Friday, September 18th, 909 AB (Four days later)
Late afternoon / early evening

“A cutie mark?” Cure echoes, head tilted to the side inquisitively. He allows his eyes to flick down the older foal’s side, automatically glancing to the blank spot that a mark will eventually occupy. “I’m pretty sure even the princess can’t give you that, so I’m guessing you mean a cosmetic one,” he confusedly suggests.

Bobbing her head excitedly, the filly exclaims, “Exactly! I just need something to hold me over until I get my real one!” Given her age, Cure suspects that could happen at any time. Almost certainly within the next year or two. He’ll have a better idea of how old she is once he scans her with his talent, but at a glance he’s sure she is at least fourteen.

The young mare is barely a hair shorter than her dam, the relationship of whom he can confirm via scent alone. Unlike her dam, however, she still hasn’t completely filled out in her legs, hips, and barrel. Her wings, on the other hoof, look like they are just about fully grown. Either that or she’ll end up with a wider span than is normal, which is, in itself, a highly desirable trait amongst every flying being Cure has met so far.

The young mare shifts on her barrel, bumping against her dam’s side on the couch the two are sharing. Her dam’s left wing instinctively unfurls, hugging her daughter closer as the girl continues, “We’ve talked about different designs, so I’m pretty sure I know which one I want.”

She twists to her left, digging into her satchel to remove a few sheets of paper. Each has a drawing of a proposed cutie mark on it, most of them fairly similar to her dam’s piano mark, but with slight alterations here or there. All of them are rather amateurishly drawn, which is slightly inconvenient; it would have been easier for him to exactly duplicate a drawn design instead of having to clean it up himself.

Unaware of his internal pondering, she continues, “Windy said you can show us what they’d look like before doing the real thing.” She takes a half second to look around as if the girl will pop out of the wall at any second. Given it’s close to closing time, that’s not a complete impossibility, though she knows better than to interrupt him while he’s with a client.

“I can,” he confirms, “but it does kind of make me wonder what’ll happen when you get your actual cutie mark?”

“Why?” her dam interjects, a hint of worry in her voice. “Has somepony had something go wrong before?”

“No,” he quickly assures her, forehooves urgently waving away the concern. “This is the first time I’ve had somepony ask for a cosmetic cutie mark. I haven’t had a lot of ponies ask me to alter their foals’ coats, at least not permanently, but I have had a few.” Dawn immediately springs to mind with her recently darkened colors. “I would assume the cutie mark would just… ya know… overwrite whatever is already there.”

“What if they don’t line up?” the daughter wonders aloud. Dawning horror painted across her features, she cries in a panic, “I might end up with part of the fake sticking out the sides of the real one!”

“I could fix that, don’t worry. I can’t alter the mark itself, but I can change your coat around it. That includes anything that is under the mark. If I couldn’t then I would never be able to change anypony’s coat color too far from their original.”

“Why not- Oh!” the young mare exclaims. “Because then they’d have a patch of their original color under their mark!”

“Exactly. If your real mark doesn’t completely cover the cosmetic one then I’ll fix it for free, no problem. I do have another concern, though. I mean, I don’t care, myself, but I’m a little worried that some ponies may give you a bit of a hard time if they realize you had somepony give you a mark that is… well, counterfeit, for lack of a better word.”

Rolling her eyes, she dismisses the concern with a shake of her head. “I’m not worried about that. I already told my friends I was going to see about getting this done. Hay, Windy is the one who told me to come to you.”

“Fair enough. The only question, then, is whether or not giving somepony a cutie mark that isn’t real would be illegal.”

“Illegal?! What?!” Cure shrugs and nods in affirmation. “Why?!” she shrilly inquires, her high pitched voice grating on his heightened hearing.

Her dam frowns in consideration, voicing exactly what the colt had realized. “Identification. The government uses your cutie mark as a form of identification. So do banks.”

“That’s actually something I prob- err, somepony should probably point out to the ponies in charge. Banking, especially. I’d be livid if the bank let somepony take money out of my account ‘cause they faked my cutie mark.”

“I bet you would,” her dam understandingly agrees. Smiling mischievously, she suggests, “A little entrepreneur such as yourself… I bet you have quite the savings, don’t you?” She glances to her daughter out of the corner of her eye and adds, “Sorry if this is slightly off topic, but do you happen to have yourself a fillyfriend already? You may be a bit young for my little Forte, but good colts are hard to find, especially ones that are so industrious!”

Cure barely opens his mouth to decline, but the filly in question beats him to the punch. Recoiling away from her dam’s side, she gives the mare a look of disgust. “DAM! SERIOUSLY?! GROSS!” The colt’s features shift into a frown as his mouth clicks shut. Realizing the faux pas, the filly is quick to add, “No offense!” and holds her hooves up in placation. “I’m sure you’re a very sweet young stallion, but I prefer ponies with wings.”

“None taken,” he flatly replies. Eyes flicking back to the elder, he continues, “And I do have a few fillyfriends already, but thank you for the… uhh… offer?” The mare smiles warmly and nods in acceptance.

“Right,” Forte firmly nods. “Windy said you and her sister are a thing.” She gives him another quick up-down look over and quietly snorts. “Seems weird to me, but whatever.”

Cure briefly considers tossing the filly out on her ass and telling her to never come back, but holds off when her dam cuffs her with her wing and shoots her a look of disappointment. “You apologize this instant! I don’t care what your mother says, there’s nothing wrong with dating outside of your tribe!”

“I didn’t say there was! I just don’t get it why-”

“Anyhow,” he calls in a raised voice, unwilling to waste any more time on an argument, “back to the topic at hoof. One of my other fillyfriends happens to be the daughter of a local sergeant. I don’t think he’ll care if I Send him a message to see if it’s legal. That is, assuming you don’t mind waiting a minute.”

Cure notes that Forte’s snout seems to be stuck in a permanently scrunched state as she settles back by her dam, who nods permissively. “That would be wonderful, if you could.”

“Sure. Gimme a sec.”

<< Hey sarge, got a sec? >>

A moment passes before he feels the stallion’s dry response. << Certainly, your highness. How can this lowly one serve, my liege? >>

A soft sigh escapes the colt’s lips. “He thinks he’s funny,” he quietly grumbles.

<< It’s about damn time I got the proper respect around here! Seriously, though, can I give somepony a fake cutie mark? I have a customer who says she wants one until her real one shows up. >>

<< How old is she? >>

“Just to confirm, you are fourteen, right?”

“Mhm. I’ll be fifteen in January.”

“Alright. One sec.”

<< She turns fifteen in January. >>

Another moment ticks by. Both mares are looking at Cure expectantly. “I asked him. He got the message. I’m assuming he’s not sure, though,” he explains. “I bet he’s asking somepony else.”

“Shouldn’t a sergeant know?” Forte asks. Her tone is a little accusatory, but Cure dismisses it rather than point out that he’s a guard, not a lawmaker and that she should be grateful that he’s taking the time to respond rather than sending her to an attorney or the courts to figure it out herself.

Thankfully her dam is more reasonable, pointing out, “I doubt it comes up often, honey. He may be looking it up. We’re fortunate he has somepony to check with.”

“I guess…” she pouts with a huff.

Finally, after another long minute of waiting, the sergeant’s voice echoes in his mind, << We’re pretty sure that it’s okay as long as your customer isn’t impersonating somepony or pretending to be an adult. We’ll need the usual paperwork. >>

<< Cool. Thanks, sarge! >>

<< This one lives to serve, your highness. >>

<< Ha. Ha. You’re a riot. >>

An odd feeling of amused smugness is conveyed to his mind, leaving the young alicorn wondering how in the hay ponies manage to Send feelings via the spell without any words. He focuses back on the crystal, briefly fighting the temptation to Send the sound of a powerful, cheek-slapping fart in response. Fortunately, his maturity wins out before he commits to the action. A prince of the realm probably shouldn’t be Sending fart noises to his subordinates, and that’s definitely not something he’s fully comfortable doing to the sire of a filly he’s basically dating.

“So good news. According to the sergeant, Sgt. Gleaming Haze, by the way, you’re good to go as long as A, you don’t try to impersonate anypony-”

“I wouldn’t!”

“- B, you don’t use it to pretend you’re an adult-”

“Why would I even want to?”

“Buying alcohol?” Cure suggests. “I dunno, it’s the only thing that comes to mind right away.”

The filly’s snout scrunches in distaste and she looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Gross. No way.” Her dam looks somewhere between relieved and perhaps slightly guilty. He wonders if that’s because she didn’t even consider that possibility or if maybe she has some fun stories that might involve her getting her hooves on some booze when she was younger.

“Okay,” he accepts with a shrug, “and finally, C, you are okay with the Guard being made aware.” Right hoof held out to stave off any interruption, he explains, “That’s a standard thing I have to do whenever I significantly alter somepony’s appearance, and even if a cutie mark isn’t very large, they probably need to know because of the whole identity thing.”

“That’s okay! I don’t care!” she quickly assures him.

“Good deal. Now, since all I’m doing is altering a small part of your coat it’ll only be fifty bits.”

Forte digs back into her satchel, scrounging up enough coins to pay his bill. The collection of singles, fives, and a single ten make him feel a little guilty for charging at all, but he strangles the flare up of generosity in its crib and accepts the coins from the girl. Maybe if she hadn’t been a bit of an entitled bitch he would do her a favor, but she’s blown that opportunity quite soundly with her rudeness.

He makes his way to his desk to grab everything he needs, leaving her payment sitting on top, then passes her dam one of his ballpoint pens and the form with the scanning disclaimer on it. She looks at the metal pen curiously, arching a brow at him when he pantomimes writing with it. “A replacement for quills I created. It has its own internal inkwell. The patent is still pending.”

“An inventor too?” she coos, leaning down to nose at the crown of his head. “Goodness me! So young and already working so hard! No wonder some lucky fillies have already staked their claim!”

“Dam! Quit it!” Affecting a slight blush, he demurely turns to her filly, finding her looking at her dam with disgust and embarrassment.

Awkwardly clearing his throat, he suggests, “While she’s doing that, we can go ahead and get started.”

Eager to jump at any reason to change the subject, the filly hops down to sit next to the colt. “Great! What do you need me to do?”

“Just tell me which one you like the best.” Crystal in hoof, Cure sits on his haunches on the floor just to the right of the girl, somewhat between her and her dam so they all have the same view. He projects an Illusion of her standing sideways, facing to their right with her wings lifted up. It’s not quite perfect since he hasn’t used his talent on her yet, but nopony is focusing on the minute differences in the lay of her feathers, or her mane, tail, or face. Instead, all three ponies are paying attention to the spot just below her right thigh.

It takes longer than Cure had hoped to find a design she really likes; long enough that he is sure he’ll never advertise this as a service, given it’s disproportionately low cost. The only reason he may consider doing it at all is because of a niggling thought in the back of his mind. Is there any chance in the world that, maybe, when the filly finally gets her mark, it will look exactly like the image she is choosing?

Her reaction makes him wonder if some guiding force may have lent a hoof. The mark itself is no more special to him than any other; a top down view of eight piano keys in a waving arc pattern with feathers splayed open, their tips laid out as if playing the instrument.

Forte goes stock still and wide-eyed when he finally applies the mark. The quick inhale and squeal of elation an instant later is the only warning he has to prepare for the ecstatic tackle hug she wraps him in. He doesn’t mind. After all, if a young filly wants to damn near hump him into the floor then it’s his Harmony granted duty to oblige her, even if she seems like kind of a douche.

He’s relieved the Sound Bubble is active while she tries to squeeze the life out of him; a bright flash on the opposite side of the room’s divider signals the arrival of the filly that sent her his way. It also shocks the filly out of her celebration, momentarily drawing everypony’s attention to the ceiling above the lobby.

“What was that?!” the girl urgently asks, launching herself away from the colt.

“Probably Wind Shear. She usually drops by Friday afternoons to check in.” He looks between her and the divider gap near the back wall and waves a hoof in invitation. “If you want, you could go show her. I think we’re done here unless there’s something else I can do for you.”

“Nope! Thanks!” she chirps out, not hesitating to rush around the barrier.

Cure watches her go, noting that her dam has joined him on the floor. She leans over to wrap him in a much more sedate and friendly embrace. “Thank you very much, young stallion. I know my little Forte can be a bit… blunt at times.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that at all,” he insists, leaning into the hug, “after all, I have a bit of a thing for wings, myself.” Huskily he adds, “Not to mention more… mature ladies.”

So caught off guard by his flirtatious response, she fails to hold back her laugh and barks a loud “HAH!” right between his ears. That’s fine with him. Her soft underside shaking in amusement feels pretty nice on his back. Finally getting herself under control, she gives him one last squeeze before peeling away to make for the exit.

Gasping in mock offense, she recoils away with her hoof held to her chest. “You little cad, flirting with a married mare! Have you no shame?!”

“None at all!” he chirps, averting his gaze when she prances away. A little playful flirting is one thing, but trying to sneak a peek on a married mare is going way too far.

The sounds of conversation washes over him when he turns off the privacy spell. It seems like Wind Shear is almost as excited for Forte as the filly is for herself. Uninterested in joining that whole mess, Cure waits somewhat impatiently for his customers to leave.

“Jeez, finally,” he sighs, trotting to the filly once they’re gone. A little hop sees him join her on the coach where he flops against her right side. Wind grunts and shoots the heavy colt a brief scowl, but otherwise doesn’t complain. “Long time, no see, Windy.”

“Don’t start, brat.”

“What?” he asks, voice drying in faux innocence. “Your friend called you Windy. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Barely.”

“Yer breakin my heart, here, Windy. Dunno why you can’t be nice like your dear little sister.”

The filly scoffs. Hard.

“I meant Swirl, obviously. Drift?” He wobbles a hoof in the air from side to side. “Ehhh, she has her moments.”

She snorts a laugh, nodding in agreement. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.”

“That’s fine. She’s more fun when she gets all confrontational. She’s like an angry purple kitten, hissing and swiping her claws through the air. It’s cute,” he admits, smiling fondly at the idea of riling up the surly filly.

She shifts, climbing onto his right side to look down on him. “She is my little sister, you do realize?”

“Aww, so adooorable!” he teases, grinning victoriously up at the young mare. “Look at you, all protective and shit. I didn’t think you had it in you, Wind.”

She waves a hoof menacingly in his face, knowing full well she doesn’t stand a chance of doing anything he doesn’t let her. “Don’t make me hurt you, brat!”

Hooves held up in surrender, he assures her, “I’m not making fun of you. Much. I’ve just never seen this side of ya. All protective and big-sistery and stuff. It’s cute.”

“Well don’t get used to it!” she growls, poking at his cheek with her snout. It’s not a hard jab, but it’s forceful enough that nopony could mistake it for affection.

“Sure, sure. Don’t sweat it, Wind. It’s not like I’m one to talk when it comes to keeping family safe. I have, on occasion, been known to resort to extreme measures.”

She spends a good few seconds staring at him, searching for any sign that he’s being sarcastic. Once satisfied, she gives a single nod of approval and settles back down across his side. The pair are fine hanging out for a moment and enjoying the peace and quiet.

“Getting a fake cutie mark is fucking retarded,” he finally blurts out, earning a choked laugh from the older girl.

It takes her a few seconds to get her laughter under control before she nods in agreement. “It really is. What’s she going to tell everypony when she gets her real one?! They’re going to call her a fraud!”

“Probably.”

“Why’d you agree to do it then?!”

“I pointed out that I thought it was a bad idea. Neither of them objected, so it’s not my problem. It’s not like I mutilated her or something. Besides, I’m not the friggin good idea police going around to stop people from being dumb. If she asked me for another eye in the middle of her forehead or something nutty, that might be different, but she didnt, so…” he drifts off with a shrug.

“Whatever. The important thing is that she counts as a referral. Pay up.”

Cure huffs and rolls his eyes, but dutifully pays the girl nonetheless. A flash of light between her forehooves heralds the arrival of a jangling pouch of bits. “There. Happy?”

“Not really,” she grumps, sitting up to drop it into her foreleg pocket. “I’m not going to be able to work as much now. I hardly have any time during the day thanks to school.”

“So?”

“So I’m not going to get paid as much!” she growls, jabbing his withers with her left foreleg knee. The colt’s puppet doesn’t budge or react at all which only seems to annoy her further.

“Again, so? It’s not like you have a lot of expenses. And what ever happened with the whole modeling thing?”

“I’m still doing it!” she defensively proclaims. Snout smugly raised into the air, she brags, “In fact, I had a really important gig while you were away.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Who for?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Smirking up at the girl, he sympathetically asks, “That embarrassing, huh?”

“No!”

“Well then you shouldn’t mind sharing.”

“I don’t!”

“Then what was it?”

“Figure it out yourself, mister know-it-all!”

“Jeez! Alright. Do you at least get like… a discount from whoever you advertised for?”

She frowns deeply and shrugs her wings. “Who cares? It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does. I mean, maybe not while I’m nearby, but it would be good to know just in case you ever were to get lice in the future,” he argues, smiling his broadest grin up at the pegasus.

Wind goes stock still and her whole body tenses as a deep blush spreads down her face and her neck. Her wings shoot out and she lets loose a savage growl, leaping up to pounce on the impudent wretch that dares to mock her. Laughing uproariously, the colt greets her lunge with open legs, wrapping himself around her barrel so tightly she can’t shake him off.

With an inarticulate scream of fury, the filly writhes and bucks trying to dislodge the colt from her tummy. All she accomplishes is sending the pair rolling off the couch in a tight, one sided embrace. Cure is careful to ensure they land on his puppet rather than risk smashing the older filly. He immediately throws his weight to the side, rolling them over so she’s flat on her back. With her legs trapped by his and his chin against her neck, her only way to attack is with her wings. While pegasus wings are plenty strong enough to ring somepony’s bell, with no leverage or room to build up momentum they might as well be massaging the colt’s sides.

He feels her arch her back and is caught by surprise when she humps back into him, whipping his rear with her tail as best she can. All it really serves to accomplish is to smash the puppet’s balls into her teats, but he still huffs out a complaint. “Hey! That could have actually stung a little!”

“Good!” she huffs, though it lacks any real heat.

“You’re being kind of a butt, ya know?”

The filly shoves at his head with her neck as best she can, growling, “You started it!”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” he calmly replies. “I teased you and you pounced on me.” He pinches the side of her neck between his lips, arguing, “Words, Wind Shear. We use words in a civilized society. Now, are you going to be a good little filly if I let you go?”

“Get off’a me!” she poutily demands, writhing uselessly in his grasp.

Carefully avoiding stepping on a wing, Cure releases her and hops off to the side, smiling victoriously as she less gracefully rolls to her hooves. “Fuckin bullshit alicorn brat,” she grumbles under her breath, brushing her coat back into place with her forelegs. She pauses to look at her wings, crying in dismay at their disheveled state. “You!” she snarls, thrusting a hoof at the younger foal. “My wings are a mess because of you!”

“Again, not really my fault.”

“You’re making it up to me!”

“Really? What kinda retarded logic is that? What Is this? Some kinda tsundere bullshit or something?”

Wind looks momentarily confused at the unfamiliar term. She rallies quickly enough, asking, “You’re going to Filly tomorrow, right?”

“You know I am.”

“Good. I’m coming, too.”

“What? Why?!”

“To work, idiot!”

“What?” he demands, “You’re going to go around and get referrals for me? I’m only there for nine hours and I’ve been running an ad for weeks!”

“To work your stall while you do your thing!” She smiles and ruffles up her wings, smoothly swaying from side to side with small steps. “You need somepony beautiful to attract all the customers.” Wind spreads her wings up high, thrusts her chest out, inclines her head, and strikes a pose with her front right and hind left legs raised as if mid-prance and beams, “Somepony. Like. Me!”

“Somepony’s gotten pretty full of herself,” he dryly remarks.

“I don’t hear you denying it,” she points out, brow arched in challenge.

“Uh huh. FYI, that,” he waves at her pose, “is more effective when your wings don’t look like you’ve been through a tornado or two.”

She drops the pose and shoots him a glare. “Then fix them! It’ll only take you a second.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation, but still complies with the girl’s demand. “Seriously, now, why do you want to come to Filly with me?”

“I was being serious. To work. I don’t have anything going on tomorrow and I’d rather pick up some extra bits. I figure you could use the help, too. You’re coming back right after the market closes, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. We’ll probably be home by six or so. Maybe a little later if we get food first.”

“Great! When are we leaving?”

“Probably a little after six thirty. I want to be in Fillydelphia before sunrise and at the market by eight so I have time to set up. How much are you expecting me to pay you?”

“Five hundred.”

“Fuck you! Five hundred bits, my ass!”

“I’m a model! You’re not just hiring some dumb shop attendant!”

“Five hundred bits, though?! How much did you get ‘modeling’ for Dr. Olive’s Lice Ointment, hmmmm?”

Her face pinches in an ugly scowl and she grumbles something under her breath.

“What was that?” he asks, smirking knowingly. “Did I hear fifty bits?”

“You suck! You’re gonna make tens of thousands of bits tomorrow!”

“I damn well better! I’ve spent twelve grand on advertising and another twelve hundred on private security!” The filly chokes on air upon hearing the ridiculous expenses. “I’ll tell ya what. It’ll be about eight hours of work. I’ll pay you two hundred and fifty, which is a little over one and a half times what I was originally getting paid at the clinic. Assuming,” he paused to emphasize, “your parents are fine with you coming.”

“They will be!”

“Fine, then. Have one of them use your Sending crystal to message me or my parents. Are they okay with you flying over in the dark or are you going to come over tonight and sleep at my house?”

Unprepared for the suggestion, she blinks and asks, “Your parents would be okay with that?”

“Duh? Why wouldn’t they?”

“I’m almost fifteen, moron.”

“So? I’m nine. What’s your point?”

Wind stares at the colt for a full five seconds, waiting for some kind of punch line or follow-up remark. When she realizes he is one hundred percent earnest and has said everything he feels he needs to she sighs and nods in acceptance. “Alright. I’ll probably be by a little before sunset, then.”

A couple hours later

“Woooosh! Wooooo! Woooaaah!” Title playfully exclaims, holding her daughter in the air as she slowly shifts from one side to the other while laying on her back. The little filly giggles happy, all six appendages spread out as she dodges illusory clouds slowly floating through the air.

A larger one materializes out of the wall, headed in her direction. “Oh no!” the mare shouts in alarm, “it’s too big to go around! Up, Savvy, go over it!” Warning given, she gently thrusts the filly into the air and pulls leg down to avoid the Illusion. The earth pegasus doesn’t miss a beat, flapping a little faster than before to soar over the stormy cloud.

“Good job, Savvy baby! It’s safe now!” her dam encourages from below, holding her foreleg back out for the filly to land tummy-first. The girl, it seems, has something else in mind, tilting to the right before cutting off her flight. Much more quickly than either parent had foreseen, the filly falls like a stone headed right for her sire and crashes hooves-first onto his back.

“Ahh! I’m under attack!” the dark stallion cries in dismay, hopping to his hooves and beginning to buck. For a stallion as large and powerful as Deed, playing the part of the bucking bronco inside the house is a genuine act of careful restraint. He almost lethargically bounces around the room, playfully launching his hind legs into the air, then slowly rearing up to flail his forelegs without accidentally causing any destruction.

Sat on his withers and giggling up a storm, Savvy holds on like a champ with her forelegs barely wrapped a third of the way around his thick neck and her face buried under his mane. Unwilling to sit idle and miss out on the fun, Cherry and Lotus explode into action, slipping away from Lemon’s side to help their sister bring the wild steed to heel. Both fillies launch themselves into the fray, leaping at their father’s side to wrestle him to the ground. The sudden motion draws Golden and Blazer’s attention, but they both watch sedately lounging against Lemon’s side.

Amethyst and Vines both pause their work in the kitchen, stopping for a moment to watch Deed as he plays with their foals. The two smile fondly, thrilled beyond words to have such a loving, joyful husband in their lives.

“It’ll take more’n that ta bring me down!” Deed defiantly shouts. He carefully pushes both girls onto his back with his telekinesis while running and bucking in circles around the room, whinnying and feigning growing exhaustion until finally collapsing in a heap on the floor. “Maybe… not… blergh!” he cries, accepting defeat. Sprawled out in a heap beside his pink wife, the stallion groans under the fillies’ combined assault. Having felled their fearsome foe, the three celebrate their victory by stomping all over his back while cheering.

Clapping her forehooves in cheer, Lemon praises the girls. “Good job, you three! Way to show that stallion who’s boss!”

“Yeah, good job,” Title agrees, “but we still need him to work, so maybe not stomp so hard, hmm?”

Grateful for slightly lessened assault, Deed leans over to kiss his wife’s cheek. “Thanks, beautiful. Yer a lifesaver!”

“Mhmm. Maybe you can show your gratitude when you get home from the pub.”

He gives a meaningful sniff and raises a brow, arguing, “I ain’t so sure that’s a good idea. Not unless ya had the colt do his thing.”

“Yeah, it’s our turn now,” his other wife insists, narrowing her eyes at the mare.

Title leans over and nips at her stallion’s neck, then gives the spot she pinched a little lick, peering at the yellow mare out of the corner of her eyes. “There’s enough of him to go around. Now.”

“Were always more’n enough, by my reckonin,” he quietly grumbles.

Continuing without acknowledging his comment, she adds, “You can have him first, but ya ain’t leavin us high and dry without any relief. And yes,” she says, turning back to Deed, “Cure took care of the two of us. Weird Vines had it hit so soon after having the twins.”

A flash from the stairway and a muted thump above interrupt her train of thought, and all eight heads swivel in response. The three little predators share a look before coming to an unspoken agreement, jumping off of their beleaguered conquest to get in position for an attack, hiding at the base of the steps in the hallway leading to Cure’s office.

Unfortunately for the little miscreants, little within the young alicorn’s domain escapes his notice. He strips off his suit and royal attire and removes his disguise, then Teleports a second time down to his office. A quick application of his power pads the bottom of his hooves, and he quietly slips out the door to ambush his ambushers. A deep well of playfully malicious glee surges within his chest as he slips behind them and gives his parents a wink.

Mimicking Cherry’s voice, he leans his head over the girls and asks, “What’s taking him so long?”

Lotus is quick to grab her sister’s muzzle, clamping it shut while hissing, “SHH! He’ll hear you, dummy! He hears everything!”

Once she releases Cherry from her grip, the cream girl leans closer to whisper, “But I didn’t say anything!”

Now in Lotus’s voice, Cure responds, “Yeah you did! Now be quiet!”

The darker of the two blinks in confusion. She’s pretty sure she didn’t say anything, even if she was thinking it. “Wait,” she whispers, head tilted in thought, “did I just say that out loud? It kind of sounded like me, but not quite.”

Her sister nods in confirmation, but it’s her own voice that gives her doubs. “It was definitely you, Lotus Bloom.”

“Yeah,” her sister agrees, nodding once again.

“Didn’t know the fillies talked to themselves,” Lemon comments from the couch, sending the three parents into a fit of laughter.

Slowly, as if she is piecing together a complex puzzle, realization dawns on the filly, helped in part by their amusement. Ears folding back against her head, she risks a glance up, distraught to find a pair of brown eyes smiling down from above.

“Cherry!” she hisses, reaching to her right to poke at her sister.

“You’re the one being noisy now!”

“Cherry!”

Looking to her left, her sister quietly hisses, “What?!” Seeing the dark red filly staring up above them, she risks a glance up as well.

“Good luck!” Lotus shouts, bursting into motion. In a single bound, the dark filly launches herself over Savvy, diving to safety between her mother and father.

“Hello there, Cherry bear~,” Cure menacingly growls, lowering his head and bending his forelegs to ready for a pounce.

“Eep!” Instead of running away, the filly whips back around, grabs her younger sister under her wings, and spins her back to face her brother. “Do it, Savvy! Quick!”

Executing an apparently well rehearsed move, the earth pegasus spreads her wings and forelegs wide, peering into the alicorn’s very soul with big, beautiful, watery eyes. Her little, high pitched voice squeaks out, “Luvv yuu!”

Frozen momentarily in surprise, Cure does his best to maintain his stoic facade. His eyes flick back and forth between the pair. Cherry keeps her hopeful, innocent smile while Savvy’s bottom lip begins to quiver, saddened by her brother’s apparent rejection.

“That’s dirty,” he quietly grouses, though he still sits on his haunches and scoops the filly up from her sister and wraps her up in his wings, squeezing her gently against his chest.

“I think you meant ‘smart,’ colt,” Lemon points out.

“It can be both,” he argues, ending the hug and shuffling the girl onto his back. Wings held level for Savvy to bounce around, he makes his way over to the couch to nose at the twins. “How are my two most favorite siblings that would never, ever gang up on their sweet, doting older brother doing, hmm?”

A cream maned head shoots up from between Title and Deed, shouting, “It was Savvy’s idea!”

While the parents all laugh at the suggestion, Cure shakes his head in disappointment. “Really, Lotus? Blaming a foal that’s not even a year old? Lying fillies don’t get to go for flights after dinner with their big brothers, you know?”

Her ears fold back flat on her head, eyes go wide, and jaw nearly lands on Deed’s back. Scrambling out of the pile, she throws herself around his hind leg, pleading, “I’M SORRY! PLEEEEAAASE DON’T LEAVE MEEEEE!”

“For Harmony’s sake, Lotus,” he sighs, rolling his eyes, “being a little overly dramatic, dontchya think?” The filly only wraps herself tighter around his leg, apparently not understanding what her brother means. He pulls his leg free and takes a step back, plopping down to trap the girl between his forelegs. Nuzzling into her mane, he gives her ears each a few licks and mumbles, “Aww… I can never stay mad at my adorable little sister. But,” he amends just as she starts to cheer. He motions to the three parents in the room, reminding her, “you’ll have to ask them if you’re allowed. Same for you, Cherry.”

“Same fer you too, son,” his sire adds. “Last I checked yer lil blue hiney was grounded.”

“Aww come on!” he foalishly whines. “It’s been a whole friggin week!”

“It’s been five days, you big baby!” Title tactlessly corrects. “What do you expect given what you did?!”

“Gratitude?” he suggests, huffing in annoyance. “Maybe appreciation for how much I care? Plenty ‘a ponies’ll say they’ll go to war for their family. How many would put their money where their mouth is?”

“Put your… what?” Title asks, a single brow raised in question. She dismisses the thought with a shake of her head and points out, “Not many, but that’s cause most ponies aren’t crazy enough to risk ticking off you-know-who.” Her eyes briefly flick to Cherry who has joined Savvy dancing on Cure’s back, then to Lotus still pinned under his chest and between his forelegs. The sisters know that he did something he wasn’t supposed to while he was away, but they’re still too young to trust with the details and wouldn’t truly understand even if they were told.

“Here’s a suggestion,” she continues, “how ‘bout instead of restarting that whole argument, you accept the fact that you did something your dam doesn’t approve of and take the punishment like a stallion should?”

“Sound advice,” his sire agrees. “Ain’t nothin ta win by bringin that up again, son. You’ll just dig yer hole that much deeper.”

“Fine. Whatever. Slightly related, Wind Shear came by to collect her commission today. She asked if she could come with us tomorrow and mare my shop while I’m seeing customers for consultations.”

“Thought ya had somethin auto-mat-tic like fer that,” his sire inquires, sounding out the word piece by piece.

“I do, but it does take some concentration. She’s grumbling about not making as much ‘cause of school, so she asked if I’d pay her to come with us.”

“And Celestia knows ya can’t say no to a pretty filly,” Lemon knowingly teases.

Figuring that there must be more to the story, Title waves a hoof in invitation. “Okay. So? What’s that got to do with you being grounded?”

“We’re leaving before dawn tomorrow,” he explains, “so instead of having her fly over in the dark, I told her to come spend the night.”

“Bold, colt,” Deed teases with a chuckle. Cure can’t help but notice the approving tone in his sire’s voice. “Reckon Crosswind’ll have somethin ta say ‘bout that, though. Not ta mention yer dam.” He pauses a beat and adds, “And maybe, Dawn, I’m guessin.”

“Oh please,” he scoffs, “I just didn’t want her flying in the dark by herself. Wind is way more interested in my bit pouch than my other one-”

Both mares’ faces pinch in disgust and Title comments, “Gross.”

Unperturbed, Cure continues, “-and I think even Drift will agree it’s better to have her safe here than flyin around before sunrise.” All three parents look at him like he’s an idiot. He takes a few seconds to consider the possibility before he realizes that, just maybe, they could be correct. “Okay, so Drift will probably care a little, but once I point out that I only suggested it to keep her sister safe she’ll understand. Maybe.”

“I don’t get it,” Lemon interjects. “What’s not safe about Wind flying at night? The moon will be out. You improved her night vision, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And she has that subwhatsit layer we all have, right?”

“Mostly. Hers is a little thinner and only on her head, neck, and barrel since she’s not an earth pony, but yeah.”

“And didn’t you give her envenomed barbs under her wings?”

“Well… yeah, I guess?”

“And Shield, Teleport, and Sending crystals?”

“...”

“And doesn’t she fly to school before dawn for most of the winter?”

The colt doesn’t immediately answer, his muzzle scrunching in annoyance. “I hadn’t really thought of that. But!” he rushes to add, “She’s flying with a whole flock of pegasi then. All of the other foals from town commute as a group.”

“Fair enough,” she says, nodding in understanding. “But why not just pick her up on the way from your junior guard thing, though? Doesn’t that end around six?”

Cure reaches up and rubs at his temple with a fetlock, grumbling under his breath. “Frickin forgot about that. It’s been a few very busy weeks, okay!” he defensively pouts. Groaning, he flops down on top of Lotus who flails beneath him, whining in protest. “I haven’t taken Red with me to grandpa’s for over a month, too. I hope she’s not upset.”

“Eh, she’ll understand,” Title dismisses with a shrug. “You need to check with your dam about Wind, though. She may not be happy you invited her over without permission.”

“Fine,” he sighs, nodding in acceptance. Cure rolls to his right, freeing Lotus and sending Savvy and Cherry to the floor in a pile. He keeps rolling, smushing the pair while being careful not to put too much weight on either of them. Once he’s on their other side, he spreads his wings wide and stretches his fore and hind legs in each direction, pretending to accidentally smother the pair in his plumage. “So,” he casually begins, looking up to his sire, “how’d it go? Get everything done?”

The stallion lets his weariness visibly show, leaning heavily against his wife as he groans aloud. “It were awful, colt! They put yer ol’ pa through the wringer, they did! An’ they were busier’n a beaver in a flood, pushin stallions this way ‘n that ta get us all certified or whatnot.”

“Well maybe if somepony hadn’t waited until estrus was in full swing,” Title reproachfully suggests.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just cause yer right don’t mean I gotta like hearin it. Dunno why I even hadta go through all that mess. Ain’t necessary fer private contracts anywho.”

“No, it’s not,” his son agrees, “but now the princess can honestly tell ponies that even the alicorn of life’s sire is doing his part to help grow our nation’s stagnating population. Who knows, pa? It may help convince a few more stallions out there to sign up. Besides, was it really that bad? It’s not like they had me helping with that kinda stuff when I worked there.”

The stallion sucks in a deep breath and blows it out in a long, drawn out sigh. “Nah, I s’pose not. When them results came back one’a them nurses was eyein me like a starvin griffin would a salmon, but other’n that it weren’t too bad, I reckon.”

“There’s worse things than being wanted,” Cure points out.

“Wise words, son. Wise words.”

“What all was involved?”

“About what you’d expect. Took my temp, listened ta my ticker, ran some’a them medical scan spells, then collected some… uhh… samples,” he mumbles with a grimace. “They were usin them strips ‘a yers. Nurse said they’re checkin stallions fer ratios now with ‘em.”

“Good. Hopefully they’ll finally be able to pick up on some kinda pattern. As best I can tell so far, there seems to be a higher rate amongst the Guard. Especially pegasi, both day and night, but more the former than the latter. I’ve also noticed a pretty significant difference based on geography. Now, granted, I haven’t had a lot of adult male patients from the western half of the country, but only a hooffull of them have required treatment.” Cure shrugs, jostling the fillies on his back and suggests, “Hopefully I’ll have a better picture after next week, at least as far as tribe demographics and whatnot.”

“Huh. Interestin. We’re darn sure lucky nopony in our family got whatever it is. Speakin’a which, didjya stop by ta see grandpa after work?”

Cure opens his mouth to answer when Amethyst pokes her head back out of the kitchen and hollers across the house, “Dinner’s ‘bout ready! Getchyerselves all cleaned up!”

“Tell ya while we’re eatin,” the colt replies, rolling to his hooves to go wash up. Everypony else scrambles at the same time. Title scoops up Savvy and she, along with Lemon, get the foals all ready while Deed and Cure rush upstairs to use the other bathrooms.

Within a few minutes everypony is seated around the table, piling food in front of themselves. With the arrival of two additional foals, the seating arrangements had shifted. Cure sits with Lotus and Cherry on his left and right respectively, still, but the three of them are on one of the short ends of the table, opposite Deed. Amethyst and Lemon are to their sides, each sitting next to their biological daughter to lend a hoof as needed, which is rarely the case.

The first and second wives sit closer to their husband, not as much because of tradition, but mainly out of convenience. As much as Savvy is a momma’s girl, she seems to listen better to her sire’s deep voice during mealtime. The filly has her own high chair on the corner between her dam and sire.

The twins are still nursing, and will be for several more months. While they don’t always eat at the same time as everypony else, they typically share Vines’ cushion, laying against her tummy or occasionally latching on for a quick snack.

For a few minutes the only noises interrupting the silence are those of quiet chewing and utensils tapping porcelain. Title looks around the table and speaks up, slowly saying, “It’s quiet.”

“A little… too quiet?” Cure playfully inquiries.

Vines exaggerates a sigh, closing her eyes as she starts, “Don’t you dare do anything weird, you two!”

“Weird?!” Cure cries in mock offense. “When have I ever done anything… wait,” he paused mid sentence, ears focused on the ceiling overhead. Voice barely a whisper, he nudges Cherry on his right and asks, “Did you hear that?”

A tiny scratching sound can barely be heard from above, moving from place to place like a mouse darting about between the ceiling and floor.

“Cure!” his dam calls in a scolding tone.

“What, dam?” he innocently asks. Hoof pointing into the air, he says, “It sounds like there’s something in the vents.”

“What vents?” Amethyst demands, casting her gaze up. “There ain’t no vents up there.”

“Sounds too big to be a mouse,” Title notes. Hoof pawing at her chin, she asks, “Think a possum coulda got up there?”

“I dunno, ma. They mostly only come out at night. Mostly.”

“Enough, you two!” his dam growls, waving an empty fork between them. “The foals don’t need to worry about some scary monster skittering about the walls, and Amy and Lemon weren’t here when you told us about that story.” Cure’s face lights up and he begins to draw breath, only to have the pointer-fork thrust more forcefully in his direction. “Which is definitely not an appropriate story for the dinner table!”

Title leans to her left, hoof raised to her muzzle and loudly whispers to Lemon, “The dam in that story was a big grouch too.”

“Not. Helping.” Vines growls out, staring daggers at her first wife.

“Who said I was tryin to?” the pink mare teases, chuckling at her wife’s frustration.

“It’s pretty intense, but if you two want I’ll show ya that one and the prequel before bed,” Cure offers, glancing between his two newer moms. “Ya know, I’ve been thinkin about that a lot lately.”

Brows raised all the way to her mane, Title turns to Cure and asks, “Face impregnating aliens? I really don’t think the princess would appreciate that one, babe.”

“Face… impregnating?” Lemon echoes, muzzle scrunched in disgust.

“Eh, it’s a thriller-slash-horror story,” the alicorn explains with a helpless shrug. “When you think about it, it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. The entire reproduction method is completely ridiculous. I don’t know if it’s true, but I recall somepony suggested the whole thing was a way to scare males with a kind of assault that they are normally incapable of being the victim of.”

“Cure,” his dam huffs, “what part of not dinner table appropriate did you not hear?”

“The ‘not,’ I suppose?” he cheekily responds. “Seriously, though, I’ll drop it, but to answer your question,” he nods to his first mom, “I mean stories. Media. Comics, moving picture shows, stuff like that. We have a mare with a talent in writing that is going to be, in a way, connected to our family. Possibly more so in the future.”

“Possibly?” Amethyst asks with a snort. “Colt, she’d probly take ya herself if her daughter bowed out.”

Cure only has to ponder a moment before he nods in agreement. From what he witnessed on Tuesday night, Crisp Script seems to be higher up on the horniness scale compared to most. Either way, the idea of eventually pounding out a mare that his sire has already blown a load inside of is distinctly unappealing, even if it is years later.

He somewhat regrets hooking Polished Apple up with his sire for that very reason. The mare is quite a looker and he spent more than a few hours in class letting her perky plot distract him from the otherwise boredom involved with going over lessons he already knew. If he was four or five years older he may not have been so quick to set the pair up, but given he was only eight at the time, his age of majority was too far away for him to be worrying about a single mare, even a pretty one like her, getting away.

“Right. Well, either way, I have millions upon millions of pages worth of stories, the value of which is essentially immeasurable even if they would need significant rewriting to make sense here. Every genre imaginable from the aforementioned horror to comedies, fantasy, and science fiction, which is one that hardly even exists here. The only bummer is that the one that would probably sell the best here is musicals, which I would be of no help at all with.”

“So yer suggestin what, son? That ya sit down with Script an’ give her some ideas ta work on?”

Cure shrugs and bobs his head yes. “I mean… I could. More than simply ideas for some. A lot are way more fleshed out. Like… I dunno, here’s one, for example: So let’s say there’s some crazy alchemist zebra in Manehattan, and she’s being coerced by some kinda crime family or organization to brew up a concoction to make their enforcers bigger and stronger and whatnot, okay?”

“Al… right,” the stallion slowly sounds out, nodding.

“And they’re testing this stuff on different animals since the first time they tested it on a pony it didn’t work right. Instead of gaining a rat’s speed and flexibility, it actually turned the pony into a rat.”

Brow furrowed, the stallion looks to Title and asks, “They can do that?”

“How would I know? Probably?”

“Who cares!” Cure impatiently interrupts. “It’s a story. It doesn’t have to completely make sense.”

“Rats are gross,” Cherry complains. “Why can’t he be a bunny?”

The colt rubs his hoof over his face in frustration. “Fine! He’s a bunny instead. Anyhow, they test it on some turtles and it doesn’t-”

“Turtles?!” Title shouts, interrupting his train of thought. “Why would they test it on turtles of all things? Why not… I dunno… cats or something? Turtles are amphibians.”

“Reptiles,” Cure corrects.

“Right, that’s what I said,” she agrees, “reptiles. Turtles are reptiles, why not test it on another mammal?”

“Who cares?!” he growls out. “It’s. A. STORY.”

Lemon chimes in next, arguing, “I don’t know if super strong cats would be a good idea anyhow. You should pick something that’s not going to turn around and eat you if it works.”

“Bunnies!” Lotus insistently shouts from his left.

“They can’t be bunnies, too!” he cries in dismay.

Head tilted in confusion, she innocently asks, “Why not?”

“Because we already have one bunny,” he insists, reaching across himself to point at the other filly. “Not everything can be bunnies!”

“Dunno why not, colt,” Amethyst argues. “Like Sweets said, bunnies ain’t gonna eatchya first chance they get. Plus, it’d make more sense if that zebra’s concoction turned a stallion inta tha same thing first.”

Both hooves pressed to his face, Cure lets out a quiet growl. “Fine! Everything is freaking bunnies. Four bunnies get tested on and nothing happens, so the gang tosses ‘em down the sewer -”

“That don’t seem like a good way ta get rid’a evidence, colt,” his sire points out. “Would make more sense just ta take ‘em out to tha woods and let ‘em go.”

“No more interruptions!” he declares. Sucking in a lungful of air, he forces the rest of the story out in one long breath, “They get rid of the bunnies too early, they grow up big and strong later, the dude who got bunnified finds them and teaches them to fight, then they go back to take out the leader of the organization that created them and rescue the zebra before they can perfect the formula and make a bunch of super soldiers. THE. END.”

After a few moments of silence, Cherry finally asks, “Are bunnies good fighters?”

“I mean… I guess? With the proper training, maybe? I bet they can kick really good.”

“Well,” his dam corrects. “They kick well, sweetie.”

“Not the point, dam. The point is that that’s just one dumb example of literally tens of thousands of stories that, with some rewriting and polishing, could potentially make millions of bits. Maybe more.”

Deed slowly nods in agreement, weighing the suggestion. “Don’t see what the problem would be, if ya wanna talk ta her ‘bout it. Not sure that’s the… genre,” he says, as if tasting the word and finding he doesn’t enjoy it very much, “that she normally writes.”

Cure chews his lips for a moment, eyes flicking briefly to his dam. “I mean… I don’t think I should be the one sharing stories from her preferred genre with her, but I ain’t exactly lackin in ‘em for that one, either.”

Vines stops her eating to rub at her brow with her pastern, sighing, “Every meal. Every. Single. Meal.”

“Hay, I’m not the one that brought it up,” the colt points out. “I was content talking about ninja bunnies.” Thrusting a hoof at his sire, he insists, “Blame him, not me!”

“Thanks, son,” the stallion grumbles.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Title chimes in. “At least, I don’t see any reason not to pursue it, aside from however much of your own time it would take.”

Cure’s muzzle scrunches in consideration and he admits, “It would vary a lot based on the stories. Some, like The Lion King or Frozen would be pretty easy because they already take place in a fictional setting. Foals’ stories would probably be easiest and, given pony tastes, would probably sell the best anyhow. The stories, as I recall them, also would be fairly short when typed out, so… yeah, that would probably work best.”

“Then start with those,” Title suggests. “You’ve already done all the work for them anyhow.”

“I can’t use those two. The gang would know something’s up if they heard about them coming out as a new story all of the sudden. Maybe after the big reveal, but… yeah, not right now.”

“Maybe ya ought’a hold off completely, then,” Amethyst argues. “Seems ta me ya already got enough coals on the fire, colt. Work on ‘em durin down time if ya want, but yer plenty busy as it is, and it ain’t like it’s urgent.”

“Eh, fair enough. I wouldn’t mind waiting until I had a way to present them in a visual media, too. I don’t know how well all of those will translate to the written word, and that is already something I’ve been working on.”

“What?” Title asks, surprised by the unexpected admission. “What do you mean you’ve been ‘working on’ it? How?!”

“Well, in a roundabout way,” he admits. “I’ve been developing something I call ‘Memory Pods’ that I’m hoping to be able to share at some point.” The scent of worry floods through the room and everypony stops eating to stare, prompting him to quickly reassure them, “Not for direct use on somepony! Just as a way to use an Illusion crystal to play a stored video or something. I mean, in theory, it’s possible that something sort of similar to them could work how you’re all thinking, too, but I would never suggest that, obviously.”

“But… could you do that?” Lemon inquires. “The whole memory thing, I mean.”

“Ehh, sort of,” Cure replies, wavering his fork-holding hoof in the air. “The way the brain stores memory is way too complex. It’s not like a file folder where you can just drop a few more pages into it and, wham-bam, suddenly new information is there.” Weaving his hooves all around his noggin, he explains, “It’s all interconnected, so really you’d have to basically take that same sheet of paper, cut it into a million pieces, stick them all in there in the right spots, and then update the file’s index to properly reference each spot to make it a cohesive whole. It’s so complicated that I’m not even sure I would be able to pull it off with my talent, and I’m not exactly willing to test it out either way.

“That, along with the numerous ethical concerns, is why it would be better to have the memory of whatever you’re storing be a completely separate being. Preferably something that nopony will eventually cry about the rights or wellbeing of. Like another plant or something. I’m just not sure how I would be able to create something that other ponies would be able to store memories in as opposed to something only I can create, because I don’t want to be the only one in the world who can do that.”

“There’s supposed to be unicorn mind spells that do stuff like that,” Title points out. “Maybe instead of trying to use your talent to store the memory you should create the empty Memory Pod thingie and use whatever spell to implant the memory you want to replay. I’d bet my mane the princess has those spells locked up tight, though.”

Nodding in agreement, he suggests, “I’ll ask her about it on Sunday. Mind affecting spells usually are restricted, which, while understandable, is also kind of a shame. Think about how useful they would be for training or teaching purposes.”

“I’m sure the princess has a very good reason why those spells are not shared,” Vines is quick to point out.

“Oh, I’m sure, too,” he agrees, “but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t be used ethically by monitored, trusted ponies. Spells are a tool like any other, dam. There’s probably a few dozen things between here and the shed that could hurt somepony in the wrong hooves, not to mention the hooves themselves,” he argues, miming a weak punch to emphasize his point.

She waits until he finishes before patiently responding, “I understand that, honey. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up that she will allow you to have those spells.” She delicately points out, “It may be better to wait a little while before asking, given everything that’s happened.”

“She’s not angry with me,” he argues.

“Maybe not angry, but…”

“She ain’t exactly happy with ya, either, colt,” Amethyst bluntly explains. “Yer dam’s right. Best wait a month or two ‘fore ya go askin for anythin.”

The colt deflates, but nods in acceptance. “Fine. I guess there’s no rush. Like you said, I have enough going on. Speaking of which, when are we gonna go check out the house you picked out?”

“When can you?”

He looks between Deed and Title, asking, “Do they do showings on Sundays?”

“They do,” Deed confirms. “It’ll hafta be next Sunday, though. If’n ya told us earlier…”

“There’s no open house?”

“That’s not something that most ponies do,” Title points out. “We’ve suggested it to Hearth, so it may catch on, but for now? Most ponies do scheduled appointments.”

“Alright, then how about sometime around noon on any day but Monday?”

“That should work,” she agrees. “We’ll get it scheduled as soon as we can.”

“Good deal. How’s the whole merger thing working out, anyhow?”

“It’s different,” she admits. “I’m still getting used to working with so many other ponies.” She reaches her right hoof to drape it over Deed’s foreleg and says, “It was just me and your sire for a long time. Then Fair came along-”

“And thank Celestia she did,” Deed interrupts. “Always hated the financin mess.”

“Literally thank her,” Cure grumbles under his breath.

Both parents roll their eyes at the colt’s continued insistence that their hire is a spy. Title continues, “It’s nice, though, having a few other ponies to go to lunch with and whatnot. I think it was worse for your sire.”

Deed smoothly steps in to explain, “Some’a my team weren’t thrilled ta have somepony brought in overtop of ‘em, gettin a cut ‘a their sales.”

“Tough,” Amethyst huffs. “Hearth approached you, not tha other way around. She’s ‘sposta be takin care of the administrative junk. Let ‘er!”

“She is,” Deed placatingly assures her. “Can’t change a pony’s mind overnight, babe.”

“Bet I could,” Cure quietly suggests. Nopony pays him any mind, continuing their conversation while he stuffs his face. With him talking throughout most of the meal thus far, he’s fallen behind everypony else whose plates are mostly cleaned. Booty wiggling happily in his seat as he stuffs his face, he only partially listens in as his sire and mom go on about their whiny, bitching coworkers. Suddenly he realizes that conversation has stopped and everypony is looking at him expectantly.

“Well?” his sire asks, waiting for a response. Cure’s look of confusion earns him a sigh and the stallion clarifies, “Grandpa, son. How’d it go?”

“My bad! It went fine. I was only stoppin in to get my important mail and see if there was anything I needed to know about tomorrow. It’ll be the same five ponies that were with Arcane in Canterlot. He’s not comin this time, which is fine since… ya know -”

“Since yer a walkin disaster now anyways?” Amethyst suggests.

“Not how grandpa put it, but yeah, basically. Anyhow, they’ll be waitin for us at the park just to the south of town, then they’ll escort us to the market. That way we can arrive at least somewhat clandestinely. When you’re touring the town with the folks three of them will be accompanying you all -”

“What?” Lemon suddenly asks. “Why?”

“Zebras, duh?” Cure replies. “Remember, they were plannin on fleeing to Filly after absconding from the train. It’s possible there’s some that may try something. If it were up ta me they’d all be going with you because, as it turns out, there should be plenty of security at the market tomorrow. Apparently Marquis Merryweather, either merely out of good sense or as some kind of apology, has arranged for four squads of guards to be at or near the Market at all times.”

“You mean police, right?” Title asks. “City police?”

“I… don’t know?” he replies with a shrug. “Grandpa said the letter he got said to expect guards to be nearby.”

“Huh. Well, whatever. That’s good news, I suppose.”

“Won’t that make ponies curious?” Lemon wonders aloud. Motioning between her and Amethyst, she says, “We used to go to the Market every once in a while. There would be police walking around, but not many that I remember.”

“Huh uh,” the darker mare agrees. “A few moseyin about ta look at the wares or get a snack’s ‘bout all I remember.”

“He’s using dragons as an excuse,” Cure explains. “At least, that’s what grandpa said. Apparently a few mixed up the dates and sent their… uhh, underlings, I guess? Their younger relatives that they use for city stuff.”

“There is a bit of a hierarchy, but my understanding is that it only applies to Equestrian dragon families. The… well, uncivilized dragons, according to our old landlady, kick their spawn out once they reach maturity. They’re on their own from there on out. Keep in mind there is a dragon language, but… well…” she trails off, looking to her wife for help.

“It’s all hisses ‘n growls ‘n whatnot,” Amethyst explains. “Dunno if it’s even a language, exactly.”

“Right,” Lemon agrees, picking up again, “so, thankfully, everything is in Ponish, but you may see dragons just kinda growlin or whatever and, somehow, they understand each other.”

“So… body language plus, more or less.”

“Exactly. So first off, as is right and proper, females are in charge.” she smugly continues, chuckling when the colt gives her a look of annoyance.

To his amusement, his sire stops shoveling food in his mouth for a moment, tilts his head in consideration, and glances to his left and right. All four mares have turned and are watching him intently, waiting to see if he has anything to add. He wisely declines to do so by shrugging, nodding in acceptance, and focusing back on his plate. Cure briefly considers making a whipping noise, but has enough memories of married life to know that his sire more or less has the right of it.

“The eldest female is the grandmatron-”

“Or just matron,” Amethyst adds. “Old Snagclaw called hers that.”

“Or just matron, apparently,” Lemon smoothly amends, waving a hoof at her wife, “then they rank each other by claw numbers, depending on how many responsibilities they have. So our landlady, for example, was a third claw since she ran a single building. Her boss would be a second claw, and she, whoever she was, would probably be over the entire apartment rental business. Anydrake that works as a janitor or runner or whatever would be a fourth claw, and they… well, try not to deal with them if you can.”

“They’re jerks,” Amethyst adds. “Lazy, stupid, arrogant jerks that do tha least they can, then threaten ya if ya keep complainin.”

Lemon enthusiastically nods, saying, “For the most part. I always hated when we had a problem and a fourth showed up to fix it. Shoddy, temporary fixes almost every time.” Eyes closed, she shakes her head and groans, “The plumbing was the worst.”

Amethyst nods, explaining, “Old Snagclaw didn’t want to pay for pony plumbers, so she kept usin her kin ta fix everything. Woke up plenty’a mornins ta no hot water, no water at all, or, sometimes, some pretty nasty smells comin outta the drains. Her stupid son or nephew’d come out ‘n shut water off to the whole buildin fer hours ta supposedly fix it, then tha same thing’d happen a week or so later.”

Cure grunts, saying, “A lot more organized than I expected.”

“That’s cause they’re native, colt,” Amethyst explains. “They ain’t nothin like their wild relatives. Bunch’a crazy savages from what I hear.”

“Grandpa used’ta say the same thing,” Deed agrees. “Some’a them from tha dragon lands would make their way too close ta Appleloosa harassin travelers, robbin ponies, or just doin one’a them migrations. Don’t sound like they had a lick ‘a sense between tha lot of ‘em. You see a flock ‘a dragons in the air, son, you get inside. Not that they come ‘round here much, mind ya.”

“Gettin pretty far off topic, pa,” Cure points out. “What I was saying is a few of those, I guess, fourth claws or whatever came to the market this past weekend looking for my booth, so the marquis is using that as an excuse to up the guard, sayin that more security is needed in case they have any problems with the bigger dragons comin into town.”

“Yer gonna hafta make deposits throughout the day,” Amethyst suggests. “Havin a bunch’a bits or gold in yer shop’ll set some’a them off. Especially them younger ones. They get a sniff’a gold in the air, they may just decide they want a piece.”

“Great,” he huffs. “I guess I can just teleport it out to a remote location every so often. Somewhere they can’t easily find it.”

“Or,” Title sardonically suggests, “Teleport it directly to the bank for deposit.”

“The wards would stop me.”

Rolling her eyes melodramatically, she says, “Then send an empty carriage to the bank with one of your puppets, then Teleport the gold into it when you get close. That way nopony - or nodrake - can intercept it and you don’t have to explain who your puppet is to your grandpa’s ponies. Your puppet go in and deposit it. You do have some deposit slips, right?”

“I can print my own,” he reminds her.

“Fair. It won’t matter for those since they’re coming from you anyhow, but you really need to start being careful where you leave your conjured stuff. You don’t want anypony comparing papers from Cure Wave with those from Serpentus, after all.”

“That’s… a good point,” he agrees with a cringe. He spends a moment wondering if anypony pulled his magical signature off of the Broccoloid “demands” he left behind or off of Madame Adiah’s paperwork. If so, he hasn’t heard anything about it, and it’s not like his magical signature is something that anypony can normally get to. The princess obviously has it on file, but she already knows about both of those incidents anyhow.

Cure spends a moment wondering if there’s a way to fake or alter a pony’s signature. Nothing in any of the books he’s read has indicated it is possible. Magic is, supposedly, an expression of one’s very being; their soul, essentially. Of course, that doesn’t mean that it’s impossible to broadcast a fake signal either overtop of the normal one or just to interfere with reading it. He adds that to the mental list of things to ask the princess about.

“Dam?” he calls, getting the mare’s attention. “Wind Shear came by to collect her pay today.”

“Okay?”

“She asked if she could come tend my storefront tomorrow.”

She gives him a shallow nod, sensing there is more.

“Since we’re leaving before sunup I suggested she spend the ni-”

“No.”

All three moms quietly snort, shaking in silent laughter at the immediate denial. Deed, once again, keeps his mouth shut and eyes fixed on his now empty plate.

“-ght… why? You let Rising spend the night!”

“She couldn’t stay home by herself!” she immediately counters. It’s a valid point, but that whole experience left Cure somewhat confused. He’d expected his sire to go to Script’s house instead of her coming to theirs. He isn’t sure if his dam and moms got in on the action or if they merely watched, and he’s perfectly fine not knowing. The whole thing seems extremely odd, but ponies are incredibly liberal when it comes to sex. “I said no sleepovers. Especially with her.”

The young alicorn easily picks up on the oddly placed emphasis. A single brow cocked in question, he asks, “What do you mean by ‘Especially with her?’ It’s not like she’d do something. Hay, it’s not like she could.”

“I don’t think I need to explain to you, of all foals, why a dam would not allow an older filly to spend the night with her son. Especially when you’ve all but shaped her appearance to… that!” she says, waving a hoof to the front door.

Cure follows it with his head, staring for a moment before turning back. “I’m not sure where she is at the moment, but her house is actually more that way,” he argues, pointing roughly between her and his sire to the northeast.

She sucks in a quick breath and blows out a sigh, arguing, “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Fine. Whatever. I guess I’ll pick her up on the way back from training. I am still allowed to go to that, right?”

Openly frowning at his disrespectful tone, she replies, “Since it is too late to cancel your appearance, you may go tomorrow, but maybe it would be best if you told them that you need a break until you can correct. Your. Attitude.”

“Uhh, V,” Amethyst begins, but is cut off when Cure talks overtop of her. “My attitude? All I did was ask if a friend could spend the night so she wouldn’t be out flying in the dark!”

Vines hoof thrusts scoldingly in his direction as she demands, “You do not talk over your mother, young stallion!”

“I didn’t! She was talking to you, not me!”

“You still talked over her!” She gestures at his wings and mane and demands, “And enough with the alicorn mane thing!”

Any would-be argument dies in his throat. Head whipping from side to side, he sees that not only have wisps of ethereal hair in his mane and tail begun glowing, but both of his sisters are staring up at him. At least neither of them appear to be scared, merely curious.

Lotus even rears up, with her left hoof on his shoulder to run her right through his mane. “It feels tingly like the princess’s!” she notes, eyes sparkling in wonder.

With any lingering fight thoroughly sapped from his body, Cure sags in his seat, allowing the effect to fade. “Yeah, well, it’ll be a bit ‘till it starts staying like that. And you know it’s not something I’m doing on purpose,” he adds, eyes flicking back to his dam.

The mare takes a long moment to rub at her face, visibly forcing herself to calm. “I understand,” she gently begins, “and I know you are very protective of your friends, honey, but I don’t like the idea of you spending the night with Wind Shear by herself. She’s the age where fillies sometimes don’t consider the consequences of their actions. As thankful for my own impulsiveness as I am, that is not something I would recommend for others.”

“Yeah, well, there’s any number of reasons why that’s not an issue here. The only reason I suggested she come over tonight is so she didn’t have to fly here in the dark by herself.” Waving the issue away before she can respond, he adds, “It’s not worth fighting over. I’ll just pick her up on the way home. Problem solved.” He wraps a wing around each of the girls, pulling them against his sides. “Am I allowed to take the girls flying?”

The question momentarily catches her off guard. It’s only after she takes a moment to look around that Vines notices everypony has finished eating. She looks to Lemon and Amethyst, each of whom nod their assent. “I suppose. Be back before sundown.”

“And go easy ‘till their food settles,” Lemon instinctively adds, the words escaping her muzzle before her brain can point out how unnecessary that is.

“No problem, ma.” His wings spread and wrap around the fillies, hugging them to his sides. “Let’s go get you suited up. Ready?” As soon as they nod, his horn lights up and they vanish in a flash, Teleporting to their room to prep his adult pegasus puppet, get the girls dressed, and alter their appearances.

None of the parents move to get up. They wait in silence until they hear their three oldest foals teleport off into the sky.

After a few more moments, Amethyst quietly points out, “Like he said, he can’t help it. You know that.”

“I know,” Vines sighs, shallowly nodding.

“And ya know it frustrates ‘em somethin fierce.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t rub it in his face when it happens!”

“What am I supposed to do, then?!”

“Calmly point it out to him,” Title steps in to reply. “He is not an overly emotional foal. Usually. Just tell him his mane is flaring in a calm voice and he’ll most likely stop in an instant.”

“And maybe we ought’a ease up on the whole groundin thing,” Deed timidly suggests. Vines’ disapproving reaction is immediate and he quickly adds, “Not right away! I ain’t sayin let ‘em of scot free. Just maybe another week or two, I mean. Barely lettin ‘em seein his friends ain’t doin nopony any good.”

“He’s seeing them,” Lemon interjects. “He’s been going over to the school almost every day during their recess. It’s not much,” she notes with a shrug, “but it definitely brings his mood up.”

“He was in a much better mood Wednesday morning, too,” Title agreeingly points out.

“I’ll… think about it,” Vines finally concedes.

“Works fer me, babe. Just don’t forget, even if it were a bit much, he only did what he did ‘cause he thought it’d keep us safer.”

Author's Note

Okay, I know I said the next chapter would be Filly, but I couldn't do it. There were too many things I felt I needed to touch on before the family heads out of town. Don't worry. We'll get there next chapter. Probably.

So Cure's still kind of in the dog house. No surprise there. I'm happy to see some disagreements in the comments about how right or wrong Cure was. I would be worried something is wrong with me if everyone agreed he's a little psycho that went too far. He probably did go too far, but... I don't want to think how I'd react in the same situation. It would probably not end well. For anyone.

That said, I really don't envy his parents here. How do you punish him when he could, quite easily, do whatever he wants without you ever being the wiser? Finding the right punishment is a fine line, to be sure. I don't see him ever running away, but even small wounds can fester if left ignored, as his former teacher pointed out.

As for Crisp Script? I wrote a short chapter for the night she and Rising came over, but... eh, it's not really clicking. I dunno, maybe if the inspiration fairy pays me a visit I'll clean it up and post it like I did with the Clearport chapter. Who knows? Regardless, while it sounds pretty damn strange to have them come over instead of sending Deed and having RP spend the night, I can totally see exactly this happening in a society where a herding instinct is present. Especially one that hasn't been influenced by religion like ours has. And keep in mind, kids wouldn't be nearly as sheltered from their parents' baby making even a hundred years past. Houses weren't as large or soundproof as they are today, after all.

The fake cutie mark thing seems like an objectively terrible idea, but the pressure on a pony in their mid teens without one would probably be pretty bad. Wind is still modeling, apparently, which is something I plan on exploring a little more at some point. She's also about as rational (and manipulative) as one would expect from a teenager. I'm sure Drift won't mind Cure letting her tag along. Yessir, that will go over just fine. Right?

Eh, we'll see.

As for the entertainment idea Cure has... well, I've been thinking of that one for a while. In any of these 'other world' stories, a typical adult-aged member of our modern society would be able to absolutely flood the market with an almost countless number of stories they watched, heard, read, whatever in their former world.

There's no good number I could find for how many movies a person will see over their life. 5000 is one number that showed up from Reddit. That doesn't count other media, either. The Harry Potter books alone made about eight billion dollars. Even factoring in all of the population/currency/etc. issues, a few good series would make a pony rich beyond their dreams.

Mental exercise here - Pick your favorite series. How much did it earn? How accurately could you reproduce it right off the top of your head? The answers are usually going to be "a fair amount" and "pretty well" unless it's something obscure.

TLDR; unless the world someone lands in already, somehow, has mirrored versions of the stories we do, anyone could become insanely wealthy very, very easily with that idea alone. Why... Cure may make so much that he has to *gasp* pay income tax again! What will he do?!

Again, maybe we'll see.

Okay, enough pondering! As always, thank you all for reading, rating, and especially commenting. Enjoy!