The Long And Short Of It

Anonymous awoke from his peaceful slumber on his comfortable bed, and stretched out his tired arms...

‘Wait... MY ARMS!’

Excitedly reaching in, he used his HANDS to grab his HUMAN FACE!

‘I can’t believe it!’

‘I’ve been restored!’

‘I-’

Anonymous woke up. The hands he felt on his pony face were only magical projections he'd cast in his sleep.

With a forlorn sigh, he hopped out of bed. Not the best way to wake up, but he couldn’t let himself be too down; after all, now he had things to enjoy in real life! Things like the fact he’d spent all of yesterday hanging with his new friend!

‘Man, so this is what those friendship pamphlets my social worker gave me were talking about. I feel great!’

And now, thanks to his new friend, he knew all of the actually-good places to go in Canterlot. Previously he’d just kind of... wandered around on the days he didn’t work. But now he could wander with destinations!

‘Feels good, man.’

Anon merrily trotted into the bathroom to begin his morning routine. Passing naught but a sidelong glance at the “gift” basket of makeup and fancy shampoos his boss had given him, he hopped in the shower and got to work. Magic, ethereal hands might not be fully able to replace flesh and blood, but they were certainly more versatile! So with a scrub here, a scrub there, and, of course, a little bit of dental hygiene, and he was ready to start his day!

With a smile on his face and a song in his heart, Anon headed for the front door of his apartment and...

The smile on his face and the song in his heart faded away as he remembered that he'd 'forgotten' something.

Returning to his closet with the newfound gusto of a man walking into a funeral parlor, he pulled open the door to reveal:

His old clothes.

But sadly, that’s not what he was there for. Pulling those aside, he revealed his unsought collection of ball bras.

Lots and lots of ball bras.

'God that's a lot of ball bras.'

‘Thanks, every single mare in the office.’

Now that was a downer.

And yet, he knew his options were limited. He could either A: Wear one and suffer a sense of wrongness from deep within his soul, or B: Go with his heart and forgo the ridiculous garment... and be treated like a deviant. And probably get molested. Plus, he’d almost certainly get a lecture from his boss about proper stallion behavior and the importance of properly integrating into Equestrian culture. He couldn’t help but cringe.

Weighing his choices, he ultimately decided on the path of least resistance, and mentally prepared to put it on. On the upside, it blended into his fur, so he didn’t LOOK ridiculous, but merely felt it. Deeply.

Looking closer, he noticed the gift-note that accompanied it still taped on and folded inside.

‘Huh, this one must be one I haven’t worn yet.’

Reaching out with his telekinetic hands, he unfolded the paper.

“Make sure you and your F-cup balls pay me a visit some time, stud! Here’s my addre-”

He stopped subjecting himself to the unfiltered psychological damage that was the note and tore it off. As flattering as those notes and the similar real life statements seemed at first, after responding to a few of them, he knew he was better off ignoring them.

Now free of obstructions, the bra was as comfortable as he could make it. So, with a bit of a heavy heart, he strapped in.

Now he was ready.

Confident he would at least be saddled (ha!) with less social stigma than usual, Anon headed out the door. Looking on the bright side of things, the odds were that, besides a cat-call or two, his trip down the road to today’s semi-mandatory visit to the office would go by in a flash.

Jargon Justification, chief executive of the Canterlot Canterer, the fifth most read newspaper in Canterlot (!), looked up from her desk and watched as the cute little number she had to thank for their newfound success walked in the door.

Anonymous.

And would you look at that, he was actually wearing one of the ballbras the officemares gave him! Good for him.

Normally, she’d never dream of employing a stallion: their place was in the home, after all. But Jargon’s herd sister, Tender Care, was his social worker. She’d been asked personally by the princess to assist with his integration into Equestrian society, and she’d made a hell of a case for him. Apparently, he was foreign.

Really foreign.

Which was why he was so... rough on his customs and social cues. Rough to the point where he was nowhere near finding a herd, and desperately in need of a job just to keep a roof over his head.

What kind of mother would leave their colt to fend for themselves before he even found himself a herd? It was despicable.

Her herd-sister’s heart went out to the colt, and after hearing the story, Jargon’s did too. So after seeing the aptitude in his cutie mark and his surprisingly can-do attitude—for a colt—she was willing to offer him a place working for her paper.

Nothing HARD of course, Celestia forbid. Just some easy fluff, fashion and gossip pieces. The normal kind of stuff that colts liked. As often as he asked to be given “real stories” he always knocked those fluff pieces out of the park. He clearly must get something out of them!

And Jargon knew what she got out of them.

Readers and sales!

Stallions normally had no use for newspapers. After all, they were full of things for mares to care about, like news and politics. Nothing they have to worry their handsome little heads over. But having one write articles about things that stallions did care about had boosted their readership tenfold! Dozens upon dozens of stallions in Canterlot had heard that her paper had REAL fashion and gossip from a REAL stallion. Why would they let their mares buy a newspaper with articles written by a mare who clearly didn't care, when they could instead get one with articles written by Anonymous, a stallion like them, who clearly did—no matter how much he said he didn't?

It was a winning formula, and Jargon Justification knew better than to mess with success.

She’d certainly call this arrangement a win-win; he got money, an education on proper stallion behavior—’from yours truly’—and her readership had been climbing ever since she’d hired him! It was, dare she say, the perfect system! Though she was sure, like the stallion he was, he’d found a way to complain about something when he wasn’t in the office.

So as always, she was looking forward to seeing what he’d come to hoof in today. He’d said something the other day about sun hats? Jargon couldn’t be bothered to remember. She was sure it was very exciting to a stallion, though.

Anonymous stepped onto the office floor. He could see his boss smiling at him from her office, no doubt excited to see what dumb bullshit he’d just written. Normally, despite the obvious fluff stories he was given, he’d still try to go above and beyond. This time however, his apathy caught up to him, and he’d ended up having to do a bit of a rush job. And after one too many peo-ponies had tipped their sun hats at him, he’d found the perfect subject for his story.

“SUN HATS: NEW SYMBOL OF THE MARECEL MOVEMENT?”

Of course, it was asinine beyond compare. He’d just slapped some completely anecdotal comments down from some random stallions he’d overheard, pulled it together with a few buzzwords, and called it a day. He was sure it would sell like hotcakes, though; in his heart of hearts, he and his boss both knew the content was irrelevant. All that really mattered was that it was penned by a stallion.

The token stallion.

Her token stallion.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t let himself be too hard on her. After all, she was the only one to actually offer him a job. Even if sometimes it felt like she was literally just paying him to be on staff and nothing more.

Such is life, he supposed.

Putting such misgivings out of his mind, he walked into Chief Justification’s office with the smile he’d woken up with. “Mornin’ Chief.”

She beamed back. ”Ahh, good to see ya, Anonymous. Glad you came in today, take a seat. And, well, would you look at that! Ball bra and a smile! Cut!”

The chief editor, Cut N. Paste, leaned into the office. “Yes ma’am?”

“Wasn’t I always telling Anon he’d look better with a ball bra and a smile?”

“Y-Yes you were ma’am,” the editor stuttered.

”Well, was I right?”

Anonymous quickly turned to look at Cut N. Paste directly. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Behind him, Jargon promptly chimed in. “Yes you do, Cut.”

The poor editor’s face was beet red. “I-I I think you do look better, Anon.”

”See? What did I tell ya? Alright, back to work, Paste!”

”Yes ma’am!”

And just like that, the two of them were alone again.

Jargon shook her head. ”Alright, alright, enough of your stalling, now show me what you've got.”

He handed (‘I used my magic hands, so it's proper terminology, dammit!’) her the print, and she seemed to give it a once-over—although she was probably only reading the title. Cut was usually the only one who had anything to say about the content of his articles, but at least Jargon was making a show of it.

”Ooooh, I see! Fashion and some hot button issues too! I like it. See, I told ya you could do this!”

Anonymous frowned slightly. “It’s not about ‘could,’ chief.”

”Oh don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ll send it to Cut right away, and get it in our next issue!”

A feeling of satisfaction bloomed in his chest. Bullshit or not, it was nice to get something he’d made out there. It made him feel like he was actually doing something.

Getting up to go, he turned back. “Thanks boss, need anything else from me?”

”Actually...” Jargon leaned in. A wee bit closer than he’d like. "Morale’s been a little low in the office. Could you, ah, just kinda walk around for an hour or two? Strut your stuff, ya know?”

‘Oh no.’

”Seeing everypony’s favorite writer around would be just the thing to lift everypony’s spirits.”

He took a sharp breath.

‘Come on Anon, it’s only for a little while. Maybe you can make some more friends? You really need this job.’

‘You. Really. Need. This. Job.’

“Sure, chief,” he sighed. “Happy to help.”

”That’s my colt!” He felt a sharp slap on his backside.

‘OW! Did she just swat my ass!?’

”Now get out there and knock ‘em dead!”

Chief Jargon was glad Anon accepted her request. A little socialization would do him good; he barely talked to anyone in the office! The office mares probably made him uncomfortable, but if he didn’t learn to live with that, he’d never get anywhere—in a job, or a herd.

Plus, she’d get to watch those sweet flanks of his circle around the office for the next few hours.

Talk about a win-win!

While he was certainly taller than she liked in a stallion, she could certainly see the benefit of having a stallion's hindquarters at eye level.

‘Mmmmmm mmmmm.’

‘Hate to see him leave, love to watch him go.’

A few hours later, and the time for Anonymous to blow this popsicle stand had finally come. He’d made his rounds, and given a brief word to most of the mares in the office. None of them really had much to say that wasn’t related to his looks. One of them even recognized that he was wearing the ball bra she’d given him.

Just… how!? They all look identical!!

The only one who’d given him more than that was Cut N. Paste. But even then, she could only manage a few sentences before clamming up and diving back into her work. The whole time, her face was just as flushed as when they were in the chief’s office. The poor mare; she always seemed so embarrassed every time he came by. She probably had to listen to every single thing the chief said about him when he wasn’t there.

For someone currently in a herd, the chief always struck Anon as awfully lascivious. It’s probably what got him the job, if he was being honest.

He put all of those thoughts behind him the moment he stepped out of the office.

‘Ahhh, freedom…’

While the job sometimes may have made him feel completely useless, at least it afforded him oodles of free time. Maybe he could go visit Pike on the job?

Nah. He’d only met her a day and a half ago, after all.

AND he’d already spent all of yesterday with her.

He didn’t want to come on too strong, even if he felt like the two of them had really hit it off. And it wasn’t like he wouldn’t get to see her tomorrow; she offered to treat him to lunch! Though, he supposed for her it was more like breakfast. He was going to be paying of course, no matter what she said.

With those thoughts for the future in mind, a brief glance at the sun reminded him that her shift actually started right about then.

‘Man, I’ve gotten really good at telling time based on the sun! I could never do that shit back home.’

Putting a hoof to his chin in contemplation, he couldn’t help but say, “I wonder how’s Pike’s day is going?”