Tuesday, November 11th, 908 AB (3 days later)

School day done with, Cure waves goodbye to his friends and takes off at a quick canter for Lemon’s shop. Today’s a big day for the colt; he’s finally getting some real furniture to turn the upstairs living room area into something resembling a professional office. A couple couches, a long divider, an actual work desk, a chair, a booster for himself, and a real business sign to stick on the wall by the shop’s front door.

Cure had shopped for a nice tri-fold full-length mirror but the things were as much as all of the other purchases put together. He has more than enough income to afford it, but he couldn’t come up with any conceivable reason to spend so much on a mirror when his talent rendered a perfect Illusion viewable at any angle.

Cure was a little disappointed that he didn’t come up with a better name, but BodyWorks Enterprises was good enough and didn’t have any negative connotations or give anypony the idea that the colt that was making their wings pretty could also yoink them off and put them back on the wrong sides if he was in the mood to.

Fortunately that hadn’t happened yet, so despite his desire to play some truly awesome pranks on various ponies, usually Drift, nopony has walked away with anything in the wrong place or inverted, no matter how annoying they were being that day.

Trotting in the store, Cure dances around a few customers and heads to the employee door. Catching sight of the colt while she’s completing a transaction, Lemon yells over to Cure, “Hey Cure, honey! The delivery ponies came by earlier. I had ‘em set it all up there for you to take care of. I didn’t know where you wanted it all.”

“That’s perfect, Lemon! Thanks a bunch for everything you do for me,” he says, walking over to give her a hug. “I’mma go get set up. If my mom walks in with a customer can you holler up for me?” he asks, shooting her a wink.

Lemon knows that means Cure will be up there with a horn on his head, so she ruffles his mane and shoo’s him up the stairs.

As Cure gets to the top of the steps, he looks to his right to see everything piled up. The stairs go from the kitchen area downstairs and open up at the top near the front of the store, just to the right of where the shop’s entrance is when standing in it. The living room area is not small; it basically stretches from the front of the store all the way to where the kitchen starts on the first floor. The remainder of the level is just a small bedroom, bathroom, and a storage closet.

Cure gets his horn out, reshapes it to its normal appearance, and puts it in place.

As best he can tell everything had been brought in through one of the windows, probably floated up from the delivery wagon and hit with a temporary shrinking spell, then brought in, re-enlarged, and basically left in a pile.

He first moves the couches so that they’re flush against the wall that the stairwell is blocked off by. Next, he sets up the dividers to run from the front of the store to about two meters from the back wall, cutting the room in half and creating a separate workspace and lobby area.

The desk is a small, wood one with three drawers and a chest pad for him to lean against when writing. It’s there mainly to have a writing surface so that everypony wasn’t using the floor to write on. That was not a professional look and he knew he could only get away with that for a short while until “I just opened up” wouldn’t be an acceptable excuse.

He still needed to do something permanent about the lighting, but at recess today Dawn had suggested that Cure should talk to her sire about it, which made him wish he’d brought it up a week prior. Regardless, he asked if she could say something to him that evening, so with a little luck maybe Mr. Haze knows how to wire light fixtures to panels like the clinic has.

If he doesn’t Cure figures he can go get a library book and visit a hardware store this upcoming Sunday. There’s no actual electricity, as far as he knows, so it’s not like doing it wrong will burn the building down. Probably. The Light spell doesn’t actually generate heat directly, after all. If all else fails he can ask Lemon to have the folks come out that wired the downstairs and the kitchen, or leave the lights up there and keep doing what he’s been so far.

With the Light crystals charged, turned on, and stuck on the ceiling, the couches by the stairs, the divider cutting the room in half, and the desk against the back wall, Cure now had a functional, if small, waiting-room-slash-lobby. The addition of a Sound Bubble crystal was the last step to give the customers in his workshop full privacy while he worked on them.

The only thing left to do was get a magazine rack above the couches and stock it up and he would no longer have to space appointments out and ensure only one pony was upstairs at a time.

Finished rearranging the room, Cure removes the horn, stows it away, and goes downstairs to fill up on sugar while waiting for his mom and his first appointment of the day; his first de-aging since adding it to his list of offered services. This one won’t be as extensive as Violet Jewel’s was, but at half the price the pony is still getting something they literally can’t find anywhere else on the planet, as far as he knows.

“I can’t believe it. I… I look like I’m over forty years younger.” Analyzing the before and after illusions, the cream colored mare stares in awe. “How is this possible?”

“Magic,” he says, then adds, “I’m not sure, ma’am,” with a shrug. He knows it’s an unsatisfying answer, but unfortunately it’s the only one he has to give. “It just happens to be my special talent. I musta been a good colt in my last life, cause now I get to see beautiful mares smiling at me all the time like you are right now.”

Giggling, she waves a hoof and says, “Oh you! Do you flirt with all of your customers or just the ones almost ten times your age?”

Title quietly turns away so she can roll her eyes.

Eyes wide, Cure leans back in shock. “Ten times my age? Surely you jest, miss! Why, you don’t look a day over twenty five!” he insists, giving her a critical look. “Now as much as I enjoy spending the evening conversing with a mare in the prime of her life,” he sighs in disappointment, “I’m afraid I do have another appointment arriving soon. Was there anything else I can do for you this fine evening?”

“Just one thing.” Pointing at the spot at his hooves she narrows her eyes and leans forward. “You sit right there and don’t you dare move a muscle, young stallion!”

Sitting on his haunches, Cure freezes in place knowing exactly what’s coming next. Like so many others have done before, she walks over to him, lays on her barrel, wraps him in a hug, and plants a kiss on his forehead.

Cure leans into it and nuzzles her back, figuring if mares want to snuggle on him and give him smooches it’s his Harmony-given duty to oblige them. After a few seconds she stands, walks over to the desk, signs the form saying the work is done, and, after Title makes a copy for her, wishes the pair a good evening while heading for the stairs.

Once she’s gone Title gives him an exasperated look. “You are such a playcolt…”

“Oh please,” he says while waving a dismissive hoof, “you know how important good customer service is. Every mare, yourself included, wants a young colt to look at them and tell them how pretty they are. Don’t you even try to deny it either. And the fact that you objectively are so beautiful means I’m sure it happens all the time.”

Smiling softly she lets out a little “Aww” before the victorious smirk on his face registers. “I guess you’re right,” she agrees with a defeated sigh. “Still, have you considered how that’s going to play out when you’re an adult and flirting with all these mares?”

“Huh…” he mutters, looking around. “I guess I’ll need a sturdy table, trash can, a supply of disposable wipes, and a water cooler in here... maybe some air fresheners too.”

“Oh my stars…” she mumbles, covering her eyes with her pastern. “Cure did you really just say that?”

“What? You saw how she looked,” he says, pointing where the Illusion was standing. “Are you tryin to tell me that a healthy adult stallion wouldn’t tap that if she asked for a go?”

“She’s… what the fuck, Cure?” she hisses, waving at the stairs. “She’s almost seventy!”

“So? That means she knows what she’s doing,” he insists with a big grin. Matter-of-factly, he adds, “Besides, she damn sure didn’t look seventy to me.”

Title gawks open-mouthed at the colt.

“Tell me this, mom… how do you get good at anything?”

“Oh come on! I’m not answering that!”

Pointing a hoof at the mare he shouts, “Practice!” Clapping his hooves each time he continues, “Practice, practice, practice!” Sauntering closer, he smiles broadly and slowly asks, “Next question, and be honest, how did your first time go?”

Cringing, she answers, “Not… the best.”

Forelegs thrown wide he shouts, “See?! I mean, I don’t know how much experience she has or anything. It’s not like there’s rings in there to count like a friggin tree,” he continues, ignoring her facehoof, “but statistically speaking who is gonna be better at the horizontal tango? Her or some blushing teenaged virgin?”

Rubbing at her forehead, Title regrets having said anything at all. “I am having a conversation with an eight year old about who’s better at sex between a seventy year old mare and a teenager,” she flatly says out loud. “Something is wrong with my life.”

Trotting over to the stairs, Cure hops on a couch to wait for the next customer. “Meh, you just can’t admit when you’re wrong, that’s all. It’s okay, mom, you don’t have to say it out loud.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Sighing, she walks over and climbs up to join him, laying on his tail and back with her forelegs surrounding him. Laying her head heavily up his mane and on top of his she whines, “I’m hungry.”

“You’re pregnant; you’re always hungry. Go beg Lemon for a treat. If ya sit up pretty she may toss ya one.”

She leans up slightly and bites his right ear. “It sucks,” she complains, ear still held in her teeth.

Flipping his ear loose he tells her, “Stop being all pregnant all the time. Duh.”

“I blame your sire.”

“That’s fair, but I’m pretty sure you are at least partially at fault. Also, have you two talked about your plans for next time around?”

“Not much. We only really need to decide if we want one or two more.”

“Right, but that’s a big decision. Five new foals in a year and a half is a lot. I’m not trying to sound like I’m discouraging you,” he pauses to nuzzle up into her neck, “I will do anything I can to help, but that’s still a lot of change in a little time. Also, mares are gonna hound dad to stud when you pop out two colts at once.”

“I know, honey,” she says, planting a kiss in his mane. “And he should. We need more colts. Is there any way you could make something like your cherry trees that would cause a stallion to only have them?”

Pausing in thought, Cure mulls it over for only a moment before nodding. “Probably. I don’t think I could make something to actually cause only male sperm production, but I could make something to inhibit female sperm somehow, which would give males a huge advantage when it comes to reaching the egg first. I don’t really have a good way to experiment right now though. I mean… I could test things on dad, but I was plannin on waiting until I was older to tackle that mess. I figured I probably shouldn’t test stuff while he’s... uhh... using the equipment. I suppose right now isn’t a bad time to try things if he’s okay with it.”

Title snorts out a laugh and, after a moment of giggling agrees, “There’s no rush. I’m sure you don’t want to spend a bunch of time staring at scans of that. We’ve gotten by for centuries, I’m sure ponykind can wait another few years until you’re ready.”

“Exactly. I figure once I hit puberty I’ll be able to use my own body as, basically, a rapid testing lab. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that I can isolate the area and turn off things like pain, discomfort, and so forth and, since it’s a part of me, minimize magic costs. Plus I can basically run experiments all day long to test everything before submitting any treatments to actual medical review. I’ve kinda freed up some space normally needed for the digestive system by improving mine, but I kinda had plans for that, and I’m still physically small so it’s not much room.”

“Plans?”

“Essentially, I was going to play with the idea of having some redundant systems in a hardened, protected sleeve in case something really crazy happened.”

“That sounds simultaneously brilliant and horrifying. I mean... on one hoof,” she says, extending her right hoof, “every fiber of my being says you shouldn’t be experimenting on yourself like that, but on the other,” the left hoof is lazy, apparently, because the right one just shifts to the left side of her as she continues, “I can’t think of an ethical alternative and you’re not actually harming yourself. Just make sure you’re not doing anything crazy before you go to sleep, I guess.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. That would be a really stupid way to off myself, mom. No, I would never do that.” With his enhanced hearing, he listens in on Lemon talking to a couple mares about an appointment. “I think our customer is here. Or customers, if I’m not mistaken.”

Standing and climbing down to greet them, Title looks over her withers. “Are you good to go already?”

“Yep, I ate a buncha candy before you got here, so I’m already over half. Any idea what she... or they want?”

“No more than you. She just marked ‘Other’ in the book.”

“Yeah, I saw.” Stepping off the couch, he quickly fixes his mane, tail, and the fur on his back and gets ready for round two. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Be right back,” she calls, disappearing down the stairs. A minute later she comes back up with two earth pony mares in tow; one a bright, pink color similar to his mom with a deep blue mane and tail; the other a bright white with a darker red mane and tail.

“Good evening,” Cure starts, smiling brightly and nodding at the two, “I’m Cure Wave. Welcome to BodyWorks Enterprises. How can I help you lovely ladies tonight?”

“Hi Cure! Oh you’re just ADORABLE!” the pink mare shouts in a very much not-indoor voice, causing Cure to involuntarily recoil slightly. Turning to look at the other mare she continues, “Isn’t he just ADORABLE, Candy?”

“Focus, sweetie,” the white mare insists with a nudge, “Hi, Cure Wave, I’m Candy Cane and this is my wife Bubbles. We were kinda hoping you could do something… well… a little different,” she finishes looking a little uncomfortable.

“Umm… sure, how about we step into my office and we can discuss it inside a Sound Bubble for privacy. As a minor, I do have to insist that my mom join us… is that okay?”

“That would be WONDERFUL! Thank you SO MUCH!” Bubbles enthusiastically agrees with a smile that reminds him of a herbivore version of the prank he pulled on his parents. It’s more than a little off putting, particularly because of the level of energy the mare is exhibiting.

As Cure turns to walk around the divider he shoots Title a slightly concerned look, getting a minute nod in return. The two mares follow the pair around the divider and into the well-lit workspace.

Cure gives the pair a couple blank forms, explains the process, then activates the Sound Bubble crystal. “So, nopony outside the surrounding four meters or so can hear us… what can I do for you?”

Bubbles inhales to answer and Cure can feel his ears instinctively turning away from the mare, but before she can get a syllable out Candy reaches over and sets a hoof on her withers. She turns to the pair and explains, “My honeybun participates in a lot of competitions, you see, so she was hoping you could help her with something that would kind of give her a little edge.”

“Competitions?” he asks, getting nods in return. Brows furrowed he asks, “What kind of competitions?”

“BUBBLEGUM BLOWING COMPETITIONS! WOOO!” the pink mare cheers, rearing up and dancing on her back hooves.

Candy Cane enthusiastically nods and continues her explanation, “Yep! Bubbles is one of the top five bubble blowers in the whole country,” she says while looking at the still dancing mare fondly. “She was hoping you could do a little something that would launch her up to number one!” she excitedly cheers, pumping a hoof and adding to Bubbles’ enthusiasm.

“Uhh… well… I’m not sure if that might be cheating,” he admits, scratching at his right temple in thought. “What exactly were you two hoping I could do?”

“She wants a longer tongue.”

Completely bewildered at the unexpected answer, he blurts out “What?” thinking he may have misheard her.

“A BIG, LONG, SUPER STRONG TONGUE! WOO! Then NOPONY will be able to beat me!”

“Umm… pardon me for a moment while we... uhh discuss how that might work. We’ll be right back,” he says, turning away and tilting his head to the side.

Once outside the Sound Bubble he flatly asks, “Is this a sex thing? Does a longer tongue even help you blow bubblegum bubbles? I would think that’s more in the lips, but I ain’t hoofin out no DSL’s over here.” Glancing back he corrects himself, “Or PSL’s, whatever.”

His mom tilts her head in confusion at the unfamiliar acronyms. “What?” she slowly asks.

“Uhh… I’ll tell ya later.”

After a moment’s stare, Title leaves that line of questioning aside and looks back at the pair. “I’m… not sure ,” she answers, also baffled. “I mean, two mares walk in and ask for a long, strong tongue and I would immediately think ‘sex thing’ too, but look at her,” she says, motioning with her eyes to the still-dancing pink mare.

“Is she faking it so we don’t ask more questions? I mean, when they said Bubblegum Blowing Contest I immediately made… uhh… assumptions,” he explains, staring at Bubble’s cutie mark. “Then I wondered what the winning conditions are.” Looking up in thought he adds, “Now I’m kinda considering what appropriate prizes may be.” Pausing he adds, “I’m pretty sure I have your sex talk from earlier to blame for most of that.”

Title is turned sideways, coughing to try to hide her laughing. Fortunately Candy is completely enthralled by the, admittedly, impressive way Bubbles can move on two hooves. Most ponies only last a few seconds before they fall back down to all fours, but this mare has some amazing balance.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter as long as they’re paying,” Cure finally says with a scrunched snout. “While I’m at it should I check for brain damage? I feel like you have to have something wrong with you to be that happy, even if you are faking it.”

Wiping the tears away, Title finally gets herself under control. “If you find any, leave it alone. That’s not your problem.” She pauses in thought then adds, “Actually, figure out if you can temporarily give it to somepony else. I’m curious what that level of joy feels like.”

“Well… what do you think I should do about the request?”

“I dunno. Can you do it?”

“Yeah… remember the time I did the stinger tongue thing?”

“Oh yeah. That was kinda funny,” she answers with a smile.

“Right? I thought it was badass. Dam’s no fun sometimes,” he complains with a frown. “Anyhow, I guess I can give her a big long tongue.” Scrunching his snout again he adds, “Wow I feel a little dirty just saying it. I wonder if I should scan Candy so I get the length just right...”

“Oh my stars, Cure. Go!” she insists, waving at the pair. “Let’s get this over with and go home. I’m hungry.”

Rolling his eyes, he agrees while turning back to the pair. “Sure, alright. I wonder if I can turn down her damn volume controls while I’m at it. Good Lord... If that’s not an act can you imagine how wild she is in bed?”

The procedure was quite a bit more complex than Cure had expected due to the uniqueness of the request. By the time they were done he was completely convinced that it was, absolutely, a sex thing, and it was not Bubbles that was going to end up getting blown with that unit, but instead a Candy Cane that was going to get its stripes licked off.

When he started trying to figure out how to make it work his first thought went back to the frogs and toads he’d scanned at the pond, but frog tongues appear long mainly because the composition is a very different makeup than what ponies have. They are longer, but they stretch a lot. They’re much wider, too, given the shape of a frog’s mouth compared to a pony, and are connected at the front of the mouth, not the back.

Instead, for all intents and purposes, Bubbles’ tongue is now a tentacle. There’s other words that can be used, but functionally, that’s the best description he can think of. The musculature is most like an elephant’s trunk, which is a design that’s not terribly dissimilar to one Cure has used before and hasn’t heard any complaints from his parents about.

Of course, there’s no need for air or other conduits inside of a tongue, and with earth pony strength added in it ended up not being a whole lot wider or thicker than normal; at least not the part that would actually be visible. The connection at the base needed buffed up a little, but she should now be able to do some impressive curls with the thing.

The tricky part was finding room for everything, and it became necessary for Cure to rearrange some of the soft tissue in the throat just to make sure she couldn’t possibly cut off her own airway. Given the length she could still do it, but it would take a conscious effort, and Cure suspects it won’t be her own esophagus she’s exploring with the appendage anyhow.

After pointing out several potential issues and recommending she stop by in a few days for a checkup to ensure everything is functioning correctly, Cure relented and completed the job, charging the mare a grand for the extensive custom work and in an attempt to discourage future “bubblegum blowing” enthusiasts from flooding his schedule.

Of course, now that he has a functional, if initial, design down he’s not completely opposed to booking as many as ponies are willing to pay for it. After all, when it comes to bang for the buck the tongues, at a grand a pop, beat most of his other procedures in the income over magic used equation. Still, the big concern he has is that if you can make a tongue longer and prehensile, other parts can have the same features added, and that’s not something he wants to start at eight years old.

“Somepony’s here,” Cure warns as they approach the house. “I think it’s Uncle Lucky and Grandpa Brick. I guess he got our message after all.”

Title lets out an inarticulate growl.

“Sweet Harmony, mom, did you freakin skip lunch or something?”

“Shattap you. You try bein pregnant sometime and tell me yer not hungry.”

“I never hear dam complaining.”

“Give it a few months.”

Cure opens the door and stands aside for the mare to go in first, then follows her in to greet their visitors. “Hey Uncle Lucky, hi Grandpa,” he calls out as he trots over to greet the pair.

Cure notices they both have long coats and hats laying beside them on the floor. Most pony houses, at least poor ones like his, don’t have coat hooks or racks by the door. They do have a closet, though, which makes the fact they’ve kept their stuff nearby seem odd.

Title gives a quick “hello” and heads straight to the kitchen to join her wife getting dinner ready. She definitely wasn’t just trying to steal some scraps or anything.

Lucky doesn’t hesitate a second to scoop Cure up and give him a big hug and a quick smooch on each cheek. “Look at this colt! What are ya feedin ‘em, V?” he rhetorically asks the room. “He’s shootin up like a weed ova here! Ya got some giraffe in yer family, sweetheart?”

“Cure,” his great grandsire nods in greeting as his sire yells out “Heya, champ!” As Lucky sets him down and musses up his mane, Brick stoically continues, “I understand that you have some news.”

Cure tosses his bags on the floor near his sire and gives a quick “Yep” while greeting Deed and flopping between his forelegs, nuzzling up into his neck. “I’m sure you’ve heard about my cosmetic business,” he starts, getting an affirmative nod.

“I have,” he responds, paying no mind to Lucky rejoining him. “I admit I was surprised when I heard about that, not to mention the arrangement with Bulwark’s team. That was a good decision, son. The Guard is a powerful ally, and Her Highness will certainly appreciate your help there.”

“That’s good to hear. As far as we’re concerned, though,” he says, motioning between he and Brick, “I’ll not deny that I was being paranoid keeping some of my cards close to my chest. But honestly grandpa, you live fifteen minutes away and, prior to that, I’d seen you one time in my life as far as I can remember.”

Brick lets out a deep sigh and nods in acceptance of the criticism. “That’s fair. One of the things the Guard emphasizes is information security. Based on what I’ve seen you’re familiar with the term.”

“I am,” Cure agrees, “and it is important, which is why I’ve been very careful about telling anypony what all I can really do. I do want to help the family however I can, though, which is why we reached out again the other week.

“I had a special request just prior to us sending that message. Somepony asked for me to try something new,” he explains. “It worked well enough that I’ve begun offering it as a regular service. The name is slightly misleading, but I’m offering deaging to ponies that would like to look and feel like they did decades prior.”

Lucky’s eyes get as big as saucers, but Brick furrows his brows in thought before speaking up. “Misleading… so you’re not truly turning back the clock?”

“No, at least not exactly. Think of it like this. Aging is kind of like a disease. I think I may be able to find the cure at some point, but I’ve only had my mark for a couple of months. All I’m doing right now is treating the symptoms,” he explains. “Still, there’s a lot of value in that alone.”

“There is. How much are you typically charging for this?”

“1500 bits,” he answers, getting an impressed whistle from Lucky. “It’s a complex procedure and, typically, completely saps my magic, so I have to space out any other appointments I have.”

“That sounds too low,” Brick responds immediately. “I would suggest double. Of course that depends on how effective the treatment is.”

“I was hoping to show you if you’d let me. I can’t charge for a demonstration, of course, then you factor in the friends and family discount, etcetera,” he finishes, rolling his hoof in a “and so on” motion. “How about it, grandpa? Wanna go home looking and feeling better than you have in forty years?” he asks, holding out a hoof.

Brick takes a moment to look at the hoof, then meets Cure’s friendly, smiling gaze. He looks to Lucky on his left for a second and gets a quick nod from the younger stallion. Mind made up, he inches forward enough to take Cure’s hoof and gives him a nod.

“You’re going to feel a breeze over your coat. Also, this will take some time. Like I said, there’s a lot to it,” Cure warns, then gets started. Brick is in early liver failure. He probably would have been fine for a year or two, maybe longer with earth pony resilience helping, but he likely had a half decade or less to live. “Good thing ya stopped in, grandpa. Been having any tenderness right about here?” he asks, using his left hoof to point to his right side just behind and below his withers. Brick winces and turns away from the group.

Cure nods and continues. “You can’t ignore that kinda stuff. You won’t need to worry about it now anyway. I’m also going to remove your wrinkles, brighten up your coat, tail, and mane, get rid of the arthritis, fix all the messed up cartilage in your hips and knees, probably from your military career, and then we’ll take care of those teeth and eyes.

“The easy part,” he adds, “will be makin sure you still look like a grumpy old stallion even without looking old… you seem ta have that down pat regardless. Probably from whatever time you spent as a DS.”

Brick turns back with a scowl while Lucky howls out a laugh and Deed turns away to chuckle quietly, though there’s no hiding the shaking of his shoulders.

Cure points at the unhappy expression and happily shouts. “Yep, there it is! Nailed it, grandpa!” he cheers, getting a huff out of him.

“I was a captain in the Royal Guard,” he growls to the side, “and I’m sitting here being smart-talked to by an eight year old.”

“Uh huh,” Cure agrees with a nod. “Well, captain, maybe you can remind me who would have the authority to relieve you of command,” Cure says in a teasing tone.

“How in Tartarus would you know that?” he snaps back.

“As you pointed out, you’re not the first military pony I’ve treated, sir.”

Grumbling under his breath, he blows out like a bull but remains otherwise quiet, ignoring the snickers coming from Lucky who probably doesn’t get to see his grandsire being ribbed very often.

Cure turns to his uncle and asks, “Hey Uncle Lucky, you mind doing me a small favor?”

“Sup, colt?”

“Don’t react ‘till I’m done here, I don’t wanna spoil the surprise.”

“Sure thing!” he agrees with nod.

After several minutes Cure feels his sire offering up some magic to help speed things along, so he accepts it and fixes Brick up without just dumping a bunch of unguided healing magic in him. Finally, he releases the hoof and reaches for his bag to the side, getting a helpful hoof from Deed.

“Thanks, pa,” he says as he pulls out the Illusion crystal. “Alright, grandpa, here’s what you looked like when you walked in here… and here’s how you look now.”

Brick reviews the two illusions, looking over himself at the same time. He looks on with about as much excitement as somepony looking over a tax form. “Hmm. I’ll be damned,” he mumbles while standing. He takes a few steps away from everypony and gives himself a quick lookover, then turns back to face Cure. For the first time Cure’s seen, the now 30-ish looking stallion actually smiles. “Amazing! Wonderful work, Cure. Your grandmothers aren’t going to know what to do with me.”

Cure has to bite his tongue to avoid blurting out anything inappropriate. Lucky has no such reservations, though, and lowly says, “I dunno, grandpa, I think they can probably come up with some ideas once ya show up.”

Coughing in a hoof, Cure turns aside and adds, “Not to make it weird,” even though it already is more than weird enough, “but I guarantee my patients won’t be disappointed with any part of the deaging package.”

“Ah geez, cous, you already gave the colt tha talk? He's eight!”

“I hadta!” Deed vigorously defends. “Ya oughta see the troop ‘a fillies he has followin ‘em around everywhere! The colt’s gonna have a dozen wives, I tell ya!”

“Alright, enough,” Brick calls over them. “I don’t want your grandmothers raking me over the coals for any of your shenanigans. Keep it clean.”

“Yessir.”
“Sorry, gramps.”

“So, Cure,” Brick starts while lying back by Lucky, “when do you think you might be able to find room in your schedule to see your grandmothers? I’m sure that’ll be the second or third question they ask when I get home tonight, and I don’t think I’ll survive if I can’t give them some firm dates.”

“Well, this weekend’s going to be a bit busy for me, unfortunately, but I do have all day on the twenty third available. Honestly, grandpa, I’m not nearly cruel, or stupid, enough to not do all of them on the same day.”

Author's Note

One more tomorrow & we get into December with some REAL action as Cure... DOES HIS TAXES! WOOO!