjoying it as much as he had thought he would.

“Well, it'll be okay, I guess.”

“You know, I'm not so sure it'll be a bad thing at all,” Twilight remarked thoughtfully.

“Um… sorry? I'm losing my job, here.”

“Oh, no, I don't mean it like that, it's just… are you sure this is what you're meant to be doing with your life?”

“I'm not quite sure what you mean.”

“Let me see your cutie-mark.”

Obediently, Ballpoint stood up and turned to one side, allowing full view of his mark, a ballpoint pen leaving a trail of ink behind it.

“What does it mean?”

“It's an indication of my skill at organisation.”

Twilight didn't look convinced. “Are you quite sure?”

“Of course I'm sure… pretty sure. The pen writes the words with which I plan things.”

“How did you get it?”

“Oh, well… that was a long time ago.”

“You can't be trying to tell me you've forgotten how you got your cutie-mark. Nopony ever forgets that.”

'She genuinely seems to want to hear this story', thought Ballpoint. 'Well… here goes nothing…' “Okay, well, It was back in elementary school. I was always pretty smart – not super-clever or anything, but my grades were good, you know? Anyway, I used to help my classmates with homework. I never charged bits, or anything, so I was pretty popular, and the others used to give me presents pretty often.”

“I wish I'd thought of that…” said Twilight, a little wistfully.

“I'm sorry?”

“Oh… nothing. Go on.”

“So, there was this filly in my class, Lemon Drizzle. I guess I kind of liked her. I always used to kind of hope she'd come to me for help with her work, but she was smarter than I was, to be honest, so it never really happened. After a while I noticed she was a bit disorganised. She used to do all her homework on time, but quite often she wouldn't be able to find it. Once she spent months on her science project, then left it on a chair and sat on it. Clever but messy.”

Twilight tutted quietly.

“So, I was looking for an excuse to get close to her, so I thought I'd help out. I was always really well organised, so I offered to help her get things sorted out. She said the main problem was that her room was always so untidy, so I said I'd come round and help her put her things in order, and she said she'd like that and…” He broke off, a little uncomfortably, having just noticed that Twilight was staring out of the window, looking a little dreamy. “Twilight? I'm not boring you, am I?”

“Not a bit,” she said, a little too quickly, snapping her head round to face him.

“So anyway, I went over and helped her clear up a bit, and after that...” He broke off, his cheeks blazing red. “After that, I- I… I got my cutie mark.”

Twilight gave him an 'I'm-not-convinced' look.

“Okay… that wasn't all… I wrote her a poem. I left it on her sideboard. But that's not really relevant, is it?”

“Did you do that before or after you got your cutie mark?”

“Before, I guess.”

“Immediately before?”

“...Yeah.”

“And did it work?”

“Well, um… we dated for a bit. Well, a few years, actually. Pretty much until we left school.”

“Well, then?”

“I guess… when you put it like that…”

Twilight sighed, and gave him a sympathetic look. “I think you should probably rethink your career. At least give writing a try. It's fun. I never told anyone this, but I'm working on a novel myself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it's still pretty dreadful, and nopony knows better than I do that I have a lot to learn about writing, but someday I hope to publish. And I think you probably have a great deal of natural talent. You should try it.”

“That's not a bad idea.”

“I think you should probably go and resign before you're fired.”

“Hmm… you could be right. I didn't get where I am today by being fired.”

“What?”

“Oh… nothing.”

Twilight stared out of an upstairs window at the slowly sinking sun, a smile on her face. Today had been a productive day. She had re-organised the whole of Section E of the library, made a breakthrough in designing her brand-new book cataloguing system, and helped a young stallion figure out what he was actually born to do.

That, and she'd successfully parried yet another attempt to insure her castle. The fifth this month, if memory served. Though Applejack would probably have disapproved of her 'feign ignorance' tactics – indeed, she felt rather guilty herself – she had to admit that it certainly helped her counter-argument, and squeezed a little amusement out of what would otherwise have been a fairly dull encounter.

Then, an idea occurred to her. She dismissed it instantly, of course. It would hardly be a profitable use of time. Still, she had learned something new, so… Well, why not? Her mind made up, she crossed to the writing bureau, displaying one of her most playful smiles. As Spike was still gone, she pulled out parchment and quill, and began to write:

“Dear Princess Celestia,

Today I learned that it's easy to misunderstand exactly what you were put in Equestria to do. It might be because things are too complicated for you to figure out alone, or simply because your memories are too awkward for you to consider properly. Whatever happens, I've found that it helps to have a friend nearby to help you sort things out, and that meeting new ponies is a great opportunity to see yourself in new ways too. It's never too late for you to figure out what your real talent is.

Hoping this letter finds you well,

Your faithful ex-student and fellow princess,

Twilight Sparkle”

Author's Note

8 hours after passing moderation, this story has 20 upvotes and no downvotes. This is far more popular than anything I've ever written. I think comedy one-shots are a fanfiction stream in which I wish to swim. Follow if you want to see more!* Discord story coming soon.

If you enjoyed this, why not show The Enchanted Crossbow of Ezamandurth some love? I was quite proud of it at the time.

P.s. A bonus scone goes to anyone who can tell me whom the character Crystal Jackpot is based on.

P.p.s. This story now has a sequel! For some reason. Read it here. Oh, and that Discord story I mentioned? I wrote that, too. Here 'tis.

*I have no shame.