Wednesday, September 2nd, 909 AB (2 days later)
Just before sunrise

For the first time in five days, Cure comes to attention feeling well and fully rested. Waking up at three in the morning on Saturday for Junior Guard training deprived him of a few hours of additional sleep. Saturday night was a complete bust due to his overnight vigil on the train, and Sunday was little better due to the need to assimilate a portion of the nearby woods and construct his clinic.

Between the long span of wakefulness, the hours of hypervigilance, and the full day of seeing patients, the colt absolutely crashed Monday night, falling asleep on a couch in one of the many libraries. The pair had only just finished dinner a few minutes prior when he conked while lying against his mother’s side, much to the gushing, cooing delight of herself and the elder alicorn.

While he slept long and hard throughout the night, he still woke up Tuesday morning feeling like he got run over by a train, forcing him to rely on his talent to function adequately for the first couple hours of the day. The fog cleared soon enough, but that didn’t save him from feeling worn enough to retire early again that evening, all while assuring the princess and his mother that all was well.

Now, awake and feeling better than he has in days, Cure finds himself on his left side, wrapped in the protective cocoon of his mother’s legs and barrel. He extends his horn and channels his power, summoning a replacement plush doll to take his place. Amethyst stirs as he slips out of her embrace, but settles back down when Cure Weaved is volunteered as a substitute. A short “wakin up the boss” note is left on the pillow so she doesn’t wake up in a panic.

He pauses on his way out to reestablish his connection to his clinic and get all the processes up and running. A single ring is located inside his body, which opens to its mate laid in the building’s foundation. A horn inside the building flashes four times, depositing as many rings in the deepest plunge pool he could find on the side of the mountain.

As water begins streaming into the facility his talent activates to kill off any microbes or algae. Transmutation converts and inorganics present into water, thus ensuring that the numerous refreshments offered are made with the cleanest, most pure ingredients possible.

With preparations underway, he portions off a piece of the final ring into the body of a unique, but otherwise mundane bird; the perfect animal, in his opinion, to start making deliveries. Hedwig hops her way out the front door of his clinic and soon takes to the sky. The bright white owl draws plenty of attention soaring about on the castle’s well lit grounds, but curiosity wins out when she comes in for a landing and offers a small, rolled scroll to the nearest patrol; a notice that the buffet in the prince’s clinic is back up and running for the morning and an invitation to stop in and grab a bite when the opportunity presents itself.

Preparations complete, Cure conjures up a princess-sized mug of fragrant black tea that he levitates overhead. Though caught momentarily by surprise when the door opens, the guards in the hallway all quickly snap to attention. A short trot brings the colt to the princess’s door. The bright-eyed, chipper colt looks up at the smirking guards and asks, “Good mornin, all. Has Mrs. Primrose already been by already or is the boss lady still snoozin?”

He’s very much aware that he probably appears every bit as goofy as the lovestruck stallion from the other day, but playing the part of an overeager foal is as easy for him as it is useful. It probably doesn’t even matter if the colt’s convincing or not; ponies are generally accommodating to a fault already. That he’s a colt and, especially, an alicorn, means that there’s a very good chance a hopeful, earnest smile would get him through virtually any door, crown or no.

The pair trade knowing looks before the unicorn lights up her horn and pushes the door open. “Her majesty is sound asleep, sir!” Her smile widens dramatically and she waves to the open door. “Go on in! I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you!”

Cure chirps out a quick “Thanks!” and makes his way in, the cup of tea trailing just behind him. A trickle of power gathers in his horn illuminating the room in a soft golden glow as he makes his way to the raised dais upon which Celestia’s royal form lay prone.

Even in the soft illumination of his preadolescent horn the princess truly is a magnificent sight to behold. Despite her unconscious state, the ancient alicorn’s form radiates poise, elegance, and an intoxicating power. Laid upon her barrel, the mare’s neck rests on a princess-sized pillow held between her folded forelegs; her right crossing over her left at the fetlock to incline the pillow for her head. Her wings, normally folded and held tightly to her barrel, are fluffed out and relaxed, dangling tantalizingly by her sides. Her left hind leg is drawn up by her barrel while the right one is extended back, her unclad, ivory hoof barely hanging off the corner of the bed.

Even knowing the servants will be there to wake her at any moment, it takes every miniscule shred of willpower not to climb up on the bed, nose his way into the white, feathery heaven, and slide right back into sleep’s embrace. While he’s confident she wouldn’t mind at all, somepony’s bed, especially while they are in it, is sacred ground not to be intruded upon without invitation.

Cure sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head in an attempt to dispel the temptation of snuggling with the princess, and instead circles around to where her snout is less than a hoof’s span away from the edge. Lowering the tea into position, he has to hold back a giggle when her nose starts to dance at the aromatic offering.

“Oh, Princess Celestiiiiaa~” he cheerfully croons. “Time to rise and shine, my not so little pony!”

The mare’s barrel expands with a deep inhalation as she sucks in the rousing steam emanating from the colt’s paltry tribute. A low hum precedes a truly gargantuan yawn, treating the colt to a front row view of the mare’s large, pearly teeth.

A single magenta eye reluctantly slits open, focusing first on the source of the intrusive light. The colt tilts his head one way then the other, giggling foalishly when she remains otherwise still, tracking his horn with her barely open eye. He withdraws his magic, allowing the predawn darkness to reclaim the room.

“You awake enough for some tea, there, sleepyhead?”

An indecipherable grunt is the mare’s response.

“That sounded like some kind of maybe,” he teases. He lifts the mug higher so her muzzle isn’t in the way of her horn’s aura. “Here, Tia, I brought you a little pick-me-up. Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything weird. It’s just black tea with a tiny hint of blueberry and lemon in it. If ya don’t like it -” his words are cut off when her magic intermingles with his own, gently prying the drink from his grasp.

Shifting slightly and repositioning her left hind leg back, Celestia inclines her head and brings the beverage to her lips, sipping at first before all but pouring it in her gullet. The colt watches on with one raised brow as the mare’s throat muscles contract, sending a steady stream of caffeinated bliss directly into her stomach.

“ … Well then. Never mind.” It only takes seconds for her to drain the mug before she sets it on her nightstand, smacking her lips in satisfaction. “Feel better, boss?”

Any further words are mercilessly banished from the colt’s mind when the mare stretches all six limbs in every direction. The full, divine span of her glorious wings spread wide; her left wing pushing against the wall above the headboard and rolling her to her right. Her hind legs reach back, knees fully extended and fetlocks curled up. Even her tail seems to go rigid, extending straight out and slightly up.

The sight is enough to cause a stir in even his prepubescent mind as he drinks in her form, committing to memory the view of every visible muscle on her body straining all at once. He barely manages to pick his jaw up off the floor before the moment ends, schooling his features back to only show mild amusement as the mare relaxes limp on the bed, her wings disappointingly folding back into place on her sides.

“So… that’s a yes?” he teasingly asks.

Eyes still closed, she almost imperceptibly nods her head. A soft mumble escapes her lips too quietly for him to decipher.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he admits, leaning in closer to her muzzle.

Another murmur into her pillow is once again missed.

The colt rolls his eyes, rearing up to set his forehooves on the bed so he’s even with her face. “Yer chewin on yer pillow, boss. Do ya want another?”

Her left eye cracks open again and she opens her mouth to whisper, clearly enunciating, “I said something is missing.”

“Missing?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What’s missing? Sugar? You don’t norm- ACK!”

Two hooves lance out, wrapping around his sides and pulling him up on the bed. The mare rolls supine, her head inclined and propped up on her pillow. The colt only has a disorienting moment to think before he finds himself slammed into her chest, trapped between her forelegs thighs and hugged tightly by luxurious feathers.

The spike of adrenaline fades, banished by the suffusing warmth of her body. He buries his snout in her soft fluff and inhales deeply, drinking in her scent and burrowing into the valley of her pectorals; the forbidden valley normally hidden by her villainous regalia.

“Better,” she quietly declares.

He can’t help but nod in agreement. “As much as I’m down for a good cuddle, you do know what time it is, don’t you?”

Her chest deflates as she blows out a dejected sigh.

“Poor Tia, never gets to sleep in.”

She lets out a pouty whine.

“Just out of curiosity, what would happen if you had somepony else raise the sun for you?”

“That is my duty, Cure. You know that,” is her soft reply.

“Uh huh. Captain Shield has a duty too, right?”

Her head turns to the right so she can look down at him and meet his eyes with one of her own.

“And if, in theory, she caught some kind of bad cold and simply could not fulfill her duty, what would happen?”

She frowns.

“I would assume, then, that Lieutenant Spear would step in and cover for her until she’s able to resume her duties, right?”

The frown deepens.

“Now here’s the part I don’t quite get,” he continues, tone full of faux confusion. “As important as the good captain’s job is, she has a lieutenant and, presumably, others that can fill in should the need arise. Yet for some unfathomable reason, if the mare that, quite literally, controls the very sun that sustains the world is indisposed… then what?” he wonders aloud, his breath tickling the fur of her neck.

She huffs in mock annoyance causing the colt’s chin to bounce against her.

“I guess we’d all just have to resign ourselves to freezing to death while the other half of the planet boils into some scorched hellscape,” he posits in a bored tone. “Or maybe a few thousand survivors will be able to eke out some semblance of a living on the slim piece of land halfway between the sun and moon. Assuming that falls on land, at least. Otherwise we’re just screwed, I reckon. Unless I turn everypony into some kinda fish pony hybrid, I suppose.”

A beat of silence passes between the two.

“Are you done?”

“I dunno, boss. Is that what you want for the future of your little ponies? Scraping and skimping, barely surviving on a thin stretch of the planet trapped between eternal day and eternal night? If that’s Plan A, or, I suppose, Plan ‘Only,’ then yeah. I’m done. That is, unless you have some kinda useful input you’d like to share with the class.”

“You are terrible at snuggling.”

An accusing hoof thrusts in her direction. “You take that back! I’m a fantastic snuggler! I’m certified and everything!”

“Certified?” she questions with a chuckle.

A scroll flashes into existence above his head. His horn lights up, illuminating it as it unfurls.

“It’s all right there, boss. Certified snuggler, triple-S ranked. Doctorate in both Snuggleography and Snuggleology.”

“I see. Curiosity compels me to question why it says pending at the bottom.”

The colt curls a forehoof in agitation, gently thumping the side of his fetlock against her chest. “Those jerks in charge of the school are ageist, that’s why! They won’t issue me my finalized license ‘till I grow up a little, they say. ‘Can’t properly snuggle ‘till yer at least as big as the snuggle-ee,’” he mocks in a nasally voice. “The morons have no clue I can be as big as the situation calls for,” he grouses.

Celestia analyzes the colt’s face looking for any sign that the double entendre was intentional. He meets her gaze with one of complete innocence. Another sigh escapes her as she lays her head back.

“As… fascinating as that is, I am assuming you came to wake me for a reason.”

“You bet, boss,” he eagerly nods into her fluff. Softy, the colt makes his request. “I was wonderin if you’d be fine with me joinin ya this mornin. It’s kinda funny given everything I can do, but somehow… that always feels more magical than anything.”

The mare smiles radiantly and nods in response. “You are always welcome to join me, Cure. Would Mrs. Blossom care to attend as well?”

“Dunno. She’s sound asleep. How ‘bout we ask her at breakfast and, if she’s up for it, both figuratively and literally, she can join in tomorrow?”

“Very well. If you are prepared, I can teleport us to the tower balcony.”

“Sure. You don’t want to just do it here?” The mare once again sits up to meet the colt’s eyes, wondering if that one was intentional as well. He cocks a brow in question at the odd look which she dismisses with a shake of her head. Power swells in her horn for the briefest instant before their surroundings flash. Her foreleg still wrapped around his back, the mare’s wings shoot out to arrest their brief fall as they drift gently to the balcony’s surface.

Sat on her haunches, Celestia turns the colt in her grip, holding his back to her chest with her left foreleg under his rump and her right underneath his forelegs.

“One sec, boss,” he calls, giving the elder alicorn pause. “I gotta get rid of my crystals.” The princess blows out a long breath and rolls her eyes as the colt’s horn flashes several times in rapid succession.

It’s almost uncomfortable the way he feels well and truly naked without his typical armaments, but given his position being held in her forelegs he figures he should be plenty safe enough for the time being. With everything stowed away, he withdraws the deactivated portal ring to his building and levitates it outside of the ritual circle. “All set!”

“Really, Cure, is all of that truly necessary?”

“Maybe? I dunno. When I’m older? Definitely not, but I’m worried I’ll get caught in a situation without them at some point and somepony’ll get hurt if I’m not prepared. Tell me there’s not at least one or two times in your life where a well timed shield, teleport, or attack spell would have been really convenient to have.”

The mare deflates slightly and begrudgingly nods her head. “I suppose I cannot dispute that, but those were far more dangerous times.”

“Uh huh. And I’m sure the Matobo Tribe is only going to be interested in having a sit down with tea and crumpets.”

A throaty growl escapes the mare and she grumbles, “I knew you would fixate on that as soon as he said it.”

“I’d be kinda peeved if you knew about a potential threat and didn’t tell me, boss. Don’t worry; it doesn’t change much. It’s not like I can get any more paranoid anyhow.”

“I should hope not,” she quickly agrees.

He looks up to give her a wholly unrepentant smirk. “So… you gonna do this thing or not? I ain’t got all day, ya know?”

Her right foreleg tightens, giving the nuisance a small squeeze. “Quiet, you.”

Ignoring his pouty look, the mare inclines her head and slightly unfurls her wings. Cure picks up on the change immediately, relaxing into her grip and concentrating on the feeling of dense magic washing over him. Celestia’s entire form glows golden as she calls upon the full might of her power to push against the heavenly body, guiding it gently over the western horizon and casting the land in pitch black.

Cure is somewhat surprised and delighted when Celestia chooses to use the ritual circle to raise the sun rather than rely on only her special talent. He knows she is doing it only for his benefit; likely the same reason she brought them to the south facing tower. The tug from the east draws his attention as joyous, comforting heat soaks through his coat and fills every part of him. The golden streaks of dawn spill over the horizon, flowing down the Canterhorn like a waterfall of light as the sun climbs into the sky.

The great alicorn’s power recedes, withdrawing from the circle and back into her mortal form. As one the two draw in a deep breath, holding it only for a moment before blowing out. He looks up with a beaming smile. She looks down and meets it with her own.

“Good morning, Celestia,” he softly calls.

“And a wonderful morning to you, too, Cure Wave.”

Amethyst regards the copy of her disguised self staring back at her from her son’s bed unable to keep the anxiety off her face while conversing with the duplicate. “I swear, colt, I ain’t ever gonna get used ta that.”

A look of sympathy crosses the puppet’s features as it nods in acceptance. “I know, ma,” it says in her own voice. “Everypony seems to get pretty freaked out when they see their own doppelganger. I mean, I get it,” she assures her with a helpless shrug, “but there’s no reason to let it bother ya.”

She shoots the puppet a disbelieving look and belts out a doubtful snort. “My nine year old son’s wearin my skin like a Nightmare Night costume. Seems ta me that there’s a right proper reason ta be a tad bothered.”

“Eh, fair enough. Either way, my other puppet is in position. You ready?” She blows out a sigh and nods in acceptance, bracing herself for the transition. “It’ll be three hops, ma. Bend your knees a little and close your eyes. I’ll patch ya up between Teleports, okay?”

“Why can’t I just take a carriage?” she petulantly whines.

“You could have if you’d said you didn’t want to do it this way an hour ago. Now there’s no time. Carriages suck anyhow. Why would you want to spend forty minutes stuck in a fuckin hotbox in Canterlot traffic when you can travel all the way across town in under a minute?”

“Them carriages got coolin enchantments!” she argues, thrusting her right hoof towards the windows overlooking the castle courtyard.

“Again, there’s no friggin time, ma! Our appointment is in five minutes! Are you ready or not?”

“Fine!” the mare growls, stamping a forehoof angrily on the floor.

“Look, you’ll be fine. If you really don’t want to do this I could just send a puppet,” said puppet presses a hoof against her own chest, “and you can go back to doing whatever you want. Just pass me the saddlebags and I’ll take care of everything.”

“No,” she sighs, shaking her head in dismissal. “It’s the whole reason I came, after all.”

“I know, and I kept telling you I could have just done that the whole freakin time.”

“Uh huh, with the princess knowin dern well I never left Golden Hills?”

The clone shrugs, arguing, “Do you think she’d actually step in to intervene? I think the boss lady has more important shit to worry about, ma.”

“Okay, okay. Yer absolutely sure nopony can detect ya, right?”

“If they can, they haven’t said anything yet, ma. I’ve been teleporting shit in and out of the castle since we got here. You remember the cake I teleported in just the other day, right? That went straight into the middle of the castle, no problem.”

“Oh yeah. Alright. Fire away, colt.”

“Close yer eyes and relax your knees, ma. Don’t forget that the first jump is going to be to a cloud. Going in three. Two. One.”

Despite being able to see the flash even through her eyelids, Amethyst is grateful for the warning when she rematerializes in the open sky under Celestia’s sun. Even with her coat changed to white she can feel the warmth beating down on her from above as she falls a fraction of a centimeter onto a soft, cloudy surface. It takes a couple blinks to adjust to the transition from the colt’s royal bedroom to outdoors, but before she can even regain her focus the mild queasiness that comes with teleporting is soothed away.

“You may not want to open yer eyes, ma. We’re pretty high up.” No further instruction needs to be given; the mare instantly collapses to her barrel and pinches her eyes shut. The wind flowing through her coat tells her plenty, and the brief moment of looking at the wide-open sky is more than enough. “Going in three, momma. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe.”

Amethyst mentally braces and another flash soon follows, this time planting her on a gravel roof. She exhales a sigh of relief as the colt’s magic once again washes over her. The cycle repeats once more before the mare pops into existence off to the side of a busy street in the business district to the southwest. Numerous heads swivel in the pair’s direction from the flash of light, but aside from a couple curious stares, no doubt wondering why a -now- unicorn colt is teleporting an earth pony mare around, nopony pays them any mind other than some curious glances.

“Urg… teleporting and heights. Ya sure know how’ta show a mare a good time, colt.”

“Oh please, you could get used to both of those if ya put in a little effort,” he chides, washing away any lingering discomfort at the same time. “Now come on or we’re gonna be late. And don’t forget, I’m still seeing patients, so cover for me if I drift off a bit.”

Amethyst grunts her acknowledgement as the pair exit the alley and trot into the office. She does a double-take when she notices the colt’s horn disappear and both of their colors change between one step and another while crossing the threshold. The building is a larger office complex with a number of companies operating out of it. Cure quickly makes his way to the directory posted on the wall, locating the correct office after only a moment. They make their way up the stairs and down a short hallway to the firm’s offices and step inside.

As soon as they close the door behind themselves the receptionist, a light green pegasus, looks up and calls out, “Good afternoon and welcome to Grant, Best, and Bookshire, how may I assist you?” in a voice that might as well have been stolen straight from Janine from Ghostbusters.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Amethyst greets the older mare. “The colt ‘n I got a two a’clock with Mr. Grant. Amethyst Blossom and Cure Wave,” she says, sliding a folder with their paperwork across the desk as well as a short stack of bits to cover the consultation. “Y’all can keep the copies.”

She spends a moment over the marriage license and birth certificate before nodding in acceptance. She slides the duplicates into her own file folder, passes the originals back, slides the bits through a slot in one of the drawers of her desk, then nods off to the side where a row of couches is sat against the wall. “Go ahead and have a seat over there. I’ll let Mr. Grant know you’re here.”

Amethyst no more than climbs on a couch before the colt’s half climbed on her side, resting his chin in her mane. They pass the brief wait in silence, content to snuggle until the door with “Certain Grant, Esq.” cracks open. The unicorn that pokes his head out the door has a light gray coat, a bright blue mane, and a beard, mustache combo that reminds Cure of the bad guy from the Sherlock Holmes movies, instantly setting the colt on edge. “Missus Blossom? Mister Wave? Come right this way,” he beckons with a wave.

They hop down and follow the stallion in, Cure pushing the door with his right hind hoof until it clicks shut. Every ounce of wood in the lawyer’s office is a deep red mahogany polished to perfection. The few shelves not lined in books are covered with a variety of nautical instruments and model ships. The desk the stallion sits behind is covered by a large, black blotter and has, from the angled glimpse the colt catches, a black and white portrait of the stallion’s family on it.

Cure and Amethyst each hop up and settle on their haunches in oddly human-like chairs opposite him as he begins to speak. “Good afternoon,” he begins in a rich, deep voice. “I understand you were referred to our offices by another firm. Ace, Hardwick, and Rose, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s right,” Cure confirms. “Ms. Rose said they don’t really do patent or commercial law much. She said your firm would be better for that stuff.”

“Indeed,” he agrees with a shallow nod. “From the correspondence in which your… sire?”

“Uh huh.”

“... requested this meeting, you wished to speak to our firm regarding some manner of invention.”

“Exactly!”

“And you, young mister, are the inventor?”

“You bet. I’ve got a bunch of ideas, but I’m startin small, in a way. While not physically large at all, my idea’s gonna change the world.”

A single amused brow delicately climbs up the stallion’s brow. “You don’t say?”

“Darn right I … uhh… do, in fact, say!”

The older stallion chuckles warmly. “Ah, the enthusiasm of youth. While I certainly do not wish to dash your hopes upon the rocks, many a young foal is under the impression that they will become the next Scrooge McBuck or J.D. Hockefeller. While a worthwhile invention can earn you a fair few bits, it is important to keep one’s expectations realistic.”

“Sure, okay,” the colt agrees, bobbing his head in acceptance. “Just out of curiosity, how do you get paid? It’s not a percentage thing, is it?”

“That is one option,” the stallion stresses, “however that is not typically how we operate. If somepony lacks the funds to pay our flat fee they may, if we deem their invention likely to find success, compensate our firm with a modest percentage. Is that an avenue you wish to explore?”

“I’d much rather pay you a flat fee if that’s an option,” he declines. “How much are we talkin here?”

Grant’s eyes briefly flick to Amethyst who, strangely, seems content to let her son do all of the talking. He feels the tugging of a grin forcing its way onto his muzzle despite his attempts to remain professional. It is always a pleasure to find a young stallion so eager to make his mark on the world, after all.

“It is difficult to say, unfortunately. First, a significant amount of research must be conducted to ensure that your idea meets the criteria required to be issued a patent, then even more must be done to confirm the idea has not been patented already at some point in the past.

“There’s fees associated with documentation, technical drawing, and assembling the patent packet all leading up to the initial filing. From there the cost could increase significantly if there is a need for us to petition the patent office should they find some flaw or overlap with another product. I could give you a rough estimate if everything were to go flawlessly, but such a thing is a rarity indeed.”

“Eh, good enough. Just ballpark it for me.”

“Ball…park?”

“Yeah, rough estimate. Let’s say everything does go flawlessly like you said. We talkin fifty bits, five hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, or what?”

A barked laugh escapes the stallion as he shakes his head no. “Certainly not the latter, though likely somewhere between the middle two. I do hope that does not exceed your planned budget?”

“Nah, a grand or two isn’t a problem,” he assures the attorney. “I’ll make way more than that every week once these get sellin anyhow. I’m pretty sure I have a multi-million bit idea, mister.”

“I certainly hope you do,” he says, humoring the colt. “Well, young stallion,” he waves a hoof to go ahead, “let us see what you have.”

“You bet, mister! Lemme ask ya this first, how many quills do you go through on a daily basis?”

Grant inclines his head in thought before shrugging. “Before I started using a fountain pen and on a busy day, I might perhaps split… three? Four? I presume your invention is some sort of writing instrument?”

“Exactly!” Cure answers, bouncing in his chair. “Show ‘em, ma!”

Amethyst dutifully reaches in her saddlebag and withdraws two simple, rectangular paper boxes and sets them on the lawyer’s desk with a rattle.

Grant quirks a brow at the colorful, exceedingly well designed yellow and black graphics strewn about the packages, assuring the contents write smooth and leave no blotches behind. He levitates one box and, after a moment’s inspection, finds the end of the box folded into itself. “Unusual that you’ve already consulted somepony in marketing. I do hope nopony attempts to steal the idea before you’ve come to me.”

“Colt did all’a that himself,” Amethyst assures the stallion. “Used his special talent ta make ‘em all an’ do up the boxes.”

“Ah. Interesting,” he murmurs, withdrawing one of the items from the box; a solid aluminum ballpoint pen with a button on its top to extend or withdraw the tip. “It looks more like a metal pencil than a pen.”

“I’m calling them ‘ballpoint pens’ ‘cause of how they work. Each box has four black, four blue, and four red. That one you have right there is the thicker of the pair at one millimeter, but the other has a finer point; it’ll leave a line behind that’s seven tenths of a millimeter across. Go on and give it a whirl. Just click the end to extend the writing tip, then you’ll probably have to give it a little scribble first to get the ink running. You’ll only need to do that the first time you use it or if you leave it sittin too long.”

Now genuinely curious, the stallion levitates a pad of paper out of his desk and sets it on top. He depresses the plunger on the back, smiling faintly when it gives a satisfying metallic click. First he scribbles a few lines in the corner until the ink starts flowing, then he writes out a sentence on the pad, eyes widening as the letters flow out of the pen almost like magic. The first pen is set aside and a second, this one in blue, is immediately withdrawn and tested as well. The stallion doesn’t stop there, opening the other box and writing a few words to compare the thickness of the lines.

Once he stops writing, he turns the pen around and floats a magnifying glass out of his drawer, studying the tip of the pen in detail. “Ah. I believe I see the ball.” He looks to Cure and asks, “You made these yourself with your talent?”

“Sure did. It wasn’t a once-and-done process, lemme tell you. First I hadta come up with the basic design, then I spent a lot of time making the little ball and its socket thingy just right. Don’t even get me started on the friggin clicker! Figuring that out was a pain in the plot, lemme tell ya. The ink is special too; it’s a bit thicker than what you’ve got in that pot there,” he says, motioning to the inkpot sitting on the corner of the stallion’s blotter. “All told, I went through fourteen major revisions and who-knows-how many minor ones before I got it all workin right.”

“That’s… amazing! Have you taken the time to draw out a schematic of some sort? Proper documentation is…” he drifts off when Cure turns to his mother and makes the “gimme” motion with his forehooves. The mare rolls her eyes, but once again goes digging in her saddlebag, withdrawing a rolled up paper that is far wider than the pack is deep.

The casual use of a compressed bag of that size along with the colt’s easy acceptance of the firm’s fees confirms that the two ponies across the desk from him, despite the mare’s uneducated manner of speaking, are not some simple-minded earth ponies to take advantage of. He is suddenly relieved that he accepted Moon Rose’s suggestion that he treat the colt and his family, which initially seemed like an odd way to phrase it, with the utmost respect.

Igniting his horn, he quickly moves everything on his desk out of the way as the foal sits up and unfurls the scroll, leaning forward and resting a hoof on the edge of his desk to lay out the precisely drawn schematic. He’s taken aback at the professionalism of the drawing which shows the assembled whole along with a fully disassembled diagram with each part depicted in painstaking detail and labeled.

“Amazing, I say again! Simply amazing, young stallion!” he energetically declares. “I’m a little unsure of the name, however,” he hesitates. “Typically products omit the revision number from their names. I suppose that can be something you revisit should we find success, however.”

“Eh, I’m pretty committed to it if we can manage to get it through.”

Grant shrugs noncommittally and bobs his head in acceptance. “Very well then. We - your mother and I, that is - have some paperwork that we must complete first, then I will collect the initial payment for the first few steps of the process. We will begin the process of investigation first thing tomorrow morning and, with a little luck, send word of our success within the next month, give or take.”

“Awesome!” Cure cheers, extending a forehoof over the desk for a bump. “I look forward to the good news, Mister Grant. And if everything goes well, you’ll be amongst the very first owners of a box of Ballpoint Pen Fifteens!”

Early evening

The door no more than swings open on his carriage before Cure hears Blueblood Junior’s high pitched call of “Prince Serpentus!” ringing out. While the show’s depiction of the future Blueblood is thus far inaccurate, the slightly whiny, grating voice has, unfortunately, not been terribly far off.

The young alicorn had been stumped at what to wear initially. He’d first considered just going au naturale, but it’s barely been two months since the coronation, so he’s not eager to give up the game that quickly. Unwilling to spend a lot of time on a rather unimportant detail, Cure ultimately donned his typical golden flight suit, kept his emerald-imbued tracking regalia, but left his crown and shoes behind.

He climbs down off his bench and out of the carriage, giving his trio of guards a grateful nod as he passes. A dozen other palace guards in standard attire will see to his carriage and await his return, a horrible waste of ponypower in his opinion, even if it is standard operating procedure. It once again strikes the colt as a little ridiculous that the only two beings on the planet that are, allegedly, unkillable are also amongst the most heavily guarded. Appearances must be kept, he supposes, and at least now the squad accompanying Junior will have another squad to alternate shifts with.

The older colt is waving merrily as Cure makes his way up to the facility’s entrance. He isn’t alone, either; standing just behind the older royal is a pair of fillies that Cure estimates to be about Junior’s age. Unsurprisingly, both are unicorns, and neither is anypony he recognizes. The taller and, likely, elder of the pair has a very light powder pink coat and a darker, orchid purple mane. The younger has similar colors to Rising, though her yellow fur has more of a golden lustre reminiscent of Duchess Suncrest’s magnificent coat.

Far from the typical gymnasium or community center from his memories, every aspect of the Ashwood Club screams privileged. The entire perimeter is surrounded by a red brick wall that looks to be about a meter tall with a wrought iron fence - or perhaps wrought gold fence - rising from the brick. Cure is relatively certain it isn’t really gold; likely steel with its color magically altered, but the visual effect is still the same. Everypony within the club’s walls is elite in a way that places them above even the very well-to-do neighbors living nearby.

Even the gate is over the top; the two-carriage-wide double golden gates are mared by a half dozen private security ponies. They appear to take their jobs very seriously, too. Despite being in a clearly marked carriage from the Royal Castle and escorted by fifteen guards, they still held his entourage up for a moment while verifying that His Highness, Prince Serpentus is on the approved guestlist for the day.

It’s the first time in his royal guise that anypony anywhere has ever come close to saying “no” to the colt and he was legitimately unsure if he should be offended or impressed by their commitment to their job. He’s leaning more towards the latter simply out of concern that he may be letting his ego get the better of him.

From the gate onto the grounds stretches an incredibly smooth-riding red brick road, the outer edges and middle stripes denoted by lines of golden bricks instead. The road ends in a circle, the middle of which has a chest height, for an adult, hedge surrounding a fountain. A carriage house is off to the left, in front of and to the west of the main building’s entrance along with a building Cure can’t immediately discern the purpose of. Perhaps a break room for the employees who would normally be responsible for parking the rides of the, relatively speaking, normal visitors.

The facility itself looks more like a mansion than a recreational facility. Though the stairs leading up to it are a light gray cement, the three visible buildings that make up the club are the same colored red bricks that make up the street and surrounding barrier. A pair of doorponies stand beside the single, five meter tall double-door entrance, watching on placidly as Cure approaches Junior and his three Royal Guards with his own squad trailing.

“There he is,” Junior loudly declares, stepping forwards to give the colt a hoof bump, “the stallion of the year! Prince Serpentus, it would be my greatest pleasure to introduce two of the loveliest fillies you will ever meet,” he continues, stepping to his right and waving with his left foreleg as he turns to face the pair.

He motions to the pink filly and introduces, “The magnificent jewel Rose Quartz and her ever radiant cousin Glistening Fall. Ladies, the one, the only, His Highness, Prince Serpentus,” he finishes, dropping into an overly formal bow. The girls must not have been in on the joke because they both nervously look between the prostrate colt and distinctly unamused alicorn wondering if they are supposed to bow as well.

“Dude. Seriously?” he huffs in exaggerated annoyance.

“I jest, I jest!” Blueblood assures him, rising out of his bow. “Apologies, Serpentus, I simply could not resist the urge to raz you a little. The discomfort with which you receive such gestures amuses me greatly.”

“Uh huh. Well I’m glad you got it out of your system.” He turns to face the two fillies, suddenly feeling slightly out of place with the older, taller foals. Even with his greater earth pony stature, he has yet to truly start growing whereas all three of the others are well into their pubescent years, granting them almost the same height as a full grown adult, though they are still slightly gangly compared to a completely matured pony. “Ladies,” he bobs his head in a shallow bow, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. As I’m off duty and unadorned, mostly,” he quickly amends, tapping his golden collar, “there is no need for formality. Serpentus will do just fine.”

“Very well,” Rose begins, hesitating slightly, “Serpentus. It is wonderful to meet you. I’ve never met a real alicorn before,” she nervously adds.

“Of course you haven’t,” Glistening Fall chides, “there are only two, after all. A pleasure, your highness,” she returns with a nod.

“Yeah, there’s not enough of us to go around. So,” he gestures towards the door, “what’s the plan for today? I’ve obviously never been here.”

“You will absolutely love it, I assure you!” Fall enthusiastically exclaims as she nods to the doorponies. As one the pair turn to face each other, ignite their horns, and take one step back to pull the doors open, smoothly dropping into bows towards the entrance as they move. “My great many-times-over granddam spared no expense when she created the Ashwood,” she begins, waving a forehoof in invitation.

The small herd follows her into a grand lobby as she continues, “It began as a gathering hall for social events, which we still host quite often. The elite of the city desired a place to relax and enjoy themselves in all ways, including athletics. The tennis courts were first added in 797, giving the nobility a private venue to explore the sport.”

They continue past the front desk set off to the right side, taking in the room that reminds Cure very much of a high end hotel lobby. Thick, dark blue carpeting makes up the floor leading to a large, currently unlit fireplace in the center of the room surrounded by several couches. A wide, wooden staircase in deep maple is to the left leading up to the second floor, upon which several adults are conversing while overlooking the front half of the lobby.

Though a number of heads have turned in the herd’s direction, specifically observing the colt himself, very few are openly gawking as he has become accustomed to. He still picks up on quiet whispers about the alicorn’s presence, but they lack the usual reverent tone that he’s come to expect. Some are downright derisive, flat out asking why “one of them” has been allowed in the facility.

Uncaring or, more likely, unaware of the whispers, Glistening Fall continues, “Swimming and wading pools were added only a few years later to great success. Many of the lesser-used auditoriums have been converted over the years to facilitate all manner of entertainment including shuffleboard, billiards, indoor tennis, and less physically demanding activities such as chess, backgammon, and all manner of card game. In fact, the annual Canterlot Poker League’s championship was hosted here just six weeks ago.”

“Huh. Neat. I didn’t even know such a thing existed.”

“It’s a very popular event lasting several days.” The girl’s snout crinkles as she complains, “Unfortunately it is for adults only, and thus far my parents have declined my suggestion to establish a youth’s league. ‘Foals should not be encouraged to gamble,’ they argue.”

“I can’t completely fault them,” Cure gently admits. “I’ve not seen gambling addiction specifically. At least, not that I’m aware of. Still, I have had to deal with a few other forms of addiction at the hospital and it’s not a pretty sight.”

“I was unaware one could become addicted to gambling,” Junior comments. “How would that work, exactly?”

“The same as any other addiction, I would guess,” Cure answers. “Chemicals are released in the brain bringing pleasure during an act, be it taking drugs, winning at a sport, drinking, or, of course, gambling. The pleasure derived becomes intrinsically linked to the act that stimulated the brain, thus prompting the pony to repeat the process again and again.”

All three slow their stroll listening as he continues, “As with many other chemicals, the gambler, in this example, builds an immunity of a sort, requiring that they intensify the act triggering the chemical release. Greater risks, greater rewards, greater losses, and greater stimulation, all leading to a downward spiral.

“Of course, that’s simply the model by which it can happen; rolling the dice once certainly won’t automatically make you want to risk your family’s estate or anything, but with youths in particular our brains are still developing, still ‘learning’ for lack of a better word. That means anypony under about eighteen is highly susceptible to starting on that path.

“Truthfully, the real number is likely several years older before we’re somewhat less vulnerable to addiction and, as with any sample, there will be some that are far more or less prone to fall into that cycle regardless of their age.”

The three trade shocked looks at the unexpected miniature lecture, falling into a somewhat awkward silence as they more sedately make their way through the facility. Junior clears his throat to dispel the quiet. “That… was a rather more insightful answer than I had anticipated. I suppose I should have expected that given your talent.”

“That was brilliant!” Rose quickly agrees.

“It was indeed,” Fall seconds, “though I would ask that you not repeat that should you happen upon my parents. I fear they may never allow me to participate should they hear your opinion on the subject.”

“Fair enough,” he easily agrees, noting how the young mare is leading them to the doors exiting out the back of the facility. In the distance, and slightly to the left, are a number of fenced in tennis courts that he presumes is their ultimate destination. “I take it we’re headed out to the tennis courts?” he speculatively ventures.

“We are indeed,” Junior confirms. “Have you ever played before?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he denies with a shake of his head. “I know the rules and scoring, but I’ve never actually played.”

He can’t help but notice the mischievous smiles that the three older foals trade. Rose gives him a gentle bump on his left with her foreleg and assures him, “Don’t worry; we’ll be sure to take it easy on you, your highness.”

“Very well,” he agrees with a nod. “I place myself at your mercy, madame.”

From their quiet snickers, Cure can only assume they plan on giving him a hard time. For his part, he can hardly wait to give the game a try; Edward never played competitively, but he was a fair hand at the game nonetheless. He and several of his friends during his teenage years used to ride their bikes to a nearby park and play during the summer on days that weren’t completely miserably hot.

It’s only a few minutes later when they find a court that he’s certain was set up specifically for the group’s use. A small crowd of onlookers are watching both from balconies overlooking the courts as well as benches placed underneath trees providing shade along the walkways that wind throughout the grounds. Not only are there scores of bystanding observers, there’s also numerous staff members in attendance, rushing to and fro to retrieve balls and offer cooled refreshments to the other players.

“What are the teams?” he asks as they pass through the fence’s gate. Each court is segregated so that nopony interferes with each other. To the colt’s surprise, an enchantment activates upon the gate’s closing. He feels the tingle of magic wash over the court and instantly notes the complete cessation of any flowing wind. His initial worry about feeling the heat more significantly is dispelled when the air noticeably begins dropping in temperature at the same time.

“Colts versus fillies?” Blueblood instantly suggests.

Glistening smirks at the white stallion, teasing, “A future and current prince against two helpless damsels? That hardly seems fair.”

“Helpless damsels?” Rose scoffs. “His highness has never played before. It should be the three of us against you alone, you utterly ridiculous nightmare.”

Cure cuts off the argument before it can get started. “I’m fine with Vladimir and myself on a team. We can always rotate after a set or two. Just one question… where are the rackets?”

All three affix the colt with a stare of complete confusion. Realization dawns on Junior’s face first and he snorts out a laugh. “Right, right. You were an earth pony. Apologies, Serpentus, but we play by unicorn rules here,” he explains, waving to players on other courts. Cure takes another look, noting how the rackets they are using are all different colors. A tingle of worry creeps down his spine at the realization as Junior’s horn lights up and a deep blue racket-shaped forcefield panel pops into existence just above his head.

“Ohhhhhhhh…” he drawls with steadily climbing horror. “Fudgesickles. This is gonna suuuck.”

“You… have only had a horn for a couple months, haven’t you?” Junior rhetorically inquires. “Perhaps we should make an exception for you, then?”

Cure shuffles anxiously on his hooves at the suggestion. “I’m not sure. I have been practicing with it a lot, but not so much that I can probably compete with somepony that’s had one since birth. I can try for a game or two and see how it goes. The problem is that if I use a real racket I’ll probably mop the floor with ya.”

“Oh?” Fall questions, eagerness plain in her tone. “I should very much like to see that. You!” she hollers, pointing a hoof at one of the many nearby attendants. “Fetch a racket for his highness at once!”

The stallion nods and takes off like a fired bolt, nearly galloping to a small equipment hut nearby. He emerges only a moment later with five rackets carried in his aura, rushing back through the fence and offering them for the colt’s inspection. As far as Cure can tell, they’re all completely identical, making the selection a moot point. He extends his right wing and pinches the nearest one between two feathers, plucking it out of the stallion’s aura and giving it a few test swings.

The act seemingly captivates Glistening who stares at his extended wing with rapt attention. The barely whispered “magnificent” escapes her lips, earning a nudge from her less enthralled teammate. Cure doesn’t betray that he overheard her quiet murmur, agilely passing the racket back and forth between extended wings to get a feel for swinging with one or the other.

It becomes quickly apparent that he would have to show off some abilities that are likely beyond a normal pegasus to execute the move, and will instead have to use a backwing stroke to return a ball coming in on his left. Though he, as are most pegasi, is fully ambidextrous with his wings, the shuffling of the racket from one to the other is simply not quick enough to pull off in time to return a fast moving serve.

The fillies retire to their side of the net while he is familiarizing himself with the motions. He ends up on the right side of the court awaiting Glistening’s serve. “We’ll do some light volleys to warm up,” she calls in a raised voice.

At his agreeing nod, she drops a ball and swings her forcefield racket in a well-practiced arc, sending the projectile on a quick, but easily managed course. Cure lets it bounce in the service court, hopping back to intercept it nearer the baseline. A smooth swing on his right side sends the ball back over the net with little force, allowing Rose to easily return it to Junior. The young stallion smoothly steps to his left, giving room enough for him to swing his field around and launch a harder strike back to Glistening. The young mare’s eyes lock onto the approaching target as she backs up from the service line. Her muzzle splits in an aggressive smile as she unnecessarily swings her entire body, slamming the ball and sending it on a straight beam directly at the colt.

Eyes widening comically, Cure does the only thing his body can think to do. With only a fraction of a second to respond, he cracks open his muzzle and snaps the ball out of the air, deftly catching it between his teeth.

Silence.

Complete and utter silence fills the air from the furthest court all the way to the quietly gasping spectators watching from the balcony. Stock still, frozen in disbelief at his own reaction, Cure stands there for a moment blinking, completely unsure what to do next. With all eyes wide and fixated on him and absolutely nothing else,there is clearly only one option available.

He spreads his wings, takes a deep bow… and begins to dance.

It begins with a shuffle of his forelegs, his hooves clacking loudly on the painted concrete surface. A small hop to his right brings a four-set of clacks to the silent courtyard as everypony watches on in stunned silence. Wings spread, he bends all four knees and rhythmically taps away, spinning in place as he goes. At a full rotation he aims his head up high and, while ensuring not to soak the ball in spit, launches it straight into the air.

Not a sound can be heard, not even the clatter of hanging jaws on tabletops as the colt bounces the ball on his snout like a well trained seal. The click-clack of hooves doesn’t cease, gaining in speed as he twirls and bounces the ball from his nose to his withers to his croup, then back again. Finally reaching a climax and with taps and clacks coming in a ever quickening staccato, he rears up and twists, angling his wings so they are held completely still and perfectly vertical. The ball comes down from its arc, landing on the very tip of his extended right primary, halting all motion along with his apparently frozen body.

Blueblood fails to hold in the laughter, nearly bursting at the seams all at once. Either out of obligation or genuine amusement, other stomps and laughs soon follow, though there is no shortage of wholly baffled ponies trading looks of incomprehension at the young alicorn’s display.

“What,” Junior calls between laughs, “was that?!”

Finally giving up the act of playing a statue, Cure allows the ball to roll down his right wing as he returns to all fours, stilling the ball on his withers. He shrugs, an act that causes the ball to bounce off and roll to the side. “I figured if everypony’s gonna stare I might as well give ‘em a show. Besides,” he waves a foreleg to all the laughing spectators, “if you’ve already made a fool of yourself you might as well own it, right?”

Author's Note

I had a few other ideas for this chapter, but I couldn't really make them work. That's okay, though. They'll go in the ever-growing bin of future ideas and we may see them later. As for the wine tasting event? I had one or two for that, but ultimately decided to hold off. While there was some speculation as far as what Cure had planned, he really just wanted to start pushing ponies, and the princess, towards being more accepting of celebrating the night.

Not only is he too young to make some kind of move on the princess, he isn't so callous as to interfere with her love life. Also, the very first time he met the princess he mentally cringed at how many stories do little more than turn her into some kind of prize to win. He likes Celestia. Genuinely likes her and admires her accomplishments, even if there are some things he doesn't agree with. He's not going to turn around and abuse her trust or his position in some way.

Besides, he's planning on mostly living in Canterlot for a couple years starting next September anyhow. We'll not have a shortage of Celestia/Cure interactions for quite some time.

I'm sure many will wonder why Cure is only seeking to patent the ballpoint pen right now. Two reasons - first, it's easy and profitable. He actually knows exactly how pens work, and him developing an ink solution that would work well in them shouldn't be overly difficult given his ability to prototype designs. The only real question is whether or not he would ultimately turn it into another dick joke and the answer is obviously, "Yes. Always."

Since Wednesday has come and gone and Friday is spoken for, that means a much hyped event has to take place on Thursday night. How will it go down? Hmmm... we'll see. Hopefully I don't leave everyone disappointed. I get enough of that from the ladies! -insert rimshot-

As always, thanks for reading, rating, and commenting.

Enjoy!