The ‘Clop ‘n Barrel’ was one of the lesser-known establishments of Ponyville, an honest-to-goodness Irish pub deep in the hearts of Equestria, complete with the wooden panelling and signage that would accompany it. An old, weather-battered, sign out front hung in the breeze. It squeaked and jangled as it dripped with the morning dew, the cracking penmanship on its surface declaring to have the best breakfast this side of Ponyville—a hefty claim that nopony dared question.

Normally one would have heard its name in the backwaters of Ponyville, regaled by the horse’s mouth over a pint of lager, usually accompanied by an atrocious recreation of an Irish accent and a promise to get you laid in the back-side of the bar.

But today was different. Sweetie Belle hadn’t heard the pub’s name from any smarmy stallion behind a keg, nor had she heard any other ponies talking about it in the open. No, rather, she and her friends had ‘stumbled across it’ on pure chance.

She and her friends had always walked past the establishment on their way to school. Sometimes there would be a stallion in an apron outside, helping some unicorns and a donkey unload barrels in the cellar underneath, but other times it was abandoned, closed, or otherwise quiet as they snuck their way along the far side of the street.

On more than one occasion she remembered them stopping in front of the building—she and Scootaloo would exchange glances as Apple Bloom made up stories about what was going on inside there, the times she’d had to help Granny Smith get back from the ‘The Clopper’, and her own conspiracy theories about what the place was about.

Eventually, she’d gotten dragged into it, and pretty soon they were all three exchanging bets about what could be inside—forming ideas around the stallions and mares they witness stumbling through the doors, wonky smirks and equally-as-wonky legs as they trundled down the street on their way home.

Neither of them really knew what the place was about, but they all seemed to agree on thing, and one thing alone: It had to be some pretty damn, fucking good breakfast.

Sweetie Belle’s stomach grumbled underneath her as the thoughts of breakfast inched their way through her mind. She found herself licking her lips, imagining what the ‘Best Breakfast in Ponyville!’ might hold. Was it horse-fries and lettuce? No, it had to be better than that. Ice cream and birthday cake was more like it.

Her stomach grumbled, even louder this time, startling Sweetie back to the moment. She almost tripped as she stumbled off the pavement into the cobbled streets, trotting at a half-canter towards the Clop ‘n Barrel.

There was a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach—a hole that begged to be filled—and a rumbling that shook her belly to the very code. She rubbed her hoof against her barrel to silence the lions. Though they tasted good, she had to admit, the Apogee O’s were rather lacking in substance. She never would have gotten this hungry before, though.

It didn’t help that the tingling between her legs was causing her thighs to ache. It wasn’t as bad as it was before—her short ‘exploration’ session had made short work of that, as did the minor ‘double check’ she’d performed in the alleyway on the way here from the Boutique. Yet still, her entire dock was moist and sticky. Her tail was damp and it felt cold. Though the exposed air helped to sooth her nerves slightly, she had to remember to keep her tail low, and not show herself off to the nearest stallion as she reached the front door of the bar.

Her ears turned peachy as she looked around her at the—almost—empty street. There were just a few ponies trotting around, and the distant ringing of the school bell over the hill indicated the time: just after ten.

Miss Cheerilee had most likely started roll-call, and assuming nopony else had had the same idea as her, she was the only filly out there—and yet still, she couldn’t help but wonder—worry that somepony was going to catch her.

She shouldn’t be—a tiny voice reminded her—she was an adult now, or at least looked like an adult. The only ponies that knew, and had seen her transformation were either her closest friends, Princess Twilight Sparkle, or were in a completely different town

She was perfectly safe.

For now.

Sweetie Belle took a deep breath to clear her mind, squeezed her eyes closed, and turned back to face the door. She was just a few steps away from solving her friend’s mysteries, mysteries of going to the one place no foal had ever gone.

This was her one chance. She just had to—A mare’s voice sounded over her shoulder, causing Sweetie Belle to stiffen. Her ears swivelled, straining to hear what they were saying. Was that Cheerilee? Oh fuck, I’m dead, aren’t I?

An orange mare—Carrot Top—trotted up to her from the far side of the street. She had saddlebags with a basket of flowers slung over her withers, and Sweetie’s stomach twisted further as she watched the mare trot across the street, directly and deliberately, walking towards her.

“Excuse me?” Carrot Top asked.

Sweetie’s breath caught in her throat. She felt her chest puff up as she backed against the door, her ears lowering, her mind racing. Oh buck-fuck—Oh fuck—“Y-Yes-s—s?” she stammered out, her voice quivering as she forced a wobbling smile onto her face.

This was it. She was doomed. The world was about to end and she was the centre of.

Carrot Top dug something out of her saddlebags—she pulled a leaflet of paper out from between the flowers and hoofed it over to Sweetie Belle, beaming with a friendly smile. “I just wanted to welcome you to Ponyville. I haven’t seen you around here before and we don’t always get a lot of new faces, you see.”

She was beaming, and yet Sweetie Belle’s face was flushed with a mixture of emotions—mostly confusion. Her mouth moved, not really making the connection to her brain. “O-Oh,” she heard herself say. Then, looking at the page, she turned it over to reveal a diagram of two ponies smiling—dotted with hearts and cider bottles.

The text at the top read: Pinkie Pie’s daily welcome to the new strangers orgy party yaaaay!

Her brow creased slightly. Sweetie didn’t quite know what an ‘orgy’ was but she pocketed the invitation regardless. Turning back to Carrot Top with an unsure smile, she stuttered, “T-Thank you?”

Carrot Top waved a hoof, blowing a raspberry. “Pfft—It’s nothing,” she said, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but we’d be very happy to have you cum with us.” She turned slightly, with an evil grin on her mouth—a glance up and down Sweetie had her blushing and hurrying to clamp her tail down—Carrot’s eyes seemed to be drilling through her soul as she whispered. “Pinkie throws it every spring, to help all of the mares who are ‘in season’, if you get my drift.” She giggled.

Carrot Top trotted away with a skip in her step and slight swish of her tail, leaving Sweetie Belle gawking in confusion. She glanced at the page one more time, before returning her attention to her previous goal.

~ ~ ~

The door was peeling with green paint. Little flecks of the stuff broke off against her coat as Sweetie Belle pushed against the hardened oak wood. It creaked and resisted her pressure for a moment—she thought for a second that it might be locked.

If the Clop ‘n Barrel was closed, that would be all of her plans down the drain. She wouldn’t be able to go inside and find out what it was all about, and she could go back to the boutique and play with herself until night came—when hopefully the spell would revert itself.

Sweetie’s hopes were up and she was just about to turn away and give up, when she was let down: the door began to give way, shuddering and croaking as it scraped against the floorboards inside.

The change was so sudden that Sweetie Belle barely had enough time to correct herself and she stumbled through the new gap, knocking the door sideways with her barrel as she tumbled into the enclosed space beyond.

The door swung back on a spring and slapped into her flanks from the side, nipping at her tail as it closed behind her. She knocked her fetlocks on the other side of the cubical, and almost bashed her horn against the far wall.

Sweetie was faced by a stained glass door—the last solid surface she scrambled to gain purchase against, before yelping as the door swung open under her weight.

She fell forwards, face-planting into the ground on the inside of the bar. The second door clattered shut behind her, jostling her tail into the air.

She felt her cheeks burning red as the hairs of her tail settled across her back, and she—then, Sweetie Belle squeaked as the door slapped her ass on the up-swing before settling back closed.

Oh my Celestia

Sweetie Belle’s ears lowered as she slowly lifted herself off of the ground. The first thing she did, of course, was to give her tail a swipe and a swing as she corrected herself. “I-I hope nopony saw th—” Sweetie froze on the spot as she set eyes on several pairs of bystanders sitting around the pub.

Some of them were huddled around make-shift tables, others in the bunks along the walls, and some stallions were at the counter next to the cash register. All of them were staring at her.

“Uh...” She could feel her face burning under the combined death glares. The room became unusually quiet—eerily so, as the only sounds that could be heard were the thumping of her own heart and the single cough of a mare in the far back.

“S-Sorry” She smiled, hopefully reassuringly, and started brushing herself off. It became painfully obvious to her that she had forgotten her most important rule and quickly clamped her tail down—she could feel it hiking up on its own, almost unbidden as she carefully picked her path through the crowded bar. “Sorry,” she repeated, slightly quieter this time. Her voice was cracking and almost sounded like her prepubescent self as she approached the counter. “M-My bad.”

She held her position, hoping beyond belief that they would stop staring. Her grin widened, aching slightly, before several ponies blinked, and started to move.

The Clop ‘n Barrel was filled with a collective din of creaking and coughing, muttering, as ponies turned their backs to her. The air picked up, and a record was put on track, filling the space with a thrumming tune as everypony began chattering loudly again.

Sweetie watched them a moment longer, sweat beading her forehead and her grin beginning to hurt as she scanned the room.

Nopony was looking at her. Not a single mare or stallion—they were all seemingly engrossed in their own tales, and sipping or eating their own drinks and feed. Most definitely not talking about that weird mare who looks like she’d never been to a bar before. Nope. No-siree.

Sweetie let her breath out, slumping as she sighed, then she inched herself onto one of the seats and turned to face the counter:

A brown stallion with a curly mane and bristly moustache looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. The smile on his mouth made Sweetie double-take. “Um—“

“It’s okay, missy.” He winked. The stallion was hoofing a mug under the counter, cleaning out the inside of it with his old cloth as he spoke to Sweetie. “’Happens t’ the best of us.” He set the mug on the counter to the left and pulled out a second, curvier glass to begin polishing it as well. His moustache itself seemed to curl with his lip as he spoke. “Now what can ah get fer the little lady?”

His accent was thick, vaguely Horse Coltish and barely intelligible, but Sweetie nodded all the same.

“Oh, well, um...” she said.

It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know what it was that ponies drank in this type of place. Sweetie Belle leaned her elbows against the counter but immediately pulled them back, rather keeping a good inch or two between herself and the sticky surface. “I’ll uh...”

She glanced sideways. The stallion’s bushy eyebrows lowered, a sign of concern, causing Sweetie to almost panic. “Now, if ye’ don’t know what t—“

“I-I know!” She yelped. No sooner had the words left her mouth had Sweetie Belle regretted uttering them. She slapped her hooves over her mouth and turned to the patrons behind her—one or two looks, but nothing worthy of aborting the mission.

At least not yet.

She lowered her hooves, withering slightly under the stallion’s glare. He didn’t stop cleaning glasses, now setting the second down and picking up a third, stout cup. “I-I mean—” She swallowed, building all of her courage. What did the ponies do in the movie? She’d remembered watching James Bond with Rarity. What did he always order? “I-I’ll have a cat-pr—” Her voice barely came out a whisper, so she started again, putting on her best, most confident smirk given the circumstance.

She pumped a hoof as she leaned against the counter. “I’ll have your best!” Perfect! She mentally facehoofed.

The stallion’s expression was unchanged. His eyes narrowed. He was clearly not amused. “And that will be?”

Sweetie’s confidence crumbled. “Uh...” She tapped the counter with her hooves, resisting the urge to swing on her perch—which was harder than it looked. This thing was really unstable. Sweetie almost fell as she lifted her hoof to point behind. “Y-your sign said there’s breakfast?”

“Not after eight, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.”

The music from the jukebox filled the silence.

“Well...” Sweetie coughed into her hoof. She turned her eyes away from the stallion, looking over his shoulder to see if she could recognise something, anything.

The walls were lined with bottles; each and every one unlabelled and looking the same, save for the shape and size. Below them were a row of barrels with taps stuck in them, and under that—she had to crane her neck to see—were lines of clean glasses.

She had to guess he was looking for a drink order, which she quickly confirmed. “D-Drinks, right?” She nudged her head towards the bottles on the shelves.

The stallion nodded. He crossed his hooves and leaned back, having completed cleaning the glasses.

Drinks. Drinks.

Her mind raced. What was a drink an old pony might order? Apple juice? No. It had to be something proper. Cider? She heard Apple Bloom talking about it a lot, but that was essentially the same thing, so maybe not.

“I’ll... haaavve aaaaaa...” Sweetie Belle drew out her words as long as they would go, careful not to let the stallion on as she tried to think of something. “....uuuuuhhhh... Aaa—B—... one of...“

She paged back through her mind to try and figure out what would be a good order. Neither of her parents were very open about what they drank and she still didn’t know what was so special about the bottles in her Dad’s cellar. Rarity mostly drank in secret, and whenever she’d asked the answer was “medicine”—which she caught Rarity drinking when she was sad, or alone, or single—which turned out to be scarily often, in retrospect.

The other option was Scootaloo’s father.

He was different. Before he had to go on his business trip, he used to be very open about what he drank. He even let Scoots have a taste once and told her what it was.

Sweetie Belle’s muzzle crunched up as she pried deeper. Scootaloo had told her once, when she was gloating about it. What did she say, though?

Sweetie mouthed out the word: “B-B-b-eeee...”

“Beer?”

“Yes!” Sweetie almost squealed her way out of her seat. She caught herself just in time, rolling it into a cough as she rubbed the spittle from around her mouth. “Yes,” she repeated, slightly more controlled, and nodded. The confidence was back as she immediately flew into the rest of the request: “I’ll have your finest beer, please!”

The stallion nodded, a smacking grin curling the sides of his moustache. He pressed a foreleg against the counter as he leaned over it to give Sweetie Belle a sharp look—she had to lean away from him as he whispered. “And which ‘beer’ would that be, miss?” He almost sounded cocky by his tone.

“B-B-which beer...” Sweetie Belle’s voice died in her throat as she turned to gawking at the stallion. His grin smarted as the penny finally dropped, and Sweetie began to sweat. She averted her eyes, muttering. “B-But I didn’t...” Nopony said there’d be different types! “I—“

He interrupted with a sharp clack of his hoof against the counter, loud enough for Sweetie to flinch, and he asked. “Ma’am,” his tone harsh, “Can we see your ID, please?”

“m-M-my—“ The colour flushed from Sweetie Belle’s face as her ears dropped. Her mind raced as she slowly began to retreat away from the counter, her heart racing as it felt like the world was beginning to come crashing in around her. She could sense ponies’ eyes drilling into the back of her head and she didn’t dare look away. Her tail tucked between her legs, almost on instinct as she muttered. “Um—I—I don’t know what you...”

Oh-no-no-no-no—This is bad. This is waaay bad. She had to think of some way to get out of this, some kind of excuse; anything. What were they even asking about an ID for? Was she caught and she didn’t know it yet, or was this something that normally happened? Do adults normally go around asking each other for their IDs?

So many questions.

Her hoof went to her hammerspace, and she momentarily contemplated taking out the pamphlet Carrot Top had given her. It was a long-shot, but maybe it would confuse him long enough for her to get away.

Her horn shimmered faintly as her magic enveloped the leaflet, and she was just about ready to throw it in the stallion’s face when she was suddenly halted by a hoof on her left shoulder. Somepony steadied Sweetie Belle, quelling her shaking as a stallion’s smooth, weirdly confident, voice seeped into the conversation like molten butter.

“It’s okay,” he said. Hints of a chuckle were hidden in his calming voice. She couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or the stallion, but Sweetie Belle felt herself relaxing regardless as this mysterious stranger slid into the stool beside hers with a practiced ease. His eyes were trained on the stallion behind the counter, his expression neutral, yet warm.

Sweetie was star-struck by his chocolaty brown fur, coated beneath his smart white blazer. His mane was neatly combed, with the occasional bangs flicking past his sterling gaze, softened with a half-smirk and a knowing wink her way.

Sweetie shied away from him, hiding her blush as the gentlecolt turned to the older stallion behind the counter.

“She’s with me,” he said, almost too matter-of-fact. Hearing it now, even Sweetie wouldn’t question him. Then, with nary a beat to breathe, he said: “Pony Walker, malt, with a twist of lemon for myself, and a...” Their eyes met for a second. Sweetie felt like she was being examined as he looked over her, and turned back to the bar with a slight smile. “A Sweet Apple Cider shandy for the lady, if you will,” he added.

The begrizzled stallion grumbled, but begrudgingly he conceded. A pair of glasses slid out onto the counter as he poured them their orders.

Sweetie’s eyes remained wide, fixated on the counter as a stubby-looking glass was set out in front of her. It was filled with ice and a golden brown liquid. It looked like apple juice, but with a little more fizz.

She tested the edge with the tip of her nail, just to be sure it wasn’t about to bite her. The stallion behind the counter grumbled, and in the corner of her vision, she saw him giving her a dirty look, but he made no move to stop her.

She waited for him to turn his back before she prodded the glass again, and then grasped it gently with her hoof, getting used to the touch. Twist once said these kinds of drinks had a bite to them, though she only half-believed now. With one of them right in front of her, they didn’t seem to bite at all.

It was just a drink, right? How could a drink bite? Well, except for that one time when Apple Bloom mixed her—

AHEM

Sweetie’s ears snapped to the side, and her eyes followed. She quickly noticed the other stallion beside her, still quiet as he lowered his hooves to the counter. He leaned with one against the surface, lifting his glass up between them and taking a short sip of his own drink.

He rocked the glass gently. “Sip it slowly,” she heard him whisper, “What you have there is a local favourite; good for a mare in her first time.”

The hairs pricked on the back of Sweetie’s neck and the room started to feel warmer all of a sudden. She averted her eyes, blushing slightly under his gaze, and whispered. “H-How did you know?”

He snickered at this. “After you’ve been around the block a few times, you start to pick up these sorts of things.” He shifted in his seat and picked up his glass for another drink, whispering between sips: “It’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Still, Sweetie Belle flinched at the thought of other ponies knowing. What if she’s gone past any of her friends without seeing them? Maybe she’d cross Applejack, or Big Mac, or even Princess Twilight? She’d told them all about what had happened with the wishing rose. Any one of them would have instantly known what was going on.

What if they saw her leaving that alleyway after her “special time”. Did they know what was going on? And to think, it was this obvious all this time, for so long—Sweetie felt a little vomit in the back of her throat, which she forced back, squeezing her eyes shut as she forced on a trembling smile. “I-I’m sorry. I just—“

A hoof raised a click of his tongue had Sweetie shut up in an instant. His smouldering gaze was fully upon her for an instant, so calm, so understanding. “I understand,” he said, “Think nothing of it. You have nothing to apologise for. Everypony goes through this sort of thing at least once in their life.”

Sweetie cocked an eyebrow at this. “What do you...” Did he—N-no. Everypony’s been...this...?

“Now—” He jerked his head towards the countertop and Sweetie’s eyes followed his to the glass sitting there in front of her—still as untouched as it was before. The liquid had started to gather condensation on the outside, which only made it look colder and more refr-refreshing—is that the word?—It looked more refreshing. “Are you going to try it?”

Sweetie glanced at the stallion’s face—giving him a look like he’d just grown an extra head—though she wasn’t sure he could see. She still didn’t trust him or this drink, but what could it hurt? This was what she’d come here for, after all.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, still giving the glass an untrusting look before switching to the stallion’s face. He had the type of smile that would really make you want to skip class with him...

He seemed nice, totally cute, and he did go through all the trouble to get it for her, so maybe...

“Umm... S-Sure,” she murmured. Sweetie Belle carefully lifted the glass between her hooves—she didn’t yet trust her magic enough to carry out such an important task. She let it rest a moment inches beneath her nose, the lip of the glass almost against her lips, as she stared down into the clear golden liquid.

It was indeed cold. It smelled sweet, pleasant, almost. The fumes tinged her nose, making her giggle lightly in the back of her throat.

She let the sensations settle and then, finally, lifted the glass to her lips to take one, tiny, little sip.

It was barely enough to get the flavour on her tongue, but when she did it was almost immediately bitter. Sweetie almost coughed on the sudden bite of the strong liquid, before the harsh taste was washed away by the cool flavour of apples and the tingling of the foam against the roof of her mouth.

It had this strong flavour of apples, but what was it? A granny smith? Not sour enough... It had to be golden delicious, but Apple Bloom said they weren’t in season yet, and it had a hint of... Pears? Where did they find that!?

“Eeeh-heeehee...”

Sweetie Belle blinked; jolted from her contemplation by a stallion’s snickering. She realised she must have been making a face and quickly hurried to swallow what she had in her mouth and slammed the glass down on the counter, pushing it to a distance just at the edges of her reach as she flustered. “N-n-n-Nothing! It’s nothing!” She’d slapped the glass down so abruptly, she was almost afraid she’d spilled it, and quickly glanced over to the counter to make sure she hadn’t.

The glass was fine.

Sweetie breathed a sigh as she turned back to the grinning stallion, stuttering loudly. “Wh-Wh-” She crossed her hooves, pouting—which only made his grin widen, and her ears burn brighter. “What-are-you-lookin’-at?”

Another round of chuckles, and the stallion waved it off—much to Sweetie’s frustration—“It’s nothing,” he said, still with that annoying smirk. “How is it?”

Sweetie was caught a little off-guard by this, and she glanced to the glass—now slightly less full than before. “It was...” she muttered. How was she going to put this into words? It tasted... “Okay?” She cocked her head and scratched behind her ear. “Bitter, I guess?”

He nodded, appreciatively, and said. “You’ll get used to it.” Then he reached forward, gesturing for a hoof bump as he said. “The name’s Pipsqueak, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you, miss...?”

“OMC!?” Sweetie Belle squealed, fully forgetting to contain herself as she gasped at the revelation. The two of them garnered several stares as Sweetie continued her squealing. “Pip!? Is that really you!?” she practically screamed.

Pip recoiled away slightly, cringing at the noise. He looked completely different from when he was a colt, but there was no denying it. Now that she knew, she could see it in his eyes, that same soft colt look he always had when she noticed him from across the classroom.

This was definitely him, and he was so attractive! So handsome, and utterly dapper in that coat of his. Where did he even get that? She couldn’t remember anypony’s allowance being enough to save up to afford silk—that stuff cost Rarity a hoof and a frog to get as it was.

...Unless he took it from his dad.

That would maybe explain it a bit, but still! This meant she wasn’t the only one! If Pip was also an adult this meant whatever had happened must have affected other ponies, too! She wasn’t alone!

She couldn’t tell whether it was the cider or the excitement of the moment, but Sweetie Belle couldn’t help but feel herself swoon as she leaned on her perch to give Pipsqueak a sly smile.

“Sooo...” She said, fluttering her eyelashes—what was this? She felt all funny inside. Her tail, freed from under her, twitched, almost unnervingly so, but something deep down told her she didn’t have to worry about that, not any more.

Pipsqueak leaned away from her in his seat, still smiling, though his expression had become a little forced, worried. “Do I...” He put a little distance between them, holding his glass as a barrier between Sweetie and himself, as if that could ever stop her. “... Do I know you?”

Sweetie Belle jolted, snapping back upright in her seat. She immediately turned her ears, listening for any snickers around them. She realised that her chin was wet, and swiped the dribble away with the back of her hoof. “Y-Yes, of course!” she snapped, her voice crackling nervously.

Was she seriously just drooling? “Way to go, Sweetie Belle,” she silently chastised herself. Ten minutes and you’re already slobbering over him like a creep.

Her cheeks flushed red and she absent-mindedly levitated her glass to her lips—a momentary distraction from her own embarrassment. She took a sip, realising too late that it was already almost empty, and set the glass back on the edge of the counter.

The bitterness was fading. It wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been at first, and it was almost starting to taste good. It also gave her confidence, steadied her nerves, and helped her to forget herself for a moment longer as she tried to focus on revealing her short-lived secret to this stallion.

All she had to do was keep her cool. Straight forward, easy: Yeah, I’m Sweetie Belle. Don’t you recognise me? She played the words through her head, rehearsing them flawlessly, and then leaned an elbow against the counter to steady herself and give off that perfectly composed posture as she smiled with a calm and collected grin.

“’Do you know me’?” she repeated back to him, her stomach sinking as the words spilled out of her mouth. “You’d better believe you know me. We didn’t spend three years in the same grade for you to not know me?”

Oh buck—The chair slipped underneath her and Sweetie Belle struggled to keep her own balance. “I mean—“ She squeaked, too late before she slapped her hooves over her mouth, blushing profusely as she watched Pipsqueak’s own face turn a deep, dark, shade of red.
She could feel him judging her as his eyes widened in surprise. The glass in his hoof was unmoving, and the air around them felt chill as the moments dragged on into what felt like hours.

Buck, buck, buckity bucking buck. Why did she have to say that? Sweetie Belle, why? Why couldn’t she just stick to the plan?!? All she had to do was tell him the truth and not make a fool out of herself. Now Pipsqueak was probably thinking she was some kind of self-conceited Diamond Tiara knock-off. What could she do?

Running was an option. Could he run faster than her? No idea. He was always the slowest in the grade, but Princesses know what effects puberty might have on a body that small, especially when applied all at once in the middle of the night.

For all she knew, he was probably the colt equivalent of a track-running champion underneath all of that fur.

Oh Celestia why!? Why!?

She was almost starting to tear up and turned to the glass on her side of the counter for condolences. She’d put it to her lip, realising too late that it was completely empty, when Pip finally spoke up.

“...S-Sweetie Belle?” he finally said, still her racing heart. His eyes narrowed, as if trying to focus through some thick fog. “Is that really you?”

Author's Note

This chapter was written around the same time I was visiting Dublin. Ireland is a beautiful country, well worth the trip, and I'd like to say an excellent source of inspiration for this chapter.