Kiss A Bearer For A Bit

by Estee

Rating: teen
Tags: Mayor Mare, Main 6, Spike, Comedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 15905

The mayor wants the Bearers to operate kissing booths at the town's street fair. The Bearers would prefer to do pretty much anything else.

It's a simple request, really. Can't they do just a little more for Ponyville, especially when they consider all the things they've done to Ponyville and how this might help to pay for some of the damages? It's just spending a few hours at the town's street fair, being among the population, making themselves freely accessible --

-- well, not freely. After all, the kisses have to cost something, or how is the money being raised?

Kiss A Bearer For A Bit.
Arrive early. There might be a line.

Now with author Patreon, SubscribeStar, and Ko-Fi pages.

Published 2019-08-31 00:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-08-31 00:00:01 UTC

Just Be Glad This Wasn't A Mature Story

The end of a presentation, even one as so brief as that which had just concluded, was the ideal moment for judging the effect it had created within the audience. It was something Marigold Mare knew on the soul-deep level of her mark. And so Ponyville's mayor looked at the six mares who occupied Town Hall's wood-paneled conference room, and carefully evaluated what she was seeing.

The designer's entire body had gone rigid: something which had reached the point where it was possible to determine exactly where every major blood vessel was by the way the fur over them vibrated. By contrast, the caretaker's shapely form was slumped against the wall, with hurried breaths indicating a last-ditch effort to stave off a faint. The librarian, who'd been in the center of the room, had found no such support and so had chosen to express herself through a full-body collapse onto the floor: the farmer countered that through slamming that muscular form onto the nearest bench, and the wood now needed to be checked for cracks. The town's weather coordinator was still hovering, but there was far too much bobbing in her position, something created by a sudden uncertainly within the flaps -- a factor which vanished at the moment she realized anypony was looking at it. And the baker was blinking. A lot.

"One would think," Mayor Mare slowly said, "I had just ordered you to save the nation from night eternal. Except that, based on both previous indications and results, that particular act was something you all wanted to do. I am simply requesting that you --"

"-- kissing booths?" It was a hiss. The designer was rather good at hissing her words, and had presumably picked up a few advanced tips from reptilian company. "You wish us to each operate a kissing booth at Fall Fair Day?"

"I believe that was the essence of my request," the mayor dryly replied. "Thank you for the succinct summary, Ms. Belle. Now I do understand that some of you have limited hours available on that day: I am not asking Ms. Sparkle to pull herself away from the library's book club morning signup booth, and of course the Cakes will require Ms. Pie's services for a time. But the rest of the Apple family can sell pies, the Boutique closes on that day regardless so as to keep fried fair food from reaching its contents --"

"-- we just got back from the mission!" the baker protested. "We thought being summoned to Town Hall at night meant something big!"

"I simply saw the need to update you on anything you might have missed," Marigold politely offered. "Like the last town meeting. Of course, having a mission is a perfectly understandable excuse for not having attended. Unlike most of the reasons given for previous absences, which to my recollection included 'I have shelving to do', 'Are y'kiddin' me?', and 'That's just boring!' But the last town meeting was where the attendees discussed the Fair with me. I asked them what they most wished for as a new attraction, and they gave their vote to the attractive. Now: as with the rest of our street fair, each booth may cease its operation once Sun is fully lowered --"

"-- the vote," the farmer starkly interrupted.

"Yes."

"They voted on it."

"Just about unanimously," the still-impressed politician declared.

"An' who brought this up for a vote?"

"I fail to see why that would be important," stated the mare who had both carefully tucked away that portion of the meeting's minutes and blurred the ink over her own name. "It's enough to know that the town voted, and so I have been advertising the booths accordingly for the last three days --"

A blur of orange, and then a powerful foreleg slammed into the floor.

" -- you've what now?"

Marigold ignored it. "The town is expecting you to be in attendance. You wouldn't wish to make me a liar, would you?"

"There's a lot of things Ah'd like to make you," the farmer tightly replied. "The next election can start the list with 'unemployed.'"

"It is my duty," the mayor countered, "to tally, relay, and occasionally enforce the will of my constituents. In this case, Ms. Malus, the populace wishes to see you all in kissing booths. Most mares would be flattered by the attention."

This time, the hind legs blurred. (Marigold made a mental note to replace that particular wall panel.) "We ain't most mares."

"Clearly."

"Kissing booths," the librarian shakily said. "You've been advertising..."

"In anticipation of your cooperation," Marigold nodded. "After a second round of voting, the chosen phrase was Kiss A Bearer For A Bit. Burma suggested it. Have you met Burma? She works for Mr. Rich as his advertising specialist. We were lucky to have her in attendance that night: a professional suggesting something with a pleasant rhythm, which is easy to remember. I've already caught a few members of my staff trying to hum it."

"A bit?" The designer's volume stopped exactly one decibel short of full scream, and the tail was lashing quickly enough to straighten the curls. "A single bit? That is all you feel our time, our kisses are worth? The sheer level of insult --"

"-- there was an agreement to keep the pricing accessible," the mayor smoothly cut in. "And of course, all the proceeds go to charity."

"...charity," the still-reeling caretaker tried. "Which charity?"

It was what Marigold had been waiting for, and the politician let the fourth horseshoe drop into the growing babble of confusion and outrage.

"The Ponyville Post-Bearer Restoration Fund."

And it shut them up.

"Admittedly, we do get disaster relief," Marigold added. "In fact, we currently receive more of that aid than any other place on the continent. I don't suppose any of you happen to have a proposal as to why -- well, at any rate, the Fund is meant to cover the gap between whatever happens to visit you next, or something one of you might start, now why am I thinking about old rag dolls -- oh, just me being silly in my later years, I suppose. At any rate, it is for the time between when I once again fill out disaster relief forms and the moment the palace responds. Which is fairly quick, but there is something of a gap. The bits from the kissing booths might help to fill it. And should the government bring that response time down to nothing, we could just use the money for something needful. Like the printing of more disaster relief forms."

The weather coordinator abruptly landed.

"Your presence brings a lot to this town," the mayor told them. "And yes, I am aware that the statement can be interpreted in multiple ways. Suffice it to say that I meant every. last. one. of. them. You all bring a lot to Ponyville. But your presence carries a certain cost. And so I am asking you to give something back."

She made a stately turn, and steadily trotted towards the door.

"Think it over," Marigold told the silent sextet, and kicked it shut behind her.

The subject seemed to require some discussion, and that was what kept them in the room for a while. Looking at each other, waiting to see who would be the first to start -- after a few quick miniature shield spells had blocked the opening to every speaking and message tube. Town Hall was riddled with quick means of communication, and it also gave anypony on the other end multiple means for eavesdropping.

"I believe we need to take a vote," Rarity proposed through a virtually-locked jaw. "As to whether we are participating. As opposed to those who might reasonably see the event as an opportunity to prove a point. So who wishes to -- "

"I'm going to do it. All the way through. No tricks."

And then they were all staring at Twilight.

"Because she's right," the librarian reluctantly continued. "We should give something back. I don't mind doing -- okay, I do, a little. But that's because I haven't kissed very many ponies. Hardly any, when it isn't family."

"Yeah, well, ask me about kissing!" Rainbow instantly declared as she took off again: the hover needed an unusual extra moment to stabilize. "If you need any hints! Because I've kissed lots of ponies! Lots and lots! You know about Spin The Horseshoe? Five Minutes In The Wonderbolts Stable? Because I do! I've kissed so many ponies, I can't even count them all! Kiss after kiss after --"

"-- so I'm willing," Twilight managed to finish. "Even if my kisses won't be very good. Which probably means there won't be very many ponies in my line, at least after everypony figures that out." Her ears drooped somewhat, quickly followed by her tail. "Not there's going to be many to start with either. But I'll try." Dismally, "It can't be worse than pressing hooves for hours, right?"

There was a long silence.

"...you're kidding," Fluttershy softly tried. "...you are kidding, aren't you?"

"About what?"

"...about not having many ponies wanting to kiss you."

"I'm small," the librarian quietly said. "And thin, too thin. Maybe there's a few ponies who might like that, but I'm small and thin and I don't do much with my mane other than brush it and I'm... well, it's for charity. So that means it wouldn't be pity kissing. Much."

Five mares, each of whom had spent some portion of the last few years in failing to deal with both Twilight's self-esteem issues and her total obliviousness in the presence of any true attraction, slowly moved their respective gazes across the little body.

"Without once again fully entering the topic of your appearance," Rarity carefully began, "I feel you might be dismissing a recently-added factor."

"Like what?" Twilight dismally asked.

With a degree of open disbelief, "You are an alicorn."

"So?"

Pinkie took over from there, because they already knew it was a hopeless cause and so the best thing to do was give it to somepony who would keep going anyway. "Do you know what they say about alicorn kisses?"

"No," answered the mare whose fillyhood reading had taken an early tilt towards formulae (and whose adult pursuits instinctively avoided anything featuring Mysterious Romance-Seeking New Alicorns Who Were Previously Unknown To The World, because that was so obviously stupid). "I don't."

They were all staring at her.

"Are alicorns supposed to be really bad kissers?" Twilight hopefully tried. "Because then maybe ponies would understand."

"Ponies say a lot of things about alicorn kisses," Pinkie didn't quite answer, because even she could only push a hopeless cause so far. "I think it's one of those scrolls you get to write after it happens. Or finishes happening. Because you wouldn't believe us, experience is the only way you'll learn, and that usually means a scroll. If you want to write that kind of scroll. I mean, I guess you could just write it yourself and roll it up so Spike can't read any of it. And maybe you could seal it so tightly that the Princess could never open it. But you should probably write it down. And then set it on fire. Except not Spike-fire. Fire-fire. A lot of it."

Four other mares shuddered. Twilight merely blinked.

"I don't get it."

"I know," Pinkie sighed. "But I think you will. After a while. Anyway, I'm going to do it. I don't mind, really! But I just won't have that much time, because it's like she said: the Cakes need me to work their booth for a while. And kissing our customers might help, but it gets really awkward because sometimes, I have a mouth guard on. So I don't get spit on the bread. And kissing with a mouth guard and a piece of bread sticking out gets really really awkward." Thoughtfully, "It's probably worse if I have to make change. So I'll only have a little while, but -- I'll try. And I promise to take it seriously."

"...really?" Fluttershy asked.

"Kissing can be really serious for a lot of ponies," Pinkie definitively stated. "Kissing can lead to serious things. So it's serious business. Paid business, for one bit per kiss! You wouldn't sell somepony a cookie in a flavor they hated, so why would you let them pay for a bad kiss?" She slowly nodded to herself. "So serious kissing. Because it's just that important. How about everypony else? Rarity, are you going to --"

"No," the designer darkly stated. "I recognize this is for charity, and I understand the reasoning. But I can donate my own bits, and may do so according to the number of ponies I see in my line. But when it comes to the action which was supposed to collect them -- no. The mayor will find that my affections are not sold so cheaply." Muttering now, "A bit. A singular bit..."

"But there's going to be booths for all of us! And if you don't show up at all --"

"-- I shall attend," Rarity cut in, and the sharp words sliced down the conversation's hem line. "For the full duration, because the mayor knows the Boutique was scheduled to be closed. Whatever booth she has made for me, I will operate it. But I will do so to my standards, under my rules."

"But you heard her! Kiss A Bearer For A Bit! We can't change that!"

"That I am not permitted to change a poor design," the unicorn half-smiled, "does not mean I am not permitted to make a simple -- alteration."

Pink curls shifted, tilted, and finally bounced in abject confusion. "Huh?"

"You will see," Rarity told them. "Everypony will, after the fact. For my own part, I prefer to keep this plan close to the cinch."

"...I..." Fluttershy took a deep breath. "...I have an idea. Because just kissing ponies, kissing on somepony else's directions... no. It's too much like going through Photo Finish all over again. I could try to donate a few bits, to make up for what I'm not doing. But I don't want to talk about my idea either. I have to talk to someone else first anyway."

"Fluttershy," Twilight carefully began, "you could always just fake an emergency. You get the most of those anyway, with ponies bringing you sick pets. Just tell the mayor there was a dog or --" which was when she realized she was proposing that a problem be solved with a lie, and guiltily glanced at Applejack.

"Twi?"

"Sorry --"

"-- did y'hear that total lack of words from me back there?"

"Um..."

"'cause that was the sound of me not arguin'. Fluttershy, if'fin y'need help with that, Ah could schedule somethin' for Winona. Ain't no need t' say why. Then you'd have a real thing t' do, if anypony checked on you."

"...I'll be okay," the caretaker smiled. "I promise, everypony. I can deal with this. Please trust me a little. Okay?"

The group's rather reluctant agreement was followed by something which, in instant retrospect, had been completely expected. "Applejack? You wanna make a contest out of this? Longest line, most ponies kissed, total bits? We could kick in how many times the same ponies come back in case we need some tiebreakers --"

Strictly speaking, "Naw," shouldn't have been a definitive statement, but that was how it emerged.

Rainbow snorted. "Because you know you're gonna lose --"

"-- 'cause Ah don't care enough t' play," the farmer shot back. "Got a cousin in the escort business, did Ah ever tell y'that? Legal an' licensed: had t' take classes for it an' everythin'. Pink Lady puts herself out there every night, helpin' the ones who jus' need some company, an' y'know what? Ah respect that. She makes ponies happy, an' that ain't the worst way t' spend your life. Ah respect her, an' Ah love her. But that's her life, not mine. Ah'll take mah booth, comes t' that. Donate some of mah Fair income. But Ah sell apples. Ah don't sell Applejack. An' Ah think Ah know how t' remind everypony 'bout that. So go ahead an' play by yourself, Rainbow. You're winnin' by forfeit."

Rather huffily (because there was no fun in thoroughly trouncing somepony who hadn't even shown up), "I'm still doing it."

"Ah figured."

"All sorts of ponies want to kiss me. The best ponies."

With a distinct air of boredom, "If'fin y'say so."

"I have the best kisses."

"Which y'learned from Spin The Horsehoe."

"No! Which I invented!"

"Didn't even know pegasi used shoes," Applejack muttered. "Sensitive as y'keep sayin' your hooves are."

There was a moment of silence.

"We just spin them."

"Whatever," Applejack waved a dismissive foreleg. "So Ah'm countin' it as three in, three doing their best t' get out." Powerful muscles began to push the farmer towards the exit. "So unless somepony's changin' their vote?"

"Wait." The group focused on Pinkie's slight frown. "We're forgetting something!"

"Such as?" Rarity asked. "Everypony has been heard from."

"Yeah, everypony!" Pinkie pointed out. "What about Spike? I know the mayor didn't ask him to come in with us, but he's really one of us, he always has been and it's not fair that he gets left out! Maybe he wouldn't want to be in a kissing booth, but we should at least ask, right? Give him the chance to decide for --"

"-- Spike," Twilight tightly broke in, "will be in Canterlot on Fair Day. All day. Maybe starting the night before. I have some things he has to do."

The frown deepened. "Like what?"

"I'll let you know after I think of them."

"Twilight, that's not fair --"

"He is," Rarity patiently stated, "a minor."

"So he'll only kiss other kids --"

The unicorns (current and former) exchanged a very long look, and continued to do so until the net trade gain in uncomfortable silence reached thirty percent.

"Pinkie," Rarity slowly tried, "Twilight and I have something in common."

"We've both kissed Spike," Twilight briefly took over. "I kiss him because he's my little brother, and it would be weird not to kiss him good night after I tuck him in."

"And sometimes," Rarity added, "I give a little peck on the forehead. As a reward for a job well-done."

"And?" Pinkie demanded.

"...it's like kissing a saddlebag," Twilight slowly said.

"Which has been made," Rarity reluctantly kicked in, "from dried alligator skin."

"With coals inside," Twilight helplessly finished. "Not burning ones. The kind of coals you get when you were roasting peppers outside in the summer and you think the grill's cooled off enough to clean, so you try to dump it out and all the grass starts to turn brown..."

There were four mares staring at them now.

"It's an acquired taste," Rarity sighed. "In the sense that somewhere in the world, there may be an entity willing to acquire it. You said starting from the night before?"

"I think we'd better," Twilight groaned. "And if the palace won't host him..."

"I'll pay for the hotel." The designer looked around the room. "Then we are officially deadlocked?"

Everypony nodded.

"Well, then." The world's thinnest smile slowly crept across white fur. "To each their own. And for their own predetermined value of victory -- may every mare win."

When it came to Fair Day, the weather schedule was always the same: lightly cloudy, seasonal warmth with a light breeze from the west. Fair Day weather was a tradition and with Rainbow fully committed to her booth, the best means of sabotaging that had been eliminated from contention.

So the day dawned clear, because the weather team had made sure of it. It dawned without monsters or missions, thus proving that for groups of six or less, the power of mass prayer didn't mean much. Sun was raised on time, and the first rays illuminated vendors who were already halfway through their setups. Many of the town's stores stepped outside on Fair Day, using the opportunity to sell off old products, introduce new ones, and pass out giveaway items because there was a certain type of pony who would wander the streets endlessly if it meant finding just one more ultra-cheap empty feedbag which had a shop's poorly-screened name running off the side. (They would never use it again after Fair Day, the next trash collection would gather hundreds of the things to go with the miniature notepads which nopony ever wrote in, but they were traditional.)

Town Hall had designed, assembled, and distributed the kissing booths. There was a certain group of intentions behind that: to make sure it got done, to have some control over the how, and -- this was the most important thing -- to create some distance between their occupants through also designating the space assignments. For in many ways, the Bearers could be treated as a mobile earthquake: a single mare could easily create a tremor rated at 5 on the Goodboy Scale (named after its creator, who had been both the most science-minded Diamond Dog to ever live and a canine so respected that nopony had ever been able to tell him), but putting two together brought that to 6, the complete set was generally good for a 10 and in all cases, the results were logarithmic.

(There was almost no chance of the day passing without seeing at least one visit another. But in terms of dealing with any possible explosions, the nitro and glycerin had initially been stored separately.)

It was a street fair, and that meant many things. Ponies wandered through neighborhoods which had been turned into miniature marketplaces. The air was thick with the smell of fried food (along with food which should never be fried, and the spinach stand would eventually be caught up in the world's least suspicious fire) and because it was a street fair, this eventually reached the point where the atmosphere became roughly 3% grease. Shoppers fawned over the contents of booths, claimed they just had to go get some extra bits before purchasing, and disappeared forever. There were four dyed-wool sellers within eighty body lengths of each other, because it was a street fair and no matter what anypony did, dyed-wool sellers just showed up.

And in this case, there were kissing booths. Six of them.

There had almost been more. The event had been advertised, word had spread, and the run-up time between announcement and Fair had been enough for many of the town's mares to become somewhat huffy. Several had approached Town Hall to demand space for their own booths, because why should the Bearers have a monopoly on kisses? Likewise, a few of Ponyville's teens and tweens had perceived an opportunity to jump-start their social lives, and the town's self-assigned moral guardians had done their usual hoof-and-furious-shuffle regarding Public Displays Of Affection. Ultimately, all had been denied, with the moral guardians angrily renewing their vows to create a world where all clothing was forever forbidden because to conceal any part of the body from sight for so much as a second was nothing more than an attempt to create arousal.

There hadn't been enough time for the word to spread very far. Marigold had kept the advertising in Ponyville, and that meant the Canterlot traffic was fairly scant: most of it had been lured in by Ponyville commuters gossiping to their coworkers. But everypony knew what was going on, and for those who had dreams, Ideas, or simply wanted to see what would happen next, there were booths. Six of them.

Plans were made based on those booths. Some tried to estimate the probable lengths of the lines. At least three announced their open intentions to collect a complete set of kisses, although nopony was sure how that was supposed to be certified. A few had simply gone to the assigned spaces on the night before the Fair and pitched tents. Because something was going to happen, some of that might involve kissing, and the only way to see what it would be was...

Ponies loved street theater: it was why so many stayed in Ponyville, why more arrived with every passing moon. And they did so without ever fully understanding that any attendee risked becoming part of the show.

It took less than a second for Rainbow (who was surveying from overhead, counting the heartbeats until greatness began) to decide that her line was the longest, and it would require four days of progressively chipping away at the delusion before anypony would be able to instill the slightest portion of doubt. Rainbow had a distinct tendency to overestimate crowd size, with the dismaying exception of any incoming crash which wound up going into what she would later swear had actually been empty seats.

Not that there weren't ponies waiting for her, because of course there were. She was sleek. She was streamlined. She was a mare you wouldn't be lucky to have, because no amount of mere luck was enough to cover it. Rainbow represented the peak, the mare ideal, and that meant those with common sense, the ones who would finally get to indulge in that most natural of dreams, were going to line up accordingly. But it was fine for ponies to have other interests, because there was only one of her to go around...

In terms of her own interests, the most fair way to describe Rainbow was "reciprosexual." She generally didn't care what anypony was into as long as it was her.

"All right!" she cheered, calling everypony's attention to the best place it could ever be. "I just wanna welcome the ponies with the best taste on the continent!" This triggered a few expected cheers from below, which her mind immediately edited into a fully-screaming throng before falsely filing the results under Memory. "So it's just about time to get this started! Everypony got their bits?"

A number of coronas levitated gold into view. More coins glinted between teeth, and one talented specimen was flipping hers off the end of her snout and catching it again, over and over. Rainbow liked that. Displays of physical dexterity tended to draw her interest, and when it came to the activities of the day...

She grinned to herself, then swooped across most of the remaining distance. (The fact that enough ponies scrambled out of the potential crash zone as to effectively resort part of the line was also filed away, this time into an overstuffed drawer with a peeling label reading That Never Happened.) A quick flare of her wings and adjustment into a dual scoop formation caught enough air for the last portion of descent.

"Okay!" Rainbow declared as she landed in her booth, because it was better than okay. Sure, being a Wonderbolt meant that once you got out of the training stage and made it to the actual shows, there was a chance at conventions. Going to a convention (as the guest of honor, and Rainbow was waiting to find out just how good a hotel that entitled her to, along with the glory that was free food) meant having ponies line up for her autograph. She'd been practicing for that since primary school, and was certain she'd reached the point where her mouthwriting was uniquely illegible. There was no way she wasn't going to be at conventions as a performing Wonderbolt, and then as a retired one because once you were retired and could go on the signing circuit full-time, the money would just keep coming.

But this wasn't ponies lined up for her signature. They were there for her. Nosing over money for a single moment of contact with her, and the fact that the fee was but a single bit didn't matter because the stupid mayor had set it. Rainbow knew (on that level of knowledge which equaled 'had successfully lied herself into believing') that if she'd created her own price scale, she could have gotten away with something which made cherries look cheap.

Ponies were lined up to kiss her. Paying to kiss her. And yes, some of them were probably ponies she wasn't particularly interested in kissing, because the only thing keeping Caramel out of the early line (and she'd checked) was Bon-Bon having told him to operate the candy stall for a while and as soon as he got out of that, he would wait his turn. She was expecting him to wait his turn at least three times. But at least it meant he had taste, just like everypony else who'd been waiting for her.

"Come on!" she cheered. "Who's first?" This turned out to be a pleasantly-built young unicorn mare, somepony who'd probably just barely graduated from secondary school, who had a hot red blush underlighting silky brown fur as she approached the booth's bit-receiving plank.

Flickering yellow light deposited the coin onto the wood. And when it came to coronas, Rainbow understood what flickering meant: the mare was nervous, a little uncertain, and that shakiness had manifested in her magic. She was being shy.

Of course she was a little shy. Who wouldn't be, in the presence of greatness?

"So what's your name?" She hadn't planned on asking every unfamiliar pony that question (and was on track to forget most of the answers), but you couldn't not reward somepony who was first. That was what being first was about.

"Femto," the cute unicorn half-whispered.

"Let's hear it for Femto!" Portions of the crowd cooperated. "Who's about to get my first kiss --" and then, before cold realization could soak into anypony else's brain "-- of the Fair! Not my first kiss. First-first. It's not like I haven't kissed ponies before this. I could tell you stories! And I should be the one telling them, because if anypony tries to tell you the one about the clapper in the bell tower, they are lying -- anyway, first kiss of the Fair!" And was certain she'd convinced everypony. "So here we go! Ready, Femto?"

"...yes."

So with everypony watching, Rainbow kissed her. And then they just kept watching.

It could be described as a kiss. Lips were involved. It was possible to measure the duration of the contact: initially, this might have been done with a stopwatch, but day planners were permitted and despite the amount of subjective time consumed by the audience, calendars were probably taking it too far.

Ground-level ponies often scrambled when they saw Rainbow in the air, because there was always that anticipation. Rainbow treated so much of her life as a stunt. Impress the audience (and there was always an audience). Leave them with something they would remember. And commit everything you had, one hundred percent of the time.

Rainbow treated so much of her life as a stunt and so it could be said that in one sense, the conclusion had been entirely expected.

Several dozen ponies (and Rainbow's mind was now quickly-if-very-temporarily editing that number down) stared at the results.

"Everypony back up!" a strident stallion voice called out. "Give her some room to breathe!"

Most of the crowd complied. Rainbow was still frozen in position, neck stretched out over the plank.

"Is anypony a doctor?" that same stallion tried. "We need --"

"-- will I do?" White fur pushed its way through the group, and Rainbow got the briefest glimpse of a cross mark before Redheart dropped down next to Femto's fallen (or crashed) form, carefully pressing an ankle to the back of the right ear: the other foreleg was being used to measure how much the young unicorn's breath was ruffling that pale coat.

"It's just a faint," Redheart quickly announced. "Lack of oxygen. She'll be all right in a few minutes."

Multiple ponies exhaled.

"And it's no wonder," the mare darkly added as those blue eyes glared up at Rainbow. "Anypony would have fainted after that kiss."

Rainbow's jaw unlocked.

"Hey! Look, it's not my fault if I'm just that good! If kissing me is so great that ponies are gonna --"

But ponies were backing up now.
Ponies were -- leaving the line.
Ponies were going away...

"-- who the buck told you," Redheart snarled, "that your lips were supposed to go over her snout?"

It was fairly common to see a mare's tail first, and Ponyville's pegasus population ensured that some of those views would come at a higher level. It was slightly unusual for that initial lofted sighting to focus on a unicorn who was moving across the ground, but Rarity was just holding her tail that high. It was still nowhere near the elevation which had been achieved by her snout.

"Very well," she sniffed (because snorts generally wasn't used by ladies, at least not in public), moving past a line which had yet to have its presence visually acknowledged. "If you would all permit me a moment...?"

She continued to trot past those who were waiting for her, close enough that her full saddlebags were brushing against all of them. The contact was something other than accidental: Rarity, despite all of her open disdain for the gathering, was using the little bumps to make an exacting count of that line. The fact that she had no interest in allowing the mayor to get her way didn't mean she wasn't curious to see how many ponies were interested.

But she was -- particular. 'Fussy' was how far too many ponies put it, but Rarity preferred to see it as Choosy. She had Standards. And she also had a Plan.

"Yes, yes," she declared in open boredom as she approached what she considered to be a rather tasteless booth: basic (and poorly-painted) white, with her icon of her mark repeated so many times as to make it seem that the wood had broken out in a faceted rash. "A moment, please. There is a certain adjustment required before we can begin. Something of an addendum, if you will..."

Her horn ignited, and soft blue opened the right saddlebag. It was a sight which made a number of ponies draw back, because the designer appeared to be something less than happy, those saddlebags were full, and...

It wasn't a question of magical strength, for Rarity was strictly average there. There were very few concerns about devastating offensive spells, because a good part of Ponyville had realized the designer didn't know any. What made nearly everypony in the line abruptly draw back was simply the fact that a mare with full saddlebags, who didn't seem to be entirely pleased with her current lot in life, had frequently been seen keeping several hundred small items in the air simultaneously and owned what might be the world's most comprehensive collection of sewing needles.

But what emerged was simply a small inkwell, followed by a single quill. The latter was dipped into the now-unstoppered bottle, was then levitated towards the sign -- and from that point on, the unicorn's head blocked all sight of what was being done.

It was only a few seconds, and then she moved away. Unaided pony eyesight was just barely capable of picking out a thin blue twisting line of ink underneath the main text, which still read Kiss A Bearer For A Bit.

Those who didn't truly know the designer simply considered that a mare known for her attention to appearances might have simply decided to decorate a little. Others were too lost in dreams of just what embodying a virtue within an act might mean when that virtue was Generosity and initiation of the act cost but a single bit. However, the few who had experience could be spotted immediately.

"Why are you getting out of line? She's about to start --"

It was barely a whisper. "-- run."

Generosity calmly stepped into her booth.

"But it's Rarity! You got in line right after me, so that means you've been waiting for nearly --"

The white mare's posture shifted into one of total relaxation.

"-- run."

"So shall we begin?" Rarity suggested. "There are a good number of you, and I will try to maintain a suitable pace." It was the first time she'd allowed herself to be caught looking at the line. "Mr. Breezy, it would seem the initial honor is yours. Step forward, please?"

The fan shop owner grinned. "Aye, lassie," declared the only accent in Ponyville which was considered to be more faked than her own as its owner trotted forward. "Sure an' I've been waitin' for this! But dinna worry: I'll do my best to leave something for me lessers --"

"-- stop."

It had been a rather calm word. Every component letter displayed a complete lack of edge. It was, in all ways, a fully normal part of speech, and so it merely made all four of Mr. Breezy's legs lock up.

Hesitantly, "Something wrong, lassie?" Because she was looking at him or rather, looking. Up and down, back to front, the oddly cold blue gaze stopping here and there...

"Your chapeau," Rarity said as her ears lightly arced towards it. "I believe that style of hat is known as a scally, correct? Or a flat cap. Some call it a cheese-cutter, although I have never understood why. And when it comes to the reason for making trumpet noises when declaring that name, I hope to be forever lost in mystery. But we can call it a scally, can't we, Mr. Breezy?"

"...yeah," decided the utterly confused stallion. "If it matters to you. Did you want me to take it off first? Because I truly understand about removing a hat in the presence of a lady --"

"-- unless," the designer interrupted, "we choose to call it by its most accurate description. That of mistake."

There was a murmur traveling down the line now. It was possible to watch the sound move through the way it ruffled fur, along with spotting the vibrations which dislodged those few ponies who had been just slightly slower on the uptake.

"Beg your pardon?" asked the stallion who would soon be begging for so much more.

"It has no true shape," Rarity calmly told him. "It collapses across your head in a slovenly mass, something which suggests an equal lack of regard for whatever might lie beneath. It does not flatter your skull, Mr. Breezy: it distorts. And when it comes to the colors of your chosen attire? Red, green, and a yellow so pale as to leave behind the realm of deliberate dye and enter that of stain. Those are not your ideal hues and on behalf of my entire profession, I apologize for the existence of the pony whose misinformation dictated your wardrobe. Unless, of course, that personage happened to be yourself, unassisted -- in which case, I am truly thankful that you were the first to reach me, because this is going to require a fair amount of time. But --" and that gaze was moving again "-- the issue with fit extends to more than your cap! So perhaps we should begin to tackle your myriad of problems from a different direction."

Soft blue opened the right saddlebag. A thin white roll floated out, unfurling into a black-marked strip along the way.

"However, the measurements must be exacting, and so nothing can be in the way. So if you would...?"

He was staring at her.

Rarity sighed, and translated for the laypony. "Strip, please."

"...lassie?"

"Yes?"

"What are ye doing?"

"Fulfilling the terms of my sign." (Which was when a few of those who had been later to the punchline ran for it.) "And now that I think about it, I have yet to receive your bit. Simply place it on the plank before you disrobe --"

"-- your sign," the stallion desperately protested, "says a kiss --"

The left saddlebag opened, and an oddly-shaped piece of glass floated forth until it came to a stop in front of the thin blue line.

Mr. Breezy looked at the magnifier. Then through it. Squinting quickly got involved.

"...'To Be Preceded By Mandatory Fashion Consultation'," he painfully read.

Eighty percent of the waiting ponies vanished.

"Correct."

"So what we're doin' right now -- you would call that..."

"Mandatory," Rarity clarified. "As well as being extremely necessary and in your case, rather overdue."

"And the 'consultation' ends when --"

"-- I feel all the problems have been solved," Rarity contently smiled. "And in your case, that might take a rather long time. Now give me the bit."

"Stop," Mr. Breezy weakly begged as the measuring tape wrapped itself around his front ankles, trapping him. "Lass, please, stop..."

"And remove the hat."

The designer had wanted no part of it, and so had planned accordingly. But she also understood when a friend might need a little extra support, had timed her lunch break to coincide with the opening of Twilight's booth -- then realized that she wasn't entirely sure where that booth was. It was fairly logical to assume it would have been placed near the tree, but there was also a chance that the mayor had decided it was best for Twilight not to do anything where the books could see her.

However, she also had a very good idea of how things were inevitably going to proceed, and so finding her friend was just a matter of moving in a straight line.

...well, it was straight at first. There were portions where it curved somewhat. The requirements of intersections occasionally found it doubling back on itself. At one point, it had somehow found a reason to move across somepony's front stoop, just before it jumped to a neighboring porch. (As far as waiting positions went, the swinging bench was highly priced.) And after just about as much exercise as she'd anticipated added to a rather fine trotting tour of the town, she reached the bathhouse.

The booth itself was easy to spot, as whoever had designed it seemed to have stuck to a theme: the purple of the wood contrasted harshly against the bathhouse's cool stone. The little alicorn, however, was mostly visible as horn, bangs, and twitchy eyes just barely peeking over the board.

"...that's a lot of ponies," Twilight whispered as Rarity finished her approach. "A lot of ponies..."

Rarity immediately resolved not to tell her about the length of the line she'd just followed (and telling Twilight that she'd never actually spotted the end was right out).

"Twilight," the designer sighed, "when it comes to alicorn kisses... one potential source is married, two have effectively removed themselves from the marketplace, and the fourth is currently about to open her booth. An extremely limited source of supply has announced a rather temporary availability. You are looking at the intersection of curiosity and economics."

"But there's so many ponies," whispered the mare who wasn't completely listening and so in no way going to get a journal article out of it. "So many..."

"And given that great scarcity added to centuries of curiosity," Rarity added, "ponies have told themselves certain things regarding the kisses of alicorns --"

-- and stopped when she saw the bangs vibrating.

"Do you want to leave?"

"...yes," Twilight softly admitted. "But I'm not going to. I promised I would do this." A single kick of all four legs got the librarian up to what passed for her full height. "I promised myself. Just -- stay for the first few? Fluttershy stopped by before I left the library booth, but she had to go to her own space. And she just needed to pick up something. I'm ready to do this, but... I could use some company. And I'm really hoping he doesn't show up."

"You're kissing ponies," Rarity reminded her. "I'm afraid he's more or less inevitable. He appears whenever you're doing anything in public, Twilight."

"I know! And I don't understand why..." She sighed. "Stay? Please?"

Rarity nodded, as that had been her intention all along. To be present as initial support, until Twilight found her hooves more solidly planted. And as for explaining him... that too had been tried before, over and over, with Twilight simply unable to believe.

"All right," the little mare unsteadily said, gazing out at the waiting line or rather, the portion anypony could see: the curvature of the planet wasn't doing her any favors there. "So... I'm ready. First pony, please?"

Strictly speaking, it wasn't a very good kiss. There was no true passion behind it, a near-complete lack of technique, and it was rather clear that any studying Twilight had done prior to the Fair had consisted of quickly looking at the covers of romance novels and then even more quickly looking away. But there was a certain sincerity of attempt present, and it was also a kiss from an alicorn: the orange stallion trotted away in perfect contentment.

It bolstered Twilight's fragile confidence, and did so visibly. Pinkish light ruffled across her bangs, adjusting that manestyle a little. Nothing fully new, because that would require a full-fledged miracle (and possibly a direct six-Element hit), but... a change.

"Next, please?" she politely asked, and the line moved forward.

It went on like that for a while. A few of the Canterlot visitors had to be gently discouraged from tilting the meeting towards solving their personal issues (because any chance to speak with an alicorn just had to come with political clout), while Rarity, all too aware that she had to head back soon, did her best to put a time limit on contact. Fortunately, this was one of the rare cases where Twilight's various issues worked for her, and flares of pinkish light did a lot to break up extended kisses or, with one too-persistent mare, relocated the kisser to the center of the dunking booth.

"This is really something," Twilight declared as a corona-encased napkin patted her lips down with disinfectant.

"Is it not?" Because regardless of how Rarity felt about her own booth, just the fact that Twilight was getting through this...

"It's amazing how many ponies want to donate to charity!"

And then, because the line was still moving, "Hi, Miss Twilight!"

They both looked forward and in doing so, saw the next pony in line, one body length back. Then they looked down and found two unicorn colts grinning up at them.

The boys had clearly been having fun before entering the line: both coats were already on the dirty side, and their saddlebags were stuffed full enough to look as if the contents were wriggling. And they were waiting. Patiently.

Twilight smiled.

"I'm sorry, both of you," she politely told them. "But the kisses are for adults only. I just wish you hadn't had to wait in line so long to hear that."

"That's okay!" Snips beamed.

"We thought about that!" Snails happily added. "We brought an adult!"

Both mares looked at the waiting stallion again. Back to the colts.

"So he's with you?" Rarity asked. "A distant relative in town for the day? Because I know your immediate families, and I do not recognize --"

Snails' horn ignited, and his right saddlebag lid raised accordingly. The occupant made a break for it.

"Nah, you're not getting away that easy!" Snips declared, and his own corona lanced forth just in time. "Geez! It's like he doesn't want this, Snails!"

"Because he can't really think about it," Snails decided. "Not yet. That's for after. Bet the first thing he says is thank you."

Immediately, "Bet the first thing he says is 'Gross! Fillies!'"

"Nah, he's gonna be grateful..."

Neither mare was really paying attention to the words. They were both too busy looking at the occupant of Snips' field bubble.

"That," Rarity swallowed, "is a frog."

It was green. It was slimy. It was wriggling. Admittedly, all of those qualities could be readily encompassed by 'frog', but the individual details seemed important.

"Of course it is," Snails reasonably pointed out. "We said we brought an adult. He's all grown up. If he was a kid, he'd be a tadpole."

"You," Twilight slowly began as the skin under her coat began to tilt towards a rather froggy green, "want me. To kiss. A frog."

"Of course we do!" Snips declared. "Because it's an alicorn kiss!" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't you know?"

"It's not like she's been an alicorn very long," Snails reminded his friend, because his was the more logical form of insanity. "She might not have been told yet."

"Oh, yeah..." Snips considered, thoughtfully nodding to himself. "She's still getting flying down. Kissing probably comes after that." He shrugged. "So anyway, if an alicorn kisses a frog, it turns into a prince!"

The frog made a sound. It could have been a ribbit, and there was a chance it had been a croak, but the important thing was that its noise exactly matched that which had just come from the mares.

"It doesn't happen very much," Snails noted for the historical record. "Because it's not like you ever see Princes. But we thought, you know, winter's coming, all he's gonna do is burrow into the mud and sleep for a few moons, so wouldn't he have a lot more fun, just being a Prince? And Miss Twilight, she's a great magician!"

"Almost as good as Miss Trixie," Snips considerately added.

"Well, yeah," Snails conceded. "But second place is pretty good stuff. So we thought you'd want to kiss the frog and turn him into a Prince. Not just for the frog. So you could study it. See just how it happens."

"We can get extra frogs if you need comparisons," Snips scientifically approached the topic.

"What about a control group?" Snails asked.

"Dunno. Toads?"

"I dunno... Frog and Toad are friends. How's that gonna hold up if one of them goes Prince and the other doesn't?"

"...thank you," Twilight said, mostly because something had to be said or there would be more frogs. "I think one is enough to start. But I -- I don't -- I don't want to --" and swallowed again. "-- do it here. Because if there's going to be a Prince around, I think I should let the palace know first. And Spike's out of town. So how about I just... take him home with me and try the kiss later?"

Both mares waited for the challenge. For the insistence on getting to watch. For, quite frankly, the slow, inevitable, and romantic levitation of a frog towards Twilight's lips.

"Okay," Snips said. "We'll check back tomorrow."

"Let us know how he comes out!" Snails grinned. "I say green coat with brown speckles!"

"And the first thing he says!" Snips hastily added. "We've got a bet!"

Snips' corona receded from the frog's head. Twilight's reluctantly flowed forth in a series of fits and starts until custody was transferred, and the boys galloped off to play. And possibly to find a toad, if only to explain where its companion had gone and which castle to hop towards first.

"Take it," Twilight urgently whispered from the left side of her mouth.

"I am not carrying that in my field!" the designer hissed. "It's slimy! It's disgusting! It's --"

"-- in my corona, Rarity, it's in my corona and it's wriggling!" The librarian's eyes were beginning to twitch. "Please, take it and lose it...!"

You had to make sacrifices for friends, and the frog's slimy coating picked up a new series of highlights as it switched bubbles again.

Twilight glanced at the visible portion of the line. Some of the occupants were snickering. Two were hastily encouraging small green things to hop away faster.

"Three-minute break," the librarian announced, and began to take slow, deep breaths: the process stopped when she realized all of the available air still smelled of frog.

Decibels dropped into the basement, and found Twilight's spirits waiting to welcome them. "That's what ponies say about alicorn kisses?"

"There's all sorts of stories," Rarity softly sighed. "Legends, really. That may be among the most widespread. We didn't think you would believe us, especially since nopony in our group has ever fully resisted the desire to prank. I simply did not think anypony would bring an actual frog." The soft blue bubble began discreetly floating towards the ground.

"Boys," Twilight groaned. "It's so stupid. If they'd just thought about it for a few seconds, they never would have brought it here!"

Curiously, "How so?"

"You're kidding, right?" Twilight sighed. "Just for starters, it's an exponential increase in mass. Where do they think that's going to come from? Having the puffy layer of skin expand and change colors so that it looked sort of like an orange, that's hard enough -- and it was still a frog underneath! Then we're talking about going from cold-blooded to warm, there's whole new sets of neural pathways, and tell me where the knowledge comes from, Rarity! Imagine if it worked and you had a brand-new pony standing in front of you -- one who immediately crouched down and started hopping towards the nearest flies because that's everything its brain knows how to do! Changing a frog into a pony is just stupid." Muttering to herself, "Adding that much mass... not like subtracting is that much easier..."

Rarity's ears perked.

"But subtraction is easier?"

"Theoretically," Twilight admitted. "Well, proven, really, because of what the Poison Joke did to Applejack. Not that I've figured out how to make it happen, but at least we know it's possible. And still, on that kind of scale..."

But Rarity was already thinking. Dreaming.

Distantly, "Twilight?"

"What?"

"It occurs to me that many legends have some degree of basis in fact."

"Oh, come on, Rarity..."

"No, I am quite serious. Our own continued survival comes from your unearthing such a tale, one with a nugget of truth at the center."

"This is a frog."

"But legends are also distortions," Rarity thoughtfully added. "They gloss over the original events. Change the players and their reason for being upon the stage. In fact, for some legends, one could imagine that the actual happening might have been --"

She smiled, and five line-transferred ponies ran for their lives.

"-- reversed."

Twilight blinked.

"No."

"If you teleport me there --"

"NO."

"-- I know where he lives, a simple appeal to his ego and I can have him back here within three hours --"

"NO."

"-- just think of it as making his full-body coating of slime somewhat less metaphorical --"

"NO."

"-- perhaps there is only the smallest chance of having it work, but think of the research, the knowledge to be gained, the sterling service you would have rendered unto all ponykind --"

"RARITY!"

"...what?"

"If it didn't work, then you just asked me to kiss Blueblood!"

Rarity blinked.

"You're right."

"No kidding."

"I went too far, Twilight. Even in fantasy, I went too far. I apologize."

Tightly, "Thank you."

"I'll ask Luna."

As Rarity had effectively noted, the day was, in many ways, a simple question of supply and demand. When it came to the possibility of acquiring Bearer kisses, the supply had (at least in theory) finally become available. But as for demand...

There was an alicorn, one of only four in the world, and there were legends about what those kisses could do: that was part of what had assembled so much of the herd into the longest of the lines. However, when it came to beauty... well, each of the Bearers was considered to have their points: Rainbow drew in those who favored streamlined bodies, Applejack's fans preferred raw power, and so on across the myriad of somatotypes which made up the sextet. But on the whole, every one of the mares was considered to at least be attractive, if in rather different ways.

They were all thought of as being attractive -- but only one had been an actual model.

And so the second-longest of the lines (or third, when considered against the one which only existed in Rainbow's imagination) could be found waiting at the single most elaborate of the booths. Town Hall had recognized the need to both advertise and remind ponies of what they were lining up for, and so had used the photo shoots for decoration and inspiration alike. Some of the most appealing images had been pasted to the booth's sides and front, while the wooden arc across the top featured an artist's painted interpretation of the central subject. To look at that image for very long was to consider the benefits of lying down for a while (preferably where nopony could come across you during your rest), and to regard it for much longer was to finally understand why Ponyville's previous week had featured a cold water shortage.

There were a lot of ponies in that line. Ponies who had, for the most part, given up long ago, with many having done so at the moment they heard the name. Others had risked just enough of a social encounter (or, given the subject, a social watch-the-streak-racing-away) as was required to figure out that It Was Never Going To Happen. But now there was a booth. There was also a price point. And soon there would be a mare, a mare who had committed to this, and so it was best to be in that line. In fact, it was best to be at the front, because commitment only went so far and the streak could make it all the way to the horizon. It was possible that only a few ponies would be kissed before she inevitably retreated to the cottage. Perhaps only the first five, or three, or whoever was first could be the lone lucky pony to receive her kiss. This seemed to make being at the front of the line into a necessity. Something which a number of those waiting would have done anything to guarantee.

The line was the second-longest one and, if not for the groaning bodies which had already been carted away to the hospital, would have been visibly longer.

And then she came.

Only the newest of Ponyville residents were surprised to see her approaching on the ground: most ponies quickly realized that she preferred to trot. A somewhat larger number (which largely overlapped with the first set) was shocked to see her doing so with company, especially given the nature of that companion -- but the long-term residents believed themselves to understand. For she was surely uncertain about this, as she was about so much else. Reluctant to proceed, and wished only a guarantee that things would remain fairly basic, on a level she was willing to deal with. The companion was clearly there to ensure that the kisses went only so far, and no further. When you considered just who the mare was, the companion made perfect sense.

Admittedly, the companion's presence had thinned out the group somewhat, startled ponies breaking for street and sky in order to not take any chances on insulting her company. It took a lot of experience with the mare before you could pretend you were fully comfortable around her friends, and a number of ponies had already weighed the strength of their fantasies against the power of a suddenly-overactive imagination: those now on course for Anywhere Else had seen the former lose. But she was beautiful, so very beautiful, a model... and so the majority managed to stay where they were, with nerves temporarily calmed by gratitude towards the cowardice of others. After all, at the very least, the line was now shorter.

The mare looked at the images which decorated her booth, and the softest of sighs gently ruffled the fringe fur of the closest ears. A tiny shrug lightly shifted her saddlebags, and something in the left one deformed the fabric. Then she trotted to the back of the little wood structure, with a flared right wing motioning for her companion to do the same.

Ponies watched that trot. The two who were the most focused on Ponyville's Fullest Tail nearly fainted.

She was behind the booth now, and a hundred dreams drew that much closer to reality. Half-hidden features shifted, and a delicate mouth was tilted back towards that left saddlebag. She rummaged, and something emerged.

A whisper, and her companion carefully bent down. Yellow wings flared out, flapped just long enough to grant her a little elevation, and she gently gave the item to her friend.

Her companion entered the booth, placidly looked out across the crowd as metal and gem glinted against fur. And the mare smiled.

"...first bit, please," she softly said. "You can just drop it there. If you have a larger coin, I can make change."

Nopony moved.

"...first bit," the mare repeated. "For the first kiss."

For the purposes of determining 'movement', having that many knees go weak in the same instant didn't count.

Gently, with just a touch of hurt, "...anypony?"

The somewhat-bruised stallion at the front of the line swallowed, for it had been his destiny to be The First. He had fought for that. He had won, and he was now starting to wonder if the ponies in the emergency room were the lucky ones.

He had battled to be The First, and so he was. The First To Point Out The Obvious.

"That's a bear."

"...yes," Fluttershy agreed. "That's a bear." And politely tilted her ears towards the ursine's ill-fitting jewelry. "He also happens to be a Bearer."

The not-moving had returned, in bulk.

"...Bearer," she dismally repeated, and sighed. "...somepony would have laughed if Pinkie said it."

From further back in the line, "He's a bear!"

The bear, as if trying to reassure itself of its own identity, bared its teeth. Which turned out to be bear teeth, being bared by a bear who was a Bearer, and it could be assumed that none of the twelve ponies who fled upon seeing it appreciated that either.

"...yes," Fluttershy patiently stated. "He's a bear. Who's a Bearer."

"A bear can't be a Bearer!" a mare desperately shouted. "You're --"

"-- a dragon was a Bearer once," Fluttershy politely interrupted, and very carefully failed to explain just brief that had been, much less how poorly it had worked out. "Of Loyalty. Are you saying a bear isn't as good as a dragon?"

Somepony with a mark for reading body language would have instantly recognized that most of the crowd was having something of an existential species discrimination crisis, and it would have taken a mark to spot that because it wasn't exactly the sort of body language you got every day.

"...you can tell him that, if you want to," she suggested. "That he's not good enough. Or you'll tell me, and I'll tell him for you."

The bear casually swiped at a passing fly and missed. However, the claws did a magnificent job of catching the light.

"A bear," Noteworthy tried in a last-ditch attempt to find the magic words which would make it all go away.

"...the sign," Fluttershy calmly pointed out, "says 'Kiss A Bearer For A Bit.'" Whoever's wearing the necklace is bearing it. So he's the Bearer. And a bear."

"But it's Kindness," a younger mare frantically tried. "He's wearing Kindness..."

"...Harry's very nice when you get to know him! And this is everypony's chance! To know him a little better, because doesn't everypony say that a kiss can tell you all about the other pony? Or bear. Oh, and I brought breath spray. Mostly for everypony else, because he's not used to smelling pony breath over and over again, and I made sure he ate before we got here, but -- well, breath spray. So who's first?"

Under other circumstances, somepony might have declared that Fluttershy was trying to exploit a linguistic loophole. Others could have cited false advertising, shot forth accusations of fraud, or at least pointed out that the images placed onto the booth hadn't promised its current occupant. But nopony did any of it. Because there was an argument for all of that -- but there was also a debate for the other side, and it had brown fur, weighed roughly ten bales, and had just yawned widely enough to display the interior of its mouth from first fang to last.

There was a moment when there was still a very long line. One more where it was rather hard to make out anything through the flurry of fast-moving colors breaking in every available direction.

And then there was a very distinctive sound. Something metallic, with a touch of echo, and a myriad of little collisions as some of the things producing that sound bounced off each other. It was the sound of a hundred one-bit coins being slammed down on a thin wooden shelf by a stallion of many perversions, and one who had just discovered the now-exclusive opportunity to investigate a new frontier.

"Best day ever!" grinned Hughbert Jellius, and went directly for the breath spray.

Twilight prided herself on knowing every writer in Ponyville: those who were published, the ones still working towards the fulfillment of their dream, and a few lonely souls who had purchased personal printing presses and stamped their hopes deep into the night. Having custody of the library allowed her to speak with most of them. A number had been invited to the tree as the hosts of live readings, although she still wasn't sure what to do about the one erotica specialist. Some received consultations when she was struggling with a scroll, while the less expert found her willing to offer advice on editing.

But they were dreamers one and all, those weaving the worlds she hosted upon shelves. Even when it came to the erotica, she almost universally respected that.

Almost. She spoke with most of them. Because there was this one pony...

"You must listen!" the stallion desperately insisted.

Her ears, which had flattened against her head at the moment she'd spotted him in the line, wanted to disagree. And he was so easy to spot. His natural hues helped there: black and white. Just black and white, both stark, with the black seeming to be more stain than fur, with the white as what had been left behind when all other hues had fled.

He had a rather long sort of face, which was really saying something when applied to a pony. His head appeared to have been stretched out by having somepony simultaneously pull on jaw and mane, which had produced the incidental effect of sending his ears oddly off to the sides. Based on the amount of area each occupied, he could be described as having a fivehead and a sixchin. He was also far too slender, and it was Twilight who was making that judgement. Twilight was one of nature's Size 0s. He had discovered that fewer calories meant more visions, and so was steadily questing towards size racks distinguished by negative integers.

He spoke in quick syllables and slow sentences: anything verbalized emerged at top speed, but the frequent glances he made to all sides served as built-in interruptions. His words were those of a scholar, and his movements belonged to somepony who was waiting to be eaten.

"'In dread Tartarus, where the monsters cannot die, the Darkest One rests, in eternal dreaming lie!'" he frantically quoted. "I know that! Eternal dreaming! It slumbers, Miss Sparkle, it slumbers because it cannot awaken! And you -- you know where Tartarus is, everypony says that. You went there, taking the guardian of dread darkness to its duties..."

"I kicked a ball," Twilight carefully tried. "Over and over again. Have you been --"

"You know the way," the writer whispered. "None can enter the darkness without being tainted, and so it has warped your form. And a kiss, a single kiss..."

He carefully extracted a bit from the pocket of the formal jacket. His head trembled as it bore the weight.

"Here," he frantically offered as the coin dropped out halfway to the plank. "Take it. The fee for a kiss. The payment to the boatpony, whose cloak is made from the flayed sins of those who did not believe."

Twilight needed a moment.

"...all right," she eventually said. "On the cheek. I'll kiss you on the --"

"-- I do not purchase for myself," the writer said. "We journey now to Tartarus, for the fee is paid. The kiss is my gift to the Darkest One, for all know that the kiss of an alicorn can awaken from slumber, eternal slumber to horrid waking as it opens its glabberous eyes at last. It shall erupt forth from Tartarus and in doing so, render the pastel torment of this world into nothingness, blessed nothing and for our part in creating such freedom, we will be honored through the greatest gift anypony could ever wish."

Don't ask...

"...what's that?"

The black eyes tried to focus on her. It took a while, as the pupils kept independently checking the shadows.

"We would die first. What else?"

Ponies were pulling back. That usually happened around him, typically within seconds, and it made his twitches come all the faster because now he had that much more exposed flank to guard.

Twilight sighed.

"Have you been checking up with Princess Luna in your dreams? You know you're supposed to."

"I'm not certain," the writer admitted.

"Not certain," Twilight carefully repeated. "She's usually pretty visible --"

"In nights of yore," the stallion declared, "and also last week, I gazed up from the fetid swamps of dreamlands at the border of the yellow city and beheld red words carved into the sky. This Nightscape Not To Be Entered Without The Company Of An Adult. And as if from distant screams released by those whose souls were being consumed, I thought I heard words on the stinking wind. The first voice said 'But you are an adult!', and the second, it declared 'Regardless, at this moment, sister, I feel that I require an adult!' And then there was indistinct bickering. And distant splashing, as if a head had been pushed below a surface. I imagine those souls to have been drowned in the bile which continually pours forth from the Darkest One's pustules."

The sigh didn't seem to be doing any real good, but... it was all she had.

"So no visits."

"Not for a week. Excepting those from the tentacles. But they live there. Have I told you about the tentacles?"

"And have you been taking your pills?"

"I cannot write with the pills," the stallion helplessly said. "The tentacles drown in a sea of foam. And I ran out."

Twilight slowly closed her eyes, which only allowed her to picture it all the more clearly.

"I'll send Nurse Redheart to your house," she finally decided. "Again."

"But we must strip the illusion away from the world!" he frantically declared as the short-cut tail fearfully lashed. "The cruel lie that ponies have any fate but that which would be most desired by the sane, to cease the striving towards the false promise of Harmony and instead, seek the only true hope anypony could wish for --"

"Go home. The pills will be delivered. Today."

"-- the gift of dying first --""

"Go home, Mr. Lovecraft. Just... go home."

"Next," said a dulled voice.

The few remaining ponies glanced at each other.

"...aren't you next?"

"No, you can go..."

"You're in front of me. You're next."

"No, I insist --"

"Y'all gonna settle this?" inquired the tones of perfect boredom. "Or am Ah gonna have t' step in here?"

There was a brief shoving match. The loser was kicked to the front of the booth.

"Bit," the mare ordered.

Thunderlane reluctantly dropped it.

"Kiss."

"But you're supposed to kiss me," the stallion tried, because it hadn't worked for anypony else and that meant sheer cumulative odds had to mean he was due.

"Kiss A Bearer For A Bit," Applejack quoted. "There's the bit. Now you do the kiss."

Thunderlane took a long look at her features.

Under normal circumstances, the farmer had a rather pretty face. The freckle-like spots in her fur were well set, she frankly had the best chin among the Bearers, and having a mane so thick that it required rope loops to tame it begged certain questions about what happened when the loops came off. In an absolute sense, very little of that had changed. It was just that the chin was slightly jutted out, the tense muscles around the jaw hadn't loosened in hours, and the green eyes had narrowed down to slits at the moment their owner had entered the booth.

And also under normal circumstances, Applejack would seldom be completely still. She wasn't as bad as Rainbow, who often found ways for inducing mobility into naps (with too much of that being 'straight down'), but for sheer physical activity... for Applejack to stand next to a tree was to see her test the bark. Slow market days found her polishing produce and cart before inevitably performing an inspection of the wheels. To be absolutely still was, by her typical definition, to not be working, and so the farmer generally had to be doing something just to live up to her own standards.

The powerful body within the booth was almost completely motionless. The rib cage did its job, the jaw shifted enough to release words, and eyelids were hard to stop for long. But if not for that, he could have been looking at a statue.

"Well?"

A severely-cut statue, modeled after a mare who hadn't been happy about having to pose.

The pegasus reluctantly leaned in...

It was also like kissing a statue. A mossy --

-- why am I thinking of --

-- which was when the taste hit him.

He reared back and in doing so, cracked his head on orange-painted wood.

"An' that's why the last group all went for mah cheek," Applejack evenly stated. "Guess y'weren't payin' attention."

"What..." The sudden burst of pain should have distracted him from the coating over his mouth, and the fact that it hadn't created a very urgent need to know what that coating was. "...lipstick, you're using lipstick..."

"Naw," the farmer declared. "But it did congeal enough t' spread like it."

"What is --"

"-- cider."

Thunderlane stared at her.

"Flim and Flam's last batch," Applejack clarified. "Ah saved a few barrels, 'cause sometimes, y'need a lesson on what not t' do. Like you, for instance. Ah understand you were at that last town meetin'?"

"I always --" and stopped, hoping she hadn't realized what 'always' meant in terms of all the other things he hadn't been able to do with that time.

"An' y'voted for the booths, didn't you?"

"But... but you had to put that stuff on yourself," Thunderlane protested. "You've got to be tasting it all the time..."

Her lower lip twitched.

"What's your point? Now, regardin' how y'might want t' think 'bout some future votes..."

After all, as far as Applejack was concerned, grassroots political movements had to start somewhere. And in this case, it began with a few actual roots.

(She thought she'd tapped the root cask. The alternatives were worse.)

Roseluck wasn't a particularly happy pony. Wary, yes. Discontent, most of the time. A diagnosed paranoid who stood ready to believe absolutely any conspiracy theory which came her way because it gave her that much more to be afraid of and fear was the ultimate rush? Never! -- well, in the sense that she'd never been diagnosed and anypony who tried to tell her she had a problem had obviously been manipulated by Them, but really, that was just part of the price you paid when you were one of only three mares in town who were capable of Seeing Sense. And that was why she'd stood in line for so long (the slowest-moving of the lines, grumbling to herself while paying absolutely no attention to what was happening at the front), because sometimes her duties as the last bastion of sanity required Seeing close-up.

She didn't actually notice when she was called forward, at least not through the first three times: a near-mark level of talent for believing only what she wanted to occasionally extended to sight and hearing. But she always registered her name, mostly because she wasn't entirely sure who was authorized to address her as a "normal" Ponyville resident. Everypony else could be safely presumed to have memorized it from The List.

"Roseluck?" Pinkie asked with a smile. "It's your turn! And I'm very sorry about the wait. I've been saying that to everypony, and it's no less true just because I've been saying it all day." She glanced up. "But there isn't much day left, so we'd better get started. Come on over!"

Roseluck slowly approached the booth, something which was as simple a construct as all the rest, with a lone pony waiting behind it. However, she was keeping a vary eye on the paint. Things were known to happen in the presence of paint fumes, and most of them included Profound Insight. Some of those Insights had been so Profound as to make her paint her bedroom every time she needed a fresh one, and the Conspiracy had finally used it as an excuse to carry her out of her house before putting her on oxygen for three days. Oxygen had been suspect ever since.

"So there you are," she softly said.

"Here I am!" Pinkie beamed. "So there's just a few things we have to go over --"

"-- did they give you anything to put on your lips?"

Pinkie hesitated. (This was fairly unusual for the baker, but could be considered as completely normal when dealing with Roseluck.) "No."

"Because they gave it to Applejack," Roseluck declared in the Certain Knowledge that came from having the ability to both ask and answer a question at the same time. "It's a potion of some sort, something to dose the population with, and they're using her as the distribution vector. It's creating a bad reaction. Some of hers are racing away screaming --"

"First question," Pinkie said. "Where do you like to be kissed?"

Roseluck blinked.

"...were you wearing glasses a second ago?"

"Was I?" Pinkie asked, and gave the lenses a quick tongue polish. "Location. Any preferences? Because everypony has a favorite place! Only some of those ponies really should have gone with their second choice." She picked up the quill between her teeth and made a few notes on the pad, then released the writing implement in order to say "Because I think they forgot we were in public. And the kissing is fine for them, especially when it's in their favorite place! But that place would have been in this place. Which is everypony's public place. And has kids around."

"Where did that notepad --"

"Kissing," Pinkie stated, "is serious business. So I've been taking it very seriously. According to the chart --"

"-- now there's a chart? I was looking right at you! When did you have time to get a --"

"-- everypony has a favorite place! One hundred percent of surveyed ponies were able to identify theirs! Although some of them shouldn't have done it out loud. So what's yours, Roseluck? Because this is a serious kiss. And that means it has to be done properly."

There were very few aspects of normal Ponyville life which Roseluck truly indulged in. Screaming was always fine. Running around in a panic did a lot for her heart rate. Believing there was something critically wrong with Sun and Moon which made them subject to alicorn rule somehow wasn't considered normal, which just showed how much control They truly had. But if you lived in Ponyville, you were eventually going to wind up staring at the baker while wondering exactly what you'd ever done to reality in order to make Pinkie into the only reasonable response.

"...the grey," Roseluck whispered and in doing so, gave up one of her last true secrets.

"The what?"

"I have a little bit of grey fur between my upper lip and snout. You can't really see it unless you're looking straight at it. It's... the best place."

Blue eyes squinted behind the glasses.

"Oh, there it is!" Pinkie's smile became wider. "Wow! I never noticed that before! And that's your favorite spot?"

Roseluck just barely manged the nod.

"I should kiss a Roseluck on the grey," Pinkie thoughtfully sang to herself, and then wrote it down for good measure. "There. That's a good start. So let me get your file out of the cabinet --"

"File? Cabinet?"

"-- and I'll add that right in! Now since you didn't say 'lips', we can skip over all the tongue-related questions..." Six pages of the thick folder were skipped over. "Which would bring us to nibbling. With or without?"

"...are you serious?"

"Kissing can lead to love," Pinkie replied. "Love leads to marriage. Marriage brings fillies and colts, who grow up, might decide to go to college, and that probably means student loans. There's nothing more serious than those, and that means kissing has to be very serious too. But it's okay if you don't want to say it out loud, Roseluck! I have an answer for that too!"

There were those who believed Roseluck was paranoid. Delusional. Didn't see the world properly, felt things were much stranger than they truly were. And much to the greenhouse owner's horror, just about none of them were present when she made the mistake of glancing down towards where Pinkie's forehoof had just gestured.

The clipboard was sitting on the plank. Solid, quiet, utterly placid in the way which only the inanimate could be, and silently insisting on existing. Which was something it hadn't been doing five seconds ago.

"Press hard when you write it down," Pinkie advised her. "You're making three copies."

It was just about over. Eternity (and by extension, the line) had a finite duration: that was certainly something Twilight could put into her next scroll to the Princess, although she suspected it was a lesson which the Solar throne already knew.

Hours. Hours in the booth, and -- the kissing hadn't been the worst part. By the time Sun had become distinctly low in the sky, Twilight had started to feel she was becoming vaguely competent at it. At the very least, ponies hadn't been protesting her efforts. Most of the anger had been projected towards her results.

But that was their own fault, really. They were the ones who'd decided what they wanted to believe. And all things considered, knowing that they had chosen to follow legends, things which had to have come from stories --

-- no. That's wrong. When I find those books, I won't take them off the shelves forever. Because that's censorship, and they're just stories. So I won't do that.

Stories which had told them that to be kissed by an alicorn was to --

"-- wings," Twilight said.

"Huh?" asked the middle-aged blue pegasus mare, who was the next-to-last pony she would deal with on that day. "I... I have wings. Do you like --"

"Oh, right," Twilight quickly apologized. "I wasn't really looking at you for a second there." She sighed. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day. Of course you have wings."

"I could preen a little if you --"

"-- so when I kiss you," the little alicorn went on, "you're not going to get mad because you didn't grow wings. Since you already have them. I just need you to tell me that you're not going to spend ten minutes shouting about how the kiss was supposed to make you grow a horn on the spot. By which I mean immediately, as opposed to the place I kiss you. Because having a horn coming out of your mouth would make eating really awkward. Just for starters."

She yawned. It had been a long day, and she was entitled to a yawn.

"So if you want a horn to grow out of your forehead," Twilight sleepily continued, "I'll have to kiss you there. And then it won't happen in the proper location, because being kissed by me doesn't turn you into me. Or a you version of me. Which is what forty-seven ponies thought would happen, by actual count. And it won't. You understand that, right?"

I'll just put the books on a new shelf. In the basement. Forever.

"...I just wanted a kiss," the dazed pegasus said. "Just a --"

Twilight leaned across the plank and kissed her.

"-- oh," the mare finished.

The librarian settled back onto her haunches.

"Thank you for donating to charity," she automatically recited. "I hope you enjoyed the Fair."

"...your lips tingle. Like they're tingling with power. Has anypony ever told you --"

"I've been applying disinfectant all day," Twilight explained. "Because I've been kissing strange ponies for hours and I didn't want to get sick. It tingles when it goes on. Get home safely!"

And then there was one more pony.

He staggered forward. It could be argued that staggering was all he was capable of. The last pony in line, the slowest, and so every time he'd quested for the end, he had given it that much more time to move away from him. Time he didn't strictly have or rather, time which had been subtracted from the rather minimal amount which might remain.

In his best state, it was somewhat uncommon for newcomers to identify him as a pony, and a day spent without food or water, relentlessly pushing himself towards the best chance at his goal, had brought him all the closer to the most frequent mistake.

His combover mane had parted from his scalp. Thick glasses were adhered to his snout through the salt of evaporated sweat. His joints audibly creaked as he tried to cross the last portion of distance, but that was the only normal thing.

"Mister Waddle!" Twilight cried out as she woke up all at once. "You know you should have stayed home!" Because she'd been expecting him, of course she'd been expecting him because he always seemed to be around when she was doing something. She'd caught him watching her reshelve, time after time. He seemed to have a deep fascination with watching her just floating things: the heavier, the better. He could be found behind bookcases, taking in whatever view was available over her back and tail, and he'd been doing it ever since the day he'd first seen her working magic in public.

She thought the ancient earth pony (and it said something about him, that a student of the Princess could look at his form and think 'ancient' without a trace of irony) had a fascination with spells. Something which always had him peering at her horn. And flank. Also her tail and everything around the base, but that might have just been in the way and besides, even with those glasses, she wasn't entirely sure how much he could see.

He sent gifts on her birthday. Major holidays. The occasional weekend. He was always trying to ask how she was doing, or at least that was most of what she could generally make out through the stammers. There were corners of the library which had permanently acquired his scent, and she didn't believe a single word her friends had ever said concerning the reason why.

"I'm taking you home!" she gasped, racing around the booth. "Right now! And that's if we don't go directly to the hospital --"

"-- bit," the ancient voice quavered. "A bit... for a Bearer... for my Bearer..."

"Hospital," she decided, and her corona projected around the delicate body, lifted as carefully as she could. He loved magic: he was hardly going to mind her carrying him.

"...my best chance... maybe my last chance... one kiss... one kiss and you'll finally understand how much I --"

Silence.

"Mister Waddle?" There was open desperation in her voice, because any moment of quiet from somepony that old had a chance to become permanent. "Mister --"

He snored. She exhaled.

"We're going to the hospital anyway," she told his sleeping form. "Really, waiting in a line all day at your age..." Twilight slowly shook her head, cautiously spread her wings -- then folded them again. She was still having trouble maintaining field bubbles while flying, teleporting would require a safe arrival point within a hospital where any empty spaces were quickly filled with sleeping interns, and he didn't seem to be at any immediate risk. Trotting seemed best.

"This has been the weirdest day," she informed her snoozing audience as Hughbert wandered by with his lips pressed against a frog: she instantly decided he was treating the slime as an acceptable substitute for jelly. "I can tell you this, Mr. Waddle: I am never doing this again." One last head shake. "But it's just about over now. A few more minutes to drop you off, and then --"

Her ears twisted to the right.

Rarity's contented smile was now being lit by fast-dipping Sun.

Strictly speaking, the plan hadn't been completely successful: a few determined souls had stuck it out all the way through suggested cravats, and so might have been said to effectively earn some minor token of affection -- if only for their attention to vocabulary. But as far as she was concerned...

"Fussy," the designer muttered to herself, looking out across the fast-emptying street to where a few booths were now being broken down. (In particular, Daisy was just about finished: it was mostly a matter of closing the cart.) She had taste. It wasn't being picky, it was forming a set of Standards and keeping to them at all times. When it came to romance or anything which even hinted at the appearance of same, she would not compromise -- and 'learning from cake-icing-borne experience' didn't count as compromise. She was a mare of taste, of quality. And so she would not kiss hundreds of ponies who had done no more than acquire a single bit.

Almost over, though. The durance was set to conclude when Sun was lowered below the horizon. Yes, it was true that she had not escaped completely unscathed, but she had at least proven that it would take effort to gain her attentions. Ponyville now understood that she was not something which could be purchased. Rarity considered herself a prize to be won, something the worthy would do battle for, and there was nothing which would change her m --

Sun touched down in the center of the street.

She stared at it, for anypony would have. And there was a moment when she wished for that sight to strike her blind: not as the price for having looked into that light, but so that she would never have to see anything else again. Her gaze had taken in perfection, and the rest of the world could do no more than dim in shame.

Magnificent amber wings slowly folded into gentle repose. Perfect hooves (perfect hooves, hooves she could kiss again and again and again and) took a moment to find true purchase, and shy green eyes took in surroundings which didn't deserve to be viewed, not by something so wondrous. And the stallion took a breath (the rib cage, there had been sonnets about such rib cages, the width indicated an endurance flier and the thought of endurance went straight down her spine), regarded the world with uncertainty...

He seemed to be looking for something.

Feather-dusting. That was the term, was it not? Feather-dusting was... being with a pegasus, and to have that sort of interest when one was not a member of the race made the pursuing pony into a feather-duster. It struck Rarity as a cruel phrasing, something of an insult when spoken by certain ponies, as much as saying somepony who desired unicorns was a horn-sticker. And when it came to feather-dusting, the term was also inaccurate, because it really should have been feather-preening. Preening involved the use of the tongue, a gentle use which could go on for hours as one slowly explored the wings and --

-- he seemed to be looking at her --

-- he was looking at her. Then he read the sign, the blessed sign which had just won Marigold free dresses for a lifetime. Back to her, and --

-- he was trotting towards her. Head down a little (and that neck, that perfect long neck), making a visible effort to approach, he was drawing on willpower to approach her...

She barely registered the thump which represented Daisy's faint. The little gasps of purest envy which sounded from other portions of the street came across as applause. Most of what she could hear was the accelerated beating of her own heart.

He.
Was.
Right.
In.
Front.
Of.
Her.
Booth.

"Hi," said the most magnificent stallion to ever move beneath unworthy Sun and Moon.

Every portion of social grace and dignity in Rarity's possession united, and emerged as her response.

"Glck."

And that was how she truly knew he was perfect, in all the ways Blueblood had not been. For upon hearing that, he simply smiled a little, and then pretended he hadn't heard it at all.

"I just got here," he shyly said. "In Ponyville, I mean. Not just the street, although... well, that too. Some day to move in, right? While just about everypony else is at a fair. Not knowing much of anything about the town, or anypony... I've just been feeling -- lost. Flying around, trying to get my bearings. Find anything I could focus on. Anypony I could speak with. At all. I've never been good with that."

She listened. She drank him in.

"I couldn't talk to anypony," he ruefully went on. "But I could listen. I heard them talking. I heard them talking about you. And I had to come. I had to find you, before it was too late. Before anypony else had a chance at the most precious moments..."

Ideal teeth gently placed the lesser gleam of a bit upon her plank.

Rarity's neck arced forward. Her head strained toward him.

"You're the one," he softly declared. "The only one, at this perfect time, on a perfect day..."

Her heart almost stopped.

"My boyfriend thinks I'm a summer," he said. "And I've always gone autumn, but it's him and that means I want to flip over most of my closet before he gets here next moon." With that same shy smile, "So where do you want to start? I could usually tell you my measurements, but I think a few of them might have changed. Ever since I met him, I've been trying to work out."

"Pardon me, Mister Waddle," Twilight apologized as she altered course. "But I think I need to see what that scream of purest soul-deep agony was about."