In retrospect, Twilight realized, the real problem was lack of caffeine.
It wasn’t just that they had stayed up all night, although running around in the woods was more exertion than she was used to. The most exercise she’d had at Canterlot Castle was turning the heavy, ink-stained pages of Magical Potions And Curses, Volume XII. Second edition, sadly, since the margin notes in Celestia’s personal first edition were considered inappropriate for students. And to be fair, she did occasionally get winded lifting a heavy bookmark.
But the main problem with the spooky abandoned castle in the woods wasn’t the the spookiness, or the running, or climbing dangerous staircases, or even that it was briefly occupied by the evil shadow of her mentor’s sister who had tried very hard to kill them all. It was much more basic than that: there was no coffee.
Shortly after getting access to the castle library, Twilight had calculated her optimum consumption at roughly two cups every three hours. Whereas it had taken them more than twelve hours to defeat the ancient evil, and rescue Princess Celestia. Not to mention hoofing it back to Ponyville for a massive party, and somehow even finding time to give Princess Luna a garland of flowers. During all of which she had consumed zero cups of coffee.
Twilight blinked foggily in the blinding sunlight, trying to focus on Celestia’s inspiring friendship speech. The Princess’s royal, melodic voice crashed into her like a chainsaw, while Luna nibbled deafeningly on her flower-garland.
The chainsaw paused for a moment, and she realized Celestia was finishing up. The Princess smiled radiantly down at her. “Why so glum, my faithful student? Are you not happy that your quest is complete?”
Twilight shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “That’s just it! Just when I learned how wonderful it is to have friends, I have to leave them...”
The Princess lit up, as if an idea had just struck her. “Spike! Take a note, please.” In a flash, Spike had quill and parchment in hand. Choosing her words carefully, Celestia began to dictate in a clear, regal tone:
I, Princess Celestia, hereby declare that the unicorn Twilight Sparkle is a very hard worker, and has distinguished herself magnificently while serving as my student. She has shown a level of magical aptitude, diligence, tenacity, punctuality, and team spirit that will make her a tremendous asset to any organization.
I therefore recommend, in the strongest possible terms, that you consider her for any open position appropriate to her qualifications. If my experience is any indication, she will not let you down!
HRH, Celestia (Princess)
There was a worryingly non-dramatic pause. Twilight tried blinking again. It didn’t help.
“Oh... my,” mumbled Fluttershy finally. “That’s....”
“Awesome!” finished Rainbow, hovering off the ground. “A reference letter from the princess! You’ll be on top of the resume pile for sure!”
There was a collective murmur of agreement from the other ponies; even Spike nodded appreciatively. Twilight’s cobwebs fled, replaced by a terrible feeling of apprehension. This wasn’t going at all like she imagined. But what had she imagined, exactly? Save the world... and then?
“I, um... a, reference letter?” It wasn’t really a question.
Celestia nodded, with a twinkle in her eye. “And that’s not all, my little pony. A little birdie told me there happens to be a vacancy at FlimFlam International Plastics. In the magical research department! Twelve bits an hour, well above minimum wage. And what luck... their campus is barely an hour from Ponyville, courtesy of the Friendship Express Light Rail System.”
That brought another chorus of ooohhhs and aaaahhhs from her new friends, but Twilight’s head spun. “An hour from Ponyville? As in, an hour one way?”
Rarity giggled, adjusting her scarf. “Darling, they’re a very highly regarded conglomorate. I have tea now and again with their vice president of marketing, and she raves about Hawaiian Hat Fridays. And employees are allowed to work from home now, up to two days a month! With management approval, of course.”
“This is very, um, considerate, Princess,” Twilight started, desperately trying to ground the conversation again. “But to be honest, well, I hadn’t even thought about work...” She trailed off.
Five ponies, two alicorns, and one dragon looked at her with varying degrees of confusion.
“I mean, it’s funny, actually,” she stumbled on, trying to grin. “Between solving the Mare in the Moon mystery and my research, I hadn’t considered a job yet. And I just got to Ponyville, and there’s this wonderful library...”
Applejack shook her head. “Not sure I follow, sugarcube. You don’t expect to just hang out in there all day readin’ books, do you?”
“W... well, I...” Twilight spluttered, “I don’t... I mean, there’s lots to discover about the magic of friendship, isn’t there? We could have picnics, I guess? And go on friendship adventures!”
“Oh, Twilight!” Celestia laughed gaily. “There will be plenty of time for that! On nights and weekends, of course. Sure, you’ll be exhausted and just want to sleep, but with grit and determination, you can push past that. Here, let me lend you a book.”
With a sparkle of sunlight and magic, a glossy paperback popped into existence and thumped onto the ground in front of Twilight. An inanely grinning stallion graced the cover, wearing a crooked tie and holding up two mugs of coffee, one in each front hoof. Hustle Your Way To The Top, promised the title.
“And who knows,” added Celestia, with a mischevious wink, “if you work hard and meet your quarterly targets, you might even become a Princess someday!”
“Thank you,” Twilight lied, “but I don’t know if it’s for me.”
Celestia furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand, my little pony. Without a job, how will you pay off your loans?”
“My... loans?” Dim memories sparked in Twilight’s mind, of her first visit to the School for Gifted Unicorns. She sifted through them. There had been Spike’s egg, of course, and the brilliant torrent of magic that followed when she tried to hatch it. Then the overwhelming joy of getting her cutie mark, and the big sheaf of papers Celestia’s assistant had them sign...
“Yes,” said Celestia, producing that very same parchment in a flourish of sparkling golden sunlight. “And only fifteen percent APR! I remember you were so eager to start your lessons, you practically tore the pen from my magic.”
“I was twelve!”
“That’s an excellent point,” mused Celestia, inspecting the document closely. “Ah, I see your parents co-signed. Of course, should you fail to pay, they would become responsible for the balance. The entire balance. Immediately, of course. You wouldn’t want to ruin their retirement, would you?”
Twilight looked sick. “I guess not... they’ve always supported me.”
“That’s the spirit!” beamed Celestia. “Really, plastics are the future. And of course a steady salary will help with the rent on your new library-condo. I doubt you’ll need more than one or two roommates.”
“Um,” said Fluttershy, “I don’t mean to be a bother, but, um, I remember reading in the Canterlot Times, something about loan forgiveness? That you were, um, doing it in honor of the thousandth Summer Sun Celebration. And um, now Nightmare Moon is defeated, it kind of seems...”
Celestia nodded. “I could see how you might think that,” she said sagely, “considering I specifically promised to do it. But unfortunately my hooves are tied. We don’t want Equestria to become an entitlement society.”
Twilight sat down heavily. “Princess, I... is there any way I could just continue as a student? Maybe for a more advanced degree?”
Celestia frowned in concentration. “Hmmm, technically the School for Gifted Unicorns is a feeder school for Canterlot University. I suppose I could put in a word with Dusty Notes at the Equestrian Research Council.”
“Oh, thank you Princess!” said Twilight, “I’ve learned so much studying under you, and I love research more than anything...”
“Do you have three letters of reference, and at least two publications in a high-impact journal?”
“Two what?” wailed Twilight. “I’m early-career! Not even early-career! I’m pre-career!”
Celestia shrugged. “Those are the going requirements, I’m afraid. And it would be minimum wage for a while, too.” She raised a hoof to her chin in thought, and then smiled down at Twilight again. “It occurs to me that some students do take a non-traditional career path, as long as they can keep current with their payments. Maybe your new friends have some advice?”
“Well I for one would strongly encourage you to consider entrepeneurship,” declared Rarity, tossing her mane. “Running the boutique has been a magnificent experience for me. Maybe you could run a literary establishment of some kind? Rare books?”
Twilight nodded desperately. Wonderful images flashed through her mind; tall shelves groaning under the weight of knowledge, dusty sunlit afternoons taking inventory, shelving, re-shelving; even travelling Equestria in search of the rarest works of literature.
“Of course,” continued Rarity, “you would need a little capital just to get started. To put together some stock, rent a shop somewhere, get insurance, hire an accountant, etcetera.”
How much did she have in her bank account? Nearly two thousand bits, wasn’t it? And her parents weren’t rich, but if they could chip in another couple thousand...
Rarity noticed her expression and smiled. “Don’t fret, darling! It’s never been easier to get your start. Why, for the first few years at the boutique I got by on just a teensy half-million-bit loan.”
Twilight boggled. “Half a million?”
“Yes,” said Rarity, shaking her head sadly. “And that was with calling in all my connections, even my lunatic great-uncle. Honestly, with the amount of golf that pony plays you would think he’d know a billionare or two. In the end all he provided was introductions to my first thirty customers.”
Twilight mentally pulled up her family tree. No well-connected great-uncles, as far as she knew. Just one slightly batty aunt in Las Pegasus. Did slot machine players buy rare books?
Pinkie hopped into view. “Well, I can’t give you much advice. Except to buck up and smile! That’s always good advice!”
“Don’t you work at the bakery?” asked Twilight, confused.
“Yep! But it’s minimum wage. I paid off my loans years ago, with a little help.”
“Let me guess,” Twilight groaned. “You play golf with the head of Haycrosoft.”
“Nope!” she replied, bouncing in place. “I could never make it through the little windmill.”
“Then how...”
“Legal settlement,” Pinkie replied, scowling for a moment. “From ponies who manufacture things that look like food but aren’t. But maybe Dashie has an opening on the weather team! You could be Equestria’s first weather-control unicorn!”
Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Nah, that’s just a volunteer thing. I do it for fun, mostly. My dad set up a bust for me.”
“Trust, Rainbow,” corrected Fluttershy gently.
“Yeah, one of those. Plus my mom got me that awesome cloud-house after they divorced, so it worked out pretty well.”
“But what about you?” Twilight asked Fluttershy, getting increasingly frazzled. “Being a small-animal vet couldn’t even pay your loans, let alone a mortgage on that cottage!”
“Oh, I don’t have loans,” said Fluttershy, smiling. “Education is free in Cloudsdale. And the cottage, um, technically belongs to Rainbow’s family too. They’re very sweet letting me stay there.”
“Cloudsdale College ain’t free,” scoffed Applejack, stomping a hoof. “It’s paid for with taxes. Taxes taxes taxes! All them pegasi got their heads in the clouds. They’ll tax you soon as look at you, then turn around and give some apple-thieving lazybones a handout!”
“Hey!” shouted Rainbow. “What about all those bits the government gives you every year for not growing food!”
“That’s a darn myth!” Applejack shouted back. “We only get paid for not growin’ food every other year! And it’s to keep the soil from fallin’ to pieces! You ever hear of the darn Dust Bowl? And if you don’t like it, then how about you try planting corn in a cloud sometime!”
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll tell you where you can plant your corn...”
“Girls,” said Celestia quietly. “I think your friend needs you.”
They turned to look at Twilight, who had turned an odd shade of green, and was gripping her head like she was afraid it would fly off. Rainbow sheepishly backed up, and even Applejack kicked the dirt regretfully. She trotted over and slung a foreleg over Twilight’s shoulders.
“Now, what’s the trouble, sugarcube?” Twilight shook her head, busy exploring whatever came after hyperventilation.
“Sorry, Twilight,” said Rainbow, coming down to earth and folding her wings. “I guess I got a little carried away. I’m here for you.”
“We all are,” said Fluttershy, stepping forward. “It’ll be OK...”
“No it won’t,” whispered Twilight, eyes wide. “It won’t be OK. It won’t ever be OK. I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life working. And after studying for ten years, learning the most advanced magic ever conceived, and defeating an eldritch god-pony of darkness, the best I can do is twelve bits an hour.”
“Now that’s just nonsense,” said Applejack, shaking her head. “We pay more than that at the farm, even. Good honest work, too. Nothin’ wrong with shoveling a little, er, stuff, now and again. Can start next week if you want. Whaddaya say?”
Twilight gazed over at Sweet Apple Acres. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad? Breezing in from the distance, the clean country wind ruffled her mane, bringing with it the scent of ripe apples, honest labor, and just a tinge of adventure.
And manure. Definitely manure.
Twilight turned to Celestia. “So, tell me about the plastics thing again?”
