Domesticated Dragon

by Starscribe

Rating: everyone
Tags: Spike, Random, Twilight Sparkle, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 2037

Spike is excited to find he has a place in Ponyville other than as a personal assistant. But after being turned down, he discovers Twilight hasn't exactly been forthcoming with how ponies really see him.

Spike has lived with ponies his whole life, from the very moment he opened his eyes. After experience with his own kind, he's consistently chosen ponies over other dragons. They're his friends, his colleagues, his companions.

But Spike is getting older now, and taking notes and organizing papers isn't the way he plans on spending a dragon's lifespan. He is thrilled to discover there are plenty of ponies who appreciate his talents.

But then he gets his first rejection, and he discovers that even the ponies close to him had different ideas of his place in the world.

Written as a Patreon reward for Vilken666. Proofreading by Two Bit and Sparktail, and cover by Zutcha.

Published 2018-08-07 18:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-08-07 18:10:01 UTC

Not What He Was Expecting

“What do you mean they didn’t approve my permit?” Spike was indignant—it took all his concentration to stop from burning the rejection slip in his claws. But there was no mistaking the bright red stamp at the bottom of the page, along with Mayor Mare’s signature.

“I wish I knew,” Arclight said. “I tried to ask, but employers aren’t privileged to that kind of information. I’m afraid you won’t be able to work here at the plant without it.” The pony sounded almost as disappointed as Spike felt, and small wonder.

Ponyville’s new power plant had been built on the edge of a hill opposite Sweet Apple Acres, where none of the fumes would blow back into the town even on the windiest of days. It would bring all the electricity needed to keep the lights on and their homes heated even in the dead of winter.

The technology was clearly in its infancy, and that was just the way Spike liked it. Searing hot, with bits of metal flying through the air if there was the slightest problem. Terrible dangers to a pony, but not even enough to scratch his scales.

“I talked to Twilight right after you gave us the tour,” Spike muttered, staring down at the rejection notice again. “She seemed excited that I was getting a job of my own. How could a princess accept me, but the city mayor say no?”

Arclight only shrugged his shoulders. “You bring me a form with a green stamp on it, and we’ll take you in a heartbeat. Otherwise…” He shut the door in Spike’s face.

Spike spent the entire walk back glaring at the work permit rejection notice, willing it to explain why he wouldn’t be allowed to take his first scrap of independence. He passed Ponyville’s citizens, ignoring their greetings and waves in his stewing anger.

It didn’t make sense. He was as much a citizen of Ponyville as anypony else here. They weren’t afraid of him anymore, and all these ponies knew his name. He’d even thought the mayor liked him! So why would she say no?

It was late enough in the afternoon that they were already cleaning things up at City Hall. But Spike knew the mayor’s assistants, and so he managed to sneak a last appointment with her.

The mayor was scribbling something at her desk, churning through scrolls almost as fast as Twilight did. But with far less precision. “I’m afraid that was the last appointment for the day. You’ll have to come back—” Then she saw Spike, and her ears flattened. “Ah, Spike. Something else from the princess? What does she need this time?”

“Nothing.” Spike walked over to her desk. He would’ve been annoyed that the mayor looked at him and only saw the one he represented. But sometimes being Twilight’s assistant had perks. Like right now. He turned the note around so she could see it. “My work permit got rejected. Why?”

“Oh, that!” The mayor relaxed, sitting back in her chair. She made to grin at him, but apparently saw the angry look on his face, and became calm again. “Well, you understand the purpose of work permits, don’t you?”

He shook his head.

“Years ago, the crown was less particular about who did what. Ponies got taken advantage of—the young, the sick, that kind of thing. So we made laws to protect ponies who can’t protect themselves. Employers can’t hire—”

“Oh, I did know that.” He dropped the permit down on her desk. “But I’m not sick. And I know I look small, but I’m sixteen years old now. That’s old enough to work. For… twenty hours a week, I think.”

A pained expression crossed the mayor’s face. “Yes, but…” She cleared her throat. “It’s probably not my place to tell you this. You should ask Twilight.”

“Twilight didn’t reject my work permit,” Spike said. He didn’t growl, didn’t expose his fangs or anything like that. He wasn’t trying to be intimidating. But he could see the mayor scoot her chair just that much further from him. “You did. I tried to ask your assistant, but she said I didn’t fill anything out wrong. Said I had to ask you.”

“Yes.” The mayor straightened. “Well, it’s not just young ponies who can’t work. It’s that you’ve got to be a resident, spike. And you’re…” She rose, moving past him. Ponyville was small enough that its records room could fit in her office. She opened a drawer marked “Residency,” pulled it back, and drew out a file. Instead of an address, the words “CRYSTAL CASTLE” were marked on the top.

The mayor set it down on her desk. “Well, see for yourself. Your residency records.”

Spike opened the file. There were only two pages inside, not three. He ignored Starlight’s page entirely and took out Twilight’s. A few notes about her, public tax stuff mostly. He turned it over. “I’m not in here.”

“Yes you are,” the mayor said, sounding very much like she wanted to run away. “Back of the page, down near the bottom.”

Spike looked. His name was there, all right. Under “Pets.”

Spike(16)—Wyrmling dragon, purple and green scales, breed unknown.

“It was the only way to let you live here,” the mayor finished, voice very small. “Equestrian law is… old, and slow-moving. We didn’t have anything in place for citizens with less than four legs. Twilight and I, improvised for you. And pets can’t work. You’re not like a cow, who can know what she’s doing, get paid for her time. Well you are, but pets aren’t, and…” She scooped up the file, tucking it away so fast Spike expected it to blur in the air. “I’m terribly sorry. I know this isn’t the answer you want to hear.”

Spike hardly even heard her. He picked up his rejection slip, and turned his tail on the mayor. Maybe he would’ve had to put up with this a few years ago, but not anymore.

“I can’t just change the law, Spike,” Twilight said, staring down in concentration at the castle’s supernatural map. There were new cutie marks blinking in it, the sign of some new adventure to come, but Spike didn’t care. It wasn’t like he had a mark—he wasn’t even a person so far as Ponyville was concerned.

When it had been a choice of siding with his own kind, he’d chosen his pony friends instead. Twilight had shown her loyalty in return by calling him a pet.

“You owe me this, Twilight,” he said, setting the rejection slip on the table in front of her. “How long have I been helping you? How long have I been living here? But I might as well be Owlicious for all that Ponyville cares.

“It’s just bureaucracy,” Twilight said, finally looking away from the map, down at the rejection slip. “I’ve been dealing with problems like this for a long time. A law gets made, and it makes sense for most ponies. If it doesn’t for you, it’s way easier to go around than it is to go straight through. Find a way to make the law work for you. That’s all I did. I did look into a few other things—like a foreign diplomat, those can be any creature. But you didn’t actually represent anywhere, and you were just a kid when we got here. You could’ve been a prisoner of war, but we haven’t been at war for so long that nopony could tell me how to file for that.”

“That’s why you change the law,” Spike argued. “Equestria isn’t alone the way it used to be. We’ve made contact with dragons, hippogriffs, changelings, yakks… befriending every creature. Sooner or later some of them are going to want to move here, right? If Ember wanted to stay in Ponyville for a few weeks, would you register her as your pet too?”

“Well she’d be a dip—” Twilight trailed off. Maybe she could feel the heat of his glare, singeing the edges of the rejected work permit. “I’d love to change it, Spike. I would. But princesses don’t make the laws, we just ratify them. And it isn’t we, it’s Celestia and Luna. Cadance for the Crystal Empire. I even pay taxes, just like anypony else in Ponyville.”

“I don’t care how you fix it,” Spike growled, folding his arms. “But if I can’t get a job, then obviously I can’t be your assistant either.” He took a step back, glowering at everything. “I’m not helping anymore, not until you fix it.”

Twilight sighed, rose from her throne, and tried to pull him into a winged hug. But Spike shoved her away. He could feel the tears streaking his cheeks.

“I’ll… you’re right.” Twilight Sparkle lifted the rejection slip into her magic, then turned to go. “I’ll get you that job. Somehow.” Then she left.

Spike watched her go, alone beside his tiny stone chair. The map’s magic had recognized him, even though it wasn’t alive. Could ponies do the same?

Spike walked into work for the first time only a few days later. He adjusted his brand new “Department of Water and Power” cap with one claw, feeling the satisfying snugness against his scales. Twilight had spent the better part of the last two days at city hall—and true to his word, Spike hadn’t gone to help her. That meant he didn’t know what she’d done.

“Good to see you, Spike,” Arclight said, holding out a sturdy-looking belt with several tools on it. It even looked like it was in his size. “I hope you’re ready for this, because there’s a problem in one of the turbines, and I was hoping to send you in.”

“Sure thing!” Spike took the belt, adjusting the straps until they were tight against his belly. He didn’t even recognize most of the tools hanging from it, but that didn’t matter. They were his tools, and he was going to do something useful that didn’t have anything to do with being a princess’s pet. “I guess Twilight took care of everything. She said she would.”

Arclight looked a little uncomfortable, but he nodded all the same. “She sure did. Princess sure had a way with words, that’s for sure. But what matters right now is if you’ve got a way with electricity.”

“I have no idea,” Spike said honestly, patting one of the tools hanging from his belt. Some kind of spool wrapped in wire. “But I’ll find out for you.”

He worked for his whole shift, proving over and over again just how useful it could be to have a dragon for a job like this. He didn’t really understand what was going on yet—and there would be a lot of reading to take home to make sense of the electrical principles at work. But none of that mattered. Ponyville would have power for one more day because they had a technician like Spike working at the power plant.

Twilight never told him what she’d done, and Spike didn’t ask. But he found out anyway, about a week into working for the power plant. A new placard had appeared in the employee lounge, one he knew hadn’t been there during his first tour.

Spike made his way over, then hopped up on a chair so he could get a good look at what it said.

Grooming and Daycare License proclaimed the certification, with signatures from Twilight and Mayor Mare. Dated to the day before he’d started working.

Arclight was suddenly standing behind him—not that surprising, considering everyone at the plant had lunch at the same time. He followed Spike’s eyes, then nodded. “Your princess sure does have an interesting way of doing things.” He lifted a little pouch out of a pocket, settling it in one of Spike’s claws. “Speaking of which, I’m not actually allowed to call these gems your ‘paycheck.’” He winked meaningfully at him. “But I won’t tell the mayor if you won’t.”

Spike considered the bag for a long time. Then he twisted it opened, reached inside, and popped a sapphire into his mouth. It sure tasted like a paycheck. “Fine with me.”