Life Finds a Way

Monday, December 1st, 908 AB (14 days later)

“Taxes?” the mare asks, a single brow raised in question.

“Yes, Miss Apple. Remember I gave you the note on Friday?”

“You mean the one from before you left early that day too?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

With an exasperated sigh she explains, “Honestly, Cure, it’s a little difficult for me to keep track of all your notes these days.”

“Sorry Miss Apple. I’m a very busy colt, ya know?”

“Yes, you are. Busy coming up with reasons to leave early, that is,” she agrees, getting a few snickers from the nearby foals. “If your grades weren’t what they are I’d be having a talk with your parents!” she declares, an accusing hoof pointed over her desk.

“My parents are the ones that are writing the notes!” he argues, forehooves thrown in the air.

After digging through a stack of papers she comes up with a small slip. “Yes, yes. I see it, right here,” she holds up the note in question, “Please excuse Cure Wave for the afternoon of Monday, December 1st. He has an appointment to do his taxes,” she reads aloud for anypony in earshot, then gives Cure a disbelieving look, “Signed Mrs. Title Search.”

“Yeah… she is my mom. Is there some part of that you believe is untrue?” he asks.

“Just the part where an eight year old colt would have any reason to be missing school to do taxes!”

“So… completely believable then?” he asks, getting a round of laughs from all of the foals listening in. “I’m… honestly not sure what to say, ma’am.” Leaning over her desk to whisper he explains, “I’ve made a lot of bits over the last six weeks since I started doing cosmetic work. I’m meeting my mom at Town Hall so we can go over the ledgers with a tax pony so I don’t end up getting a huge, unexpected bill later.”

“Cure,” she stars, rubbing at her forehead, “even if you have enough income to pay taxes you wouldn’t have to until March or so.”

“I know. You’re right but we’re just trying to be sure since this is my first quarter working and the demand for my services has been a lot higher than we expected. I don’t know how much I should be setting aside.”

“Oh my stars, will you just let him go!” Cure is certain that’s Sapphire’s voice calling out from somewhere in the room. “He’s rich!” She’s not completely wrong, sort of, but dammit Saph… there’s a time and a place. Preferably nowhere and never.

Looking past Cure, Miss Apple tries to find the culprit. All the other foals are sitting quietly and facing forward with innocent expressions. “Who said that?!?” When nopony replies Miss Apple lets out an inarticulate growl and focuses back on the shrugging, innocent-faced colt before her.

The room is completely silent until somewhere, somepony rips a total cheek-flapper tuba fart.

Pandemonium erupts as most of the class bursts out laughing, several foals scramble to get away, and one older yellow colt stands to take credit. “Sorry Miss Apple, when it gets all quiet like that I start getting anxious!” he shouts, doing a terrible job trying not to laugh.

“Roasted Almond! You will be staying after class, young stallion!”

“Uh oh,” he says, squeaking out a quieter, but longer fart. “I think I had too much cauliflower in my lunch,” he whines.

The poor teacher rubs her temples as the rest of the foals try to move further from the colt. Looking down at Cure she waves at the door. “Just… just go,” she sighs out. “I expect something showing me you actually went to the tax office, or this’ll be the last time!”

“Yes ma’am!” he shouts, then quickly slips on his saddle bags and heads out the door.

The trot to town hall only takes a few minutes and, as he approaches, he sees Title and Deed sitting on a bench waiting for him. “Hey pa, I didn’t know you were comin too.”

“He’s not,” she casually says.

“Yer ma’s right, sport. I’m just here makin sure no other stallions bug her while she waits for ya. You know how it is,” he says, wrapping a foreleg over her withers and casting suspicious looks about, “them mare chasers see this visage ‘a beauty lying here ‘n next thing ya know a dozen stallions are buyin out all’a the nearby flower shops.”

Cure has to hold back a laugh at his mom’s eye roll. Being the diligent son and all, he decides to play along. With a heavy southern twang he conjures up some watery eyes and asks, “But pa, what abouts all them other poor mares out there what ain’t as purty as ma is? How’s they gonna get flowers if’n mommas got ‘em all?”

Slowly shaking his head in disappointment, Deed answers, “Tragelicious as it may be, son, there ain’t nothin doin fer it. Imma here tryin ta help as best I can by standin guard, but now that yer here you gotta fill in fer me.”

“I dunno, pa.” Cure pauses and bites his bottom lip, looking around for a few seconds. “It sounds like a big responsibility.”

Deed climbs off the bench, walks next to the colt, and sits on his haunches. With all the seriousness he can convey, he reaches over, sets a hoof on Cure’s withers, meets his eyes, and insists, “I believe in ya, champ. You can do it!” he shouts, thrusting his other hoof in the air.

“If… if ya think I’m ready, pa. I won’t let ya down!”

“That’s mah colt!” he yells, shaking Cure side to side, “I knew ya wouldn’t, son!”

“Sweet Celestia, will you two shut up already?” Title grumbles, looking around at the passing ponies. At least a few heard enough of the exchange to get a chuckle out of the horrible overacting.

“Dammit, mare! We’re havin a moment here, can’t ya tell?”

“I’ll give ya a moment… I swear it’s like two foals every time you both get started. Now come on, I actually have to show my face around here occasionally and I don’t need you both embarrassing me. Go back to work, babe,” she says as she climbs down. She gives Deed a nuzzle and a peck on his cheek, then shoos him away saying, “you have that showing on the east side in an hour.”

“You got it, babe!” he quickly agrees, grabbing Cure up in a bone-bending hug before smooching him between the ears, dropping him, and trotting off. The pair watch him go for a moment in silence.

“Dad seems like he’s in a good mood today,” Cure observes as his sire practically skips down the street, greeting and waving at random strangers he passes by.

“You’re not the only one that did some accounting today,” she explains as she turns and starts walking to the front doors of city hall. “September was a game changer thanks to you,” she starts before Cure interrupts.

“Me nothin, ma. I just gave you two a little knowledge. You’re the ones that did the work. Give yourself the credit you deserve,” he insists, nuzzling into her side.

“Thanks, honey. Be that as it may, October blew every other month away, and even if the accounts haven’t all settled yet, November is even bigger. We took a risk having a foal and now everything’s working out better than we ever dared hope. Unless we can hire another agent we’re probably just about at capacity though.”

“Hmm. Are there any parts of what you or dad do that could be given to another pony? Dad seems to excel at the face to face part and your specialty is hunting down records. Is there a piece of the process I’m just not aware of that somepony else can do to reduce the amount of work for you two?”

Cure darts ahead to hold the door open while Title gives him a thankful nod and trots inside. The Town Hall building is, by a decent margin, the largest single building in the town of Golden Hills. The main floor is one big lobby area surrounded by offices and one large half-circle reception desk towards the back wall that has five workers serving as receptionists calling ponies up for whatever office or agency the pony is there to meet with.

There’s also a squad of runners that, upon the determination of where a pony needs to go, take the info from the receptionist, then run off to whatever area to inform them there’s somepony waiting and give them the basic who, what, and why that the pony is there.

The whole process is quite a bit more organized than Cure expected, and seems to run better than most government offices he had the unfortunate necessity to deal with in his memories.

“I guess maybe there’s some specific parts of the paperwork that I do okay at, but aren’t really my calling,” Title answers as they approach the short line to get a number. “Mostly accounting stuff. If ponies don’t already have a loan secured we have to sit down and go through all of their finances with them and help them submit a mortgage application to the bank, then take care of the back and forth there. Maybe we should look to hire somepony for that part specifically.”

Cure takes a second to look around. Posted on the wall on either end of the receptionist area is a list of the different offices they are serving. The list is fairly long and a few catch his attention such as Education, Water & Sewage, Parks, Guard Liaison, Court Services, Foal Services, Mayor’s Office, Public Assistance, Foal Support, Waste Management, and Family Planning. There’s another dozen or so different areas that are served by the desk, but the one they’re there for is Taxes & Revenue.

“I would suggest you and dad make a log book of some kind to record how many hours go into a sale, broken down by what the specific task is,” he explains. “You can figure out what the most time-intensive parts of the job are and, specifically, find the parts that neither of your talents directly match. From there consider hiring somepony for the ones that’ll give you the biggest return. Is there room in your office for another desk?”

Title weighs the idea as she walks up and grabs a wooden placard hanging off of a peg. Number 038. Cure looks up at the board and they’re currently serving 025, but they seem to be moving through ponies fairly quickly, so he’s confident it’ll be their turn in a few minutes.

Title sets the number on Cure’s back and the pair make their way to a waiting area with rows of slightly raised, cushioned benches. They’re not particularly comfy, he notes, but they’re covered in a faux leather material, likely to make it easy for them to clean.

“Yeah, even though we have one of the smaller offices there’s room for another desk. Two if we reorganize, I bet. We’ve talked a few times about trying to open an office in Baltimare since we came home from Canterlot, though, so we may just do that and make that our main office and just use this one for meeting ponies in Golden Hills.”

“That’s not a bad idea as long as you’re making enough to cover rent in both places. I’m betting the rent for office space here is pretty inexpensive though.”

“Yeah, it’s only three hundred and fifty bits a month, and that includes the facilities and whatnot.”

“I don’t really have a frame of reference, mom. I know I’m payin Lemon three hundred to use the room, but part of that is for her help finding customers and maintaining my appointment log. Three fifty is towards the upper end of what I’d expect if it’s a small office around here. I was expecting two fifty or less, honestly.”

“Supply and demand, honey. There’s not a whole lot of office buildings around. A lot of ponies run their business out of their home, especially when they’re getting started. Or they rent out an office in Baltimare so they can have exposure to the bigger market there.”

“I suppose. Is rent in Baltimare a lot more?”

“Not really. A similar office would only be about fifty bits more per month, but that’s because we don’t need any storefront space or anything. Just a sign on the wall so ponies know where to go to find us.”

“You may want to consider getting a storefront building, mom. Maybe not right away, but if business in Baltimare takes off and you end up hiring a few other ponies then having a big, fancy storefront with maybe pictures of some of the nicer homes you’ve sold would probably draw in a few more clients than you’d normally see otherwise.”

“Huh… that’s a neat idea. Is that something you’ve seen done before?”

“Yep. It wasn’t uncommon to see small storefronts even in shopping districts where you would think the service they’re offering doesn’t really belong in a shopping mall kind of area. It’s all about exposure, though. If ponies walk by Deed & Search Real Estate, LLC. a few times when they’re shopping then that name will pop in their head when they go to sell or buy a home too.”

“Hmm.” Title thinks for a moment, then leans over and plants a big kiss on Cure’s head right between his ears. “I tell ya, Cure, I wish I could just dive right into that brain ‘a yers sometimes. I’ll talk to your sire when we’re done here. Maybe tonight we can all sit down and talk about some of the ideas in that noggin.”

“Sounds good, ma, but it looks like we’re up next,” he says, pointing at the 037 that one of the receptionists is walking towards to change. The pair stand just as she yells out “ZERO THREE EIGHT. ZERO THIRTY EIGHT, PLEASE” and they make their way to the desk, Title passing the number placard to the receptionist.

Cure doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation. It’s pretty much exactly what he expects; Title gives their names, the purpose of their visit, and a duplicate of the ledger book she and Cure have kept over the last forty-some-odd days since Cure began offering cosmetic services publicly.

Of course, Cure’s been diligently keeping patient notes and copies of the waiver / work agreement forms in a filing cabinet. He doesn’t bother scanning all of that, but at the end of each week he does a weekly summary report that includes who, when, what, and how much they paid in case he’s ever questioned about it.

So far everypony’s been ecstatic with the results and, although he’s had an occasional grumble about his prices, he’s ensured they’re fair based on what Amethyst’s ability has indicated and what the competition charges. Given his more rural location compared to the offices in the city he can get away with offering slightly lower prices on some procedures.

With his talent he delivers better outcomes than it would be fair to expect from a typical doctor; something he can’t help but feel slightly guilty about. Still, with the limited number of ponies he can see in a day he’s not worried about running anypony out of business.

He’d mentioned to Dawn and Solar that he needs to keep his ego in check, and it’s turning out to be a little more difficult than he’d expected. Edward’s life was, for the most part, pretty average. He wasn’t any kind of genius. He and Cyndi did okay, but they weren’t hugely financially successful, and he certainly never considered himself ambitious compared to several of his friends he grew up with.

Having been, for all intents and purposes, handed a golden ticket in life has been a completely new experience for both sets of memories. The reveal of his memories to his parents nearly three months prior was absolutely the right decision. They had all done a phenomenal job dealing with a situation that no parent could ever hope to have an idea of how to handle.

Aside from the rare night where one parent or another is meeting with friends or Cure is spending the night somewhere else, almost every night ends with a group cuddle session that gives Cure the opportunity to talk about what’s going on, how he feels, things he’s got on his mind, or concerns about the future.

Having that trustworthy sounding board, even when they don’t have immediate solutions, has been a tremendous source of strength for him and has served to ensure he’s keeping his head on straight. He can’t even imagine how much more difficult coming to terms with everything and dealing with the changes in his life would have been without his parents’ loving support the entire time.

Cure’s pulled out of his thoughts when Title nudges him with a fetlock. She finished talking to the receptionist while Cure zoned out. She motions towards a set of benches near a stairwell that he assumes goes up to the Taxes & Revenue offices. She had told him that they took up the majority of a floor of the building.

The town has around four thousand ponies in it. Cure figures that somewhere around sixty to seventy percent of the population is working. That number discounts foals and ponies over about sixty or so, and is probably a somewhat inaccurate figure given ponies tend to start work younger and, typically, work until they damn near drop dead, but for a quick mental exercise it seems good enough.

By his estimate, the offices he’s visiting are responsible for helping between twenty four and twenty eight hundred ponies do their taxes each quarter. According to Title most ponies that are employed and making an hourly rate only take a few minutes to calculate.

Apparently employers provide, essentially, a W2 each quarter and, like in his memories, pay stubs typically have a “Quarter to date” figure so nopony has any excuse not to have their documents ready when it’s their turn to come in. Most don’t even get an appointment; they just drop off the payment for two quarters prior and the previous one’s earnings statement then come pick up the next bill at some point a month or so later.

Cure sat down and did the math at one point. Assuming 2400 ponies need their taxes done each month and each one takes approximately ten minutes, that’s 24,000 “work minutes” per quarter. Many are far less, but then there’s ponies like Deed and Title that are self employed and have more line items to take care of, but on average ten minutes is probably not too far off.

24000 work minutes translates to 400 work hours. There’s roughly 500 work hours in a single quarter per pony (assuming 40 hour weeks), which means that four or five ponies should be able to do all of the work a few times over.

It was Title who pointed out that, first off, ponies almost never work forty hours in a week. Second, business entities (corporations) also have to do taxes, and they’re far more time consuming than an individual. Third, the Taxes & Revenue office is also responsible for the administration of the actual city’s finances as well.

Finally, there’s always “extra” costs and time sinks involved such as paid time off, holidays, closings for estrus, etcetera, that meant that even though ten or so ponies could possibly do the work, the office typically has at least double that staff when fully staffed so the work is always done timely.

Cure couldn’t really argue with them. The only thing that came to mind was, “Y’all need some Quickbooks or somethin. All this paper freakin sucks,” but alas, the old paper ledgerbook is the best option for now.

The two sit quietly for a moment, Cure leaning against his mom and gently nuzzling his cheek against her shoulder while they wait. “Hey mom? Did I hear you say something to her about your foal?”

“Yep. They ask that expecting mares let them know in advance so they can plan for the volume.”

“Ah. I don’t remember dam saying anything about that though.”

“You were a summer foal, honey. Spring estrus is the big one, and because of the cold weather when we’re due they don’t deliver the January births at the clinic. They’ll set up some tents outside in the summer, but that’s harder to do in January.”

“Huh… I guess there’s nowhere near enough room there for dozens of mares to come in at the same time. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Right. They’ll rearrange the whole ground floor of this building and have a big setup here for everypony to deal with the volume. There’ll be all kinds of ponies from out of town to help out too.”

“That makes sense. We only have the one doctor at the clinic.”

“They’ll bring in a few actual doctors, but mostly the ponies that they send are trained specifically in foalbirth. The doctors are just there to help out if there’s a problem.”

“Cool. I’ll have to see how I can help when that rolls around. I may end up delivering your filly after all, ma.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. True, you may. We’ll just have to see,” she says when a young, light pink pegasus mare with a purple mane and tail comes down the stairs and calls their name.

“Wow, look! You two are almost twins!” Cure teases, getting a giggle from the pegasus and an eye roll from his mom.

“Plenty of ponies have the same colors, sweetie,” she reminds him as they stand to follow her.

“You mean there’s plenty of pretty pink and purple ponies populating the proximate part of the province?” he excitedly asks, getting a louder laugh from the pegasus.

“Well aren’t you a witty little stallion,” she remarks over her withers as the two follow her up the stairs.

“Yes ma’am,” he proudly agrees as Title mutters “Too damned witty most‘a the time.”

As the pair are escorted up the stairs the mare introduces herself, “I’m Even Audit and I’ll be helping you today. Just follow me to a meeting room and I’ll get you all taken care of!”

Cure can’t help but smile at the mare. First off, she’s quite pretty. Of course, having a beautiful set of pink wings is kind of a cheat, and he recognizes that weakness in himself. She also seems way happier than Cure can recall anyone he’d known in accounting or government work to be. He chalks that up to following her destiny, though, as her mark appears to be some sort of ledger sheet with illegible writing throughout it.

The pair follow Even up the stairs, through a locked, unlabeled door and down a short hallway that leads to an office area with a dozen desks in the middle of the room, all occupied with working ponies. The entire right wall looks to be some secure storage area, as it has a single, heavy door most of the way towards the back. The door looks just like what Cure had seen in his lawyers’ offices. The room seems to take up a full third or more of the entire office floor if Cure’s estimating where in the building they are correctly.

To the left is a walkway that dead-ends in a T intersection with offices lining all of the walls aside from the storage room. Their destination is one of the meeting rooms immediately to their left, though, so the pair don’t really get to see what’s going on in any of the offices or down the hallways; not that they have a whole lot of interest in doing so anyhow.

For the most part the room is fairly quiet, though the working ponies are chatting with each other in library voices and Cure can hear an occasional laugh while they’re getting situated in the room. Unsurprisingly they don’t get many foals in the tax office, so Cure is forced to stand on his hind legs and put his forelegs on the conference room table to interact with her and his mother.

“Good afternoon,” Even begins, “The runner said you’re Mrs. Title Search and you wanted to discuss some tax concerns? I took a glance at the ledger you provided, but I didn’t see your name in it.”

“Right, that’s because he’s the sole proprietor and only employee,” Title explains. “Our son, here,” she waves to Cure, “Cure Wave has a very special talent and, due to the amount of income he has, we thought it may be wise to have a consultation to make sure something unexpected didn’t come up when it’s time for him to pay his first quarter’s taxes.”

Even looks over the paperwork and reads out loud, “BodyWorks Enterprises? And you’re the sole employee?” she asks, looking at the short colt. “I… pardon me for asking, but… are these numbers right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Cure explains, “I’m sure you’ve seen pegasi and an occasional bat pony flying around with designs and patterns on their wings for the last few weeks,” he continues at her nod, “Many of those are my customers. I’m offering a variety of cosmetic services to ponies like that, as well as several more complicated things like vision correction, dental optimization, skin toning, fat reduction, body sculpting, etcetera.”

She takes a moment to look over the ledger, occasionally looking up with a bewildered glance, then looking back down. “This is over thirty thousand bits, though! How old are you?!”

“Eight, ma’am. And yes, I know. That’s about a hundred and ten appointments I’ve had over the last forty days with an average of a little over two hundred and fifty per session. That’s why we’re here… I figured my first bill will be pretty high and I wanted to make sure I set aside enough that I don’t end up in trouble. Three thousand of that is from healing services I offer to a private corporation, though, so only about twenty eight grand and change is from the cosmetic stuff.”

Cure continues, “Most ponies just make an appointment for one thing, but I have this illusion crystal and after showing them how they could look with just a little touching up I’ve only had a few ponies that didn’t end up getting additional services. And of course, the big money maker is my comprehensive package, but that would be overkill for a young beauty such as yourself.

“With how lovely your natural colors are,” he pauses to nuzzle into his mom, getting a smile and an “Oh you!” eye roll, “I bet a little darker trim work around the edges of your feathers, maybe a nice darker fade down your legs, and the addition of a few bioluminescent effects to make your wings glow bright and you’d have half the stallions, or mares, fawnin over ya everywhere ya went.”

Title can barely hold back the smile at the poor mare’s look. She’s seen Cure do this dozens of times when he has an appointment for something small and, unsurprisingly, it works like a charm. She can’t fault the colt; he’s probably tripled what many of the mares originally made an appointment for. And he definitely delivers on what he promises, too, so it’s not like he’s cheating them at all.

“Do you… umm… have any open slots?”

“For an esteemed public servant such as yourself? I’ll make an open slot! We’re a little booked up right now, but,” he leans forward and stage whispers, “if ya promise not to tell anypony I snuck ya in maybe I can get ya taken care of when I’m done at the clinic this comin Saturday,” he finishes with a wink.

Going back to his normal voice he asks, “How about I meet you at Lemon Sweet’s candy shop just after one? I only have a couple other appointments that day, right mom?”

“Mhmm. I think you can fit her in before your one thirty shows up.”

“Okay!” Even quickly agrees.

“Fantastic!” he shouts with a clap of his hooves. “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pull you off topic like that. Where were we?”

“Uhh…”

“Right! My income. So I have the business there,” he says, motioning to the ledger, “but I also made about a hundred bits from my work at the clinic. I’m just a volunteer there now, though, so I wasn’t sure how that would work.

“The only other income I have is from some work with the guard as an Exercise Advisor, but I won’t get paid for that until the end of the three month contract on January 23rd. It’ll only be a few thousand bits, I think. I figured that’ll be on next quarter’s books.”

Though he originally was going to sell scrolls and crystals to the guard, when his parents pointed out the tax hit he would take he instead “sold” the materials at cost to Dawn and Solar, who were the listed sellers of the scrolls and crystals to the guard. Their total income for the quarter is well below the threshold for being required to pay tax, so the pair can keep 100% of the income.

It wasn’t a lot of money, but each one made a couple hundred bits after the dust settled, so they were thrilled to have a little spending cash to play with.

“I also do independent health consulting for a private organization but I went ahead and included that as part of my business since I am self employed anyhow. Really I think I’m going to continue consolidation of my income streams into BodyWorks unless it becomes advantageous to incorporate at some point, but I know corporate entities are taxed separately and I’m not about to open my wallet so y’all can double dip in there.”

By the time Cure finishes the mare’s eyebrows are clear up into her mane and her wings are raised slightly off of her back. “I… umm. Gimme a second, please,” she calls back as she gathers the papers and trots out the door and out of their line of sight, closing the door behind her.

“I think it was probably a good thing we came, mom.”

“Yep, probably. I don’t think your taxes will really be that difficult since you’ve done a good job keepin everything organized, but at least this way they’ll know to expect this come the end of the quarter.”

“Yeah. I still can’t believe that I’m almost booked all the way out to Hearth’s Warming. Good thing school stops on the 19th because it seems like everypony’s tryin to get in right before the holiday.”

“What ended up happening with that newspony that was going to come by, anyhow?”

“She did. She stopped in on Saturday after we left the clinic. Dam talked to her while I was helping a few customers. I answered some questions once I was done, but she totally softballed me, probably ‘cause I’m eight. And because she was so happy with the work I did on her. I think she said the article will be coming out this week, so I don’t foresee any dearth of business in the future either.”

“No, me neither. Especially if you keep doing that,” she says, waving at the empty seat across from them. “I feel like you’ll need a real office before too long, but I guess there’s not really a point if you’re only going to be there 30 minutes to an hour per day.”

“Yeah, I feel bad for Lemon. I mean, a lot of my customers end up buying some treats while they’re there, but it’s gotta be a sting to the pride to sell a pony ten bits of candy when you know they’re spending thirty times that upstairs with the foal that doesn’t have to spend hours in the kitchen to make that.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, honey. Her business is doing better as a result, you’re paying her a generous amount of rent for the space, not to mention how nice you fixed up that level. Also, nearly every pony you fix the teeth of stops and buys stuff, and,” the door opens as she finishes her sentence, “just knowing her, Amy, and the fillies will never be sick or hurt is huge. They’re perfectly happy with the arrangement,” she finishes as Even, slightly more collected now, closes the door and takes her seat again.

“Okay, sorry about that!” she says. “I just had to double check with my supervisor. You’re doing everything just like you should… I assume you have set aside a portion of this to pay your taxes with?”

“Yes ma’am. Aside from about three thousand, all of it’s in my account at the bank. I needed to cover some legal fees and get a form designed, bought some supplies and a few pieces of furniture, and had some lighting installed but I have very little in the way of expenses. Oh, and rent for my workspace.”

“Okay. Well, I would suggest aiming for 45%. Based on the math you’ll end up in the highest tax bracket, which has a 40% rate, but it’s a good idea to have that extra five percent as a cushion in case. The tax is a progressive one. Do you know what that means?”

“I assume it means that, for example, the first few thousand bits of income are taxed at a low rate, the next grouping goes up to a higher percent, and so forth?”

“Exactly!” With a big smile she turns to Title. “Your dam has done an excellent job explaining this to you!”

Neither Cure nor Title correct the mare. There’s no harm in the wrong assumption. Cure remembers once when someone made a similar error, telling Josh how his dad is a smart fella. The sting from the immediate “He’s not my father” and the insistent way he corrected the guy stuck around for a while.

Unaware of the incorrect assumption, Even continues, “Make sure you keep receipts for any expenses; they reduce your taxable income. Your actual tax bill will probably be closer to about a third of your income, but you’ll avoid a lot of hassle if you can set aside more until the books have settled.”

“Okay… but… damn. That’s like eleven grand so far,” he complains, wrinkling his snout. “Where the hay is that all goin anyhow?”

“Really?” Title asks, looking at Cure.

“What? I pay taxes. Now. On paper, at least,” he says, waving at the ledger. “I should have the right to ask.”

“It’s going back to you, partially, you dolt. Where do you think that money from Bulwark’s going to come from?”

“Yeah, but then I hafta pay taxes on that too. That bites.” Cure looks at Even and asks, “I don’t suppose you know what the taxes are like in other countries like Saddle Arabia, do you?”

Even’s eyes almost pop out of her head as she squawks out a “What?!”

Title reaches over and jabs Cure just below his right legpit. “You’re not moving to Saddle Arabia, you pest.” She turns back to the mare and dismisses Cure with a, “Ignore him, he’s a brat.”

“Hey I’m just curious. It’s not like askin is a crime after all.” He pauses for a moment then turns to Even and asks, “Err… it’s not, is it?”

Still somewhat shell shocked, Even shakes her head no.

“Okay, good. I didn’t think so. What about businesses that are incorporated in foreign countries, at least?”

“They’re taxed on any income earned here…” she warily explains.

“Fudge! I figured that would be too easy. Are there any new business incentives or anything I’m not taking advantage of?”

“Umm… given your income, no. Those are mainly there to help new businesses that are struggling until they turn a profit.”

“Are there like… economic development zones with tax incentives for moving into maybe?”

Even raises a brow and asks, “In Golden Hills?”

“Argh… I figured. I didn’t really wanna move yet anyhow. What about ways to reduce my taxable income like tax deferred retirement accounts? Maybe government treasury bonds with nontaxable interest payments?”

“What?! Why would the government need to issue bonds?!”

“You all operate in the black?!” he shouts.

“Of course we do! What kind of messed up government doesn’t?! Where have you ever even heard of something like that?”

“I dunno, I figure the city needs something, they maybe issue a bond to cover the expenses, then they pay it back over time.”

“C’mon Cure, focus!” Title shouts, jabbing him again.

“Fine! Never mind all that then.” The room goes quiet a minute while the colt scrunches his brow in thought. Even and Title exchange a look with Title giving the poor mare a sympathetic smile.

“Hey I have another question,” he says, ignoring the “Sun and stars…” the mare next to him sighs out. “Since I stopped collecting pay from the clinic as an employee and instead “donate” my time, can I use my average hourly rate as a figure for how much volunteer work I do at the clinic and offset my taxes with that amount?”

“I… uhh. I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anypony doing that.”

“Well are donations and volunteering usable to reduce my adjusted gross income?”

“Charitable donations are… Volunteering isn’t, though.”

“What? That’s bunk! Volunteering is, essentially, donating time! And time is money! Especially my time. My hourly rate's somewhere like a K per! That's eight to ten grand a month I'm hoofin over!”

Trying to save the poor mare, Title interrupts. “Damnit Cure, that’s not how it works. If you actually gave the clinic something, a physical thing, then that would be different… Right?” she asks. When Even tentatively nods back to his mom, Title points a hoof at the mare and continues, “See? You can’t just ‘donate time’ and offset your taxes with that.”

“Hmm. What about if, instead of just giving the clinic something, instead I’m donating an item for their use? Like… let’s say I had a machine… a diagnostic machine, just for this example, and that machine would normally cost five thousand bits per month to rent. If I rented it to them for free would those five thousand bits come outta my taxes somehow?”

“You really don’t like taxes, do you?” Even asks. “I’ve had older ponies do this,” she admits, “but… you’re eight. You said you’re eight, right?” At his nod she looks at Title with a raised brow. When Title nods and sighs too, Even explains, “You can actually do something like that. It’s more complicated than you probably think it is, but in your example your income would be reduced by a portion of the five thousand bits. So, yes, basically, but there's math involved so I couldn't say how much exactly offhoof.”

“Sweet!” he shouts with a hoof pump. Turning to his mom he’s nearly dancing when he says, “Guess those trees are gonna pay off after all, ma!”

“Oh stars… I suppose they will, but you said you wouldn’t charge for healing.”

“I’m not charging anypony!” he responds defensively. “They’ll be donated each month. Duh?”

“That’s kinda splitting hairs, don’t you think, honey?”

“No. Not at all,” he answers with a scoff. “They’re totally separate things.” Pointing at Even he adds, “The tax expert said so herself. I’m not charging anypony, I’m just reducing how much I am charged for the privilege of living here.”

“You’re a nightmare.”

“Only ‘cause you know I’m right. They better not try tellin me those damn things aren’t worth a fortune when it comes time, though. You know that’s how they screw ya over, right?” Tapping one hoof with another he explains, “It’s the technicalities where they do it.

“They all go in and be like, ‘Oh this things only worth a hundred bits a month, especially now that there’s no more viruses!’” Freezing on the spot his eyes get huge and he shouts, “Oh shit! I’m gonna put myself outta business! The friggin things really won’t be worth as much once I eliminate illness!

“I better get those independently evaluated once they’re ready and lock in some kinda contract or something. Damnit!” He stops again, ignoring the wide-eyed concerned looks from Even and his mom massaging her temples. While tapping at his chin, he idly wonders aloud, “Hmm do you think Ace, Hardwick, and Rose can refer me to somepony for that? Damn, I may need to just go with the Cure Tree. They can have the damn printer for free as long as they're buyin the ink.”

Even looks completely done with the whole meeting. This isn’t even remotely what she expected when she got a note saying an eight year old wanted to make sure he was paying the crown the right amount. She figured the foal was delivering newspapers or something, not bringing in almost 30K per month. This is more of a Friday meeting. She could at least go out and get sloshed afterwards, then.

She supposes she could anyhow but she can’t help but feel ponies that get tanked after one work day may have a drinking problem.

At least she got an appointment out of it. She’d seen a number of pegasi, especially, with really pretty designs in their manes, tails, and on their wings and hadn’t really considered getting it done for herself. Being hoofed an appointment like that was really lucky, especially with the holiday coming up soon.

Coming back out of her daze she realizes the two are apparently done bickering at each other, which is weird as Tartarus for an eight year old and his mom, but it’s not like anything else about this has been normal either, so whatever.

“So… umm… did you have any other questions for me today?”

“Nah, I guess not right now,” the strange colt responds, waving a dismissive hoof, “I do need a note for school. My teacher was giving me a hard time for leaving early again.” He gets an odd look on his face, then leans towards his mom and nudges her with a hoof saying, “You could say she was being… a sour Apple! HAH!”

“So freaking lame…” the mare complains with an eye roll as Even starts writing out a little note indicating Cure came in today and slides it over.

Even raises an expectant brow at the colt who, after a few seconds of chuckling, turns back with his last request for the day. “Bah, whatever. Well, Ms. Audit, you’ve been very helpful, even if I'm not thrilled at the news,” he starts. “I’ll look forward to seeing you this Saturday. Before I forget, though, I just need to know if there’s a time or day you’re normally available so I can ask for you specifically when I come back next time.”

Well fuck, she thinks, as she feels her wings droop.

“Wanna hit a bakery and get a snack before you go back to work?”

The two had finished their business at Town Hall and were walking out the door. Title couldn’t help but snicker when she pictures the poor, defeated mare there at the end of the meeting. There’s no way anypony could have prepared for dealing with Cure’s… uniqueness.

“That sounds really nice. There’s a good one right over here,” she says, motioning to a storefront just down the street.

“Yeah, that’s where I got that pie before we did that mare we deaged,” he reminds her, trotting beside her down the street.

Once again he darts ahead and holds the door open, then follows his mom in and gets in line beside her. Cure picks out a big cinnamon roll and asks for a hot chocolate while Title goes with a piece of pecan pie and a glass of milk.

The two sit on a bench next to each other and eat in silence, occasionally stealing a bite of the other’s food and just snuggling together.

“So have you heard back from the seamstress or the book store?”

Cure reaches into his bag and pulls out one of the Sound Bubble crystals he’d made. He sets it on the table and activates it, cutting off the sound in the bakery.

“Nope. Gonna check with both after this before I go to Lemon’s. I don’t expect the outfits will be ready until sometime next week at the earliest. That’s okay, though, I’ll need to make an appointment for Solar plus one either way.”

“Good thinkin. I doubt he’d have anything appropriate for that. Do you know if he’s even involved with anypony right now?”

“I know he was. Even if he isn’t right now I’m sure he can find a date. I’m giving the dude enough warning, after all. It’s not like it would be hard for a single unicorn colt, especially one in good shape, to find a mare to take to a fancy party.”

“True. I’m sure he’ll be excited.”

“I bet. Hopefully she’ll be excited too,” he teases, waggling his brows.

“Cure… really?”

“What?” he asks with a shrug. “He’s at that age. It’s not like we’re in season anymore, what’s the harm?”

“I guess. It’s just so weird hearing that talk from a foal’s mouth.”

“Yeah… Sorry, ma. I’ll try to act a bit more my age when we’re out.”

“That’s probably for the best. You don’t want to slip up around anypony else, after all.”

“I’ve not screwed up … well, more than a few times, since all this,” he says, waving at his head, “and those were small slips, so I think I’m doing alright. Anyhow, the clerk at the bookstore told me that Ferric’s order should be here by Saturday. I paid extra for express shipping, so they better get here in time.”

“I’m sure they will. They’re just comin from Canterlot, right?”

“Detrot. The company’s based in Canterlot but that’s where they have their warehouse. Land's too expensive half way up a mountain, go figure. He said it would take a couple days for the order and money to get there, a few days for processing, then a few more to get it loaded on a train and make its way back. I should have probably just gone to Baltimare and ordered them there. That would have shaved two or three days off since they have a direct route.”

“I’m sure she’d be thrilled even if it came in late, honey.”

“Yeah. I’m really excited to see the outfits, though. The mare that took my order must have tried a dozen different ways to get me to tell her how I got the silk. She said it’s the most beautiful material she ever worked with. I can’t believe she didn’t accept some in lieu of payment. Moron.”

“Yeah, she probably could have sold a single dress made of that stuff for ten times what you’re paying her. Some ponies just don’t have good business sense, honey.”

“Yeah, but she’s actually running a business. It makes ya wonder if she’s costing herself money everywhere. Oh well, not my problem. Though the silk itself is just another way I could make money, I suppose. I could make a plant that just prints the crap, basically.”

“Would it be worth it, though? You’re making five hundred to four thousand per night and only working twenty minutes or so.”

“From a purely monetary standpoint, yeah it probably would be worth it. It would totally screw up the silk industry, though. Maybe I could sell a little in Canterlot where there’s more demand. That’s a whole ‘nother thing and I don’t feel like worryin about it until I’m older. Or never. By the time I’m fifteen I’ll probably have a few million in the bank if this cosmetic thing keeps going like it has been. I may need to occasionally travel, though, just so I’m not tapping the Baltimare market dry.”

“Yeah… some of the stuff is a one-time-only thing, after all.”

“Yep. Sorta. I guess a mare could have another foal and blow out their skin again, but I’m sure you’ve overheard me try to warn younger ponies about that kinda stuff before I even start. Also, the deaging folks are all being told its temporary, so I expect some will come see me again in five to ten years. I know I would. Of course, there’s a huge, massively profitable part of the business I probably won’t touch for at least a few years.”

“Ah… the fertility stuff?”

“Yeah, both males and females. I’m not gonna give everypony what I did dad,” he continues despite Title’s giggling, “but just flipping the ratio of male to female sperm or, at least, evening it out would be worth a fortune. I’m just not sure I should even charge for that, though. If they’re askin for a bigger dong or a boa constrictor hoo-ha then hell yeah, but just fixing what I see as a genetic mistake? Probably not.”

It’s taken a lot of exposure to the way Cure talks sometimes to not choke or go from pink to maroon, but despite their many candid conversations the colt still occasionally says something that throws Title off her game. “Boa… constrictor… hoo-ha?” she can barely get out between laughs.

“Yeah, you know, enhance the muscles y’all got. There’s no reason only dudes can benefit from what I do. Of course, dudes would benefit from that too, but with a couple extra nerve endings and some enhanced musculature every experience would be absolutely mind-blowing. I got the idea from those ducks originally. Well, that and truly staggering amounts of human porn, of course.”

Bursting out in laughter, Title is almost doubled over laying on the table. “Cure… what the hay?”

“What? You’re a married mare getting, when you’re not about to pop, at least, your needs met. Imagine how much more likely somemare is to land a dude if she can wring ‘em dry while gettin her jollies at the same time. It’ll help a lot in foalbirth too, just reversin the push, ya know? Just gotta be careful they don’t launch it across the room or somethin. It’d be like one of those ping pong ball launchers. Can you imagine bowlin over the doc. Or they're sittin there with a catcher's mit or somethin.”

Cackling the whole time, Title has to catch her breath and wipe a few tears from her eyes. “Oh my stars… the shit you say.”

Cure just shrugs and points out, “Medical mode, mom. You know my rules, and you can’t deny that most stallions would stick by a lady with that ability come Tartarus or high water.”

Still snickering, she has to agree. “Yeah, I certainly can’t deny that. I think maybe you could present it a little differently, though…”

“Well I’m damn sure not going to use an illusion crystal for that,” he says, cracking her up all over again.

After a few minutes gathering her wits and wiping her face she points out, “Well, enhanced hoo-has or not, you can’t work completely for free, even if it is something like that. Maybe in a year or two you’ll have enough magic and we can work with Family Planning or something. Maybe you could negotiate with Her Highness to get a special dispensation exempting you from taxes if you contribute to the birth of so many males. I could see it.”

“That’s a good thought, mom. We’ll see. I’m expecting a summons any day now, though I kind of expect the actual meeting to happen sometime after the new year.”

“Oh? Why?”

“The healing I’m doing in Baltimare. I know I talk about it a lot, but mom… it gives me almost a high that the cosmetic stuff just… doesn’t. I know it's probably a mark compulsion thing, but frankly I don’t mind helping ponies one bit. You shoulda seen that mare when I finished healing her wing.”

“Cryin mess?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. She latched onto the surgeon like a friggin barnacle. I can’t blame her, though. I didn’t get the full story; none of my business, ya know? But apparently she lost her right wing in some accident eight years ago and has been grounded ever since. Poor thing, spent a third of her life being denied her birthright.”

“Thank Harmony I stuffed myself and the surgeon kept the pace slow so I could regenerate magic, or I wouldn’t have been able to do it all at once… I’m sure that would have been hard for her, having the hope dangled in front of you then not getting the prize.”

“Eh, she probably would’ve been fine. It would have been a step in the right direction, and that’s all it takes to give hope sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pausing in thought. “Anyhow, I know Sergeants Bulwark, Haze, and Song were working on some report on me for the captain in charge of Baltimare. I’m not sure if the report goes to Fort Meadow from there or if it goes straight to Canterlot, but it’ll get there eventually.”

“What’s that got to do with the hospital? You think somepony there is in on the report?”

“Definitely. I’m just amazed I’ve never been followed and spied on directly. If I was them I would have had me observed, or interviewed at least. I guess that's possible, but between heat, sight, smell, and hearing I would have expected some kind of mistake.

"I guess SMILE could be that good, but I'm pretty sure I've not been. I bet at least a few of my clients were agents, though. I've had a few mares with normal jobs that have more wear in their joints and cartilage than their profession would normally exhibit.”

"Smile?"

"No clue what it stands for, but yeah. I don't know if it was canon or fanon, but there was this one goofy unicorn in the show that was kind of the comedy relief. A total airhead, ya know? Anyhow, she'll have this roommate or girlfriend, which she was is kinda ambiguous, but she's a retired SMILE agent. They're some kind of spies, but I don't know if they report to the boss lady or kinda work independently."

“I've never heard of them, honey. They may not exist at all. I think you’re far, far more paranoid than the typical pony.”

“Probably, but I’ve also been exposed to more than anypony except maybe the boss lady. I figure the report should be absolutely glowing given how much good I’ve done in just a short time. The fact I’m healing for free now will probably get her attention. It’ll give her an excuse to summon us and probably give me some kind of recognition.

“Of course the whole trip will really just be some final test, I bet. I definitely can’t play the naive foal part, so I’ll have to go with the mature professional mask instead. To be fair, that is much more “me” anyhow.”

“Honey, I think if you get summoned it will just be the recognition thing. You really are being paranoid again. You’re not being tested.”

“Meh, either way I would behave the same. I figure we’ll be on our way to Canterlot by the end of April at the latest.”

“Why April?”

“December has Hearth’s Warming and I bet there’s a lot of end-of-year administrative stuff. The end of January or beginning of February is when you and all the other spring pregnancies will be due. February also has Hearts and Hooves but that’s not an official government holiday, so it’s the first “down” month that’s far enough away for all the correspondence on me to get around.”

Title gives him an odd look. “Hearts and Hooves isn’t in February.”

“What? Wait a second…”

“Uhh… you okay, Cure?”

“March 21st?”

“Yeah. How in the hay did you think it was in February?”

“Umm… there’s a very similar holiday celebrated elsewhere that’s on February 14th. Guess I kinda mixed that up a smidge.”

“Just a tad. It’s always just before spring estrus hits, honey. Well, before it hits in the capital. For us it’s about a week ahead, give or take.”

“Right, right. Well, anyhow, I guess February is a possibility, but if I make it past April without hearing anything I’ll be shocked.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t blow my mind if you’re right. We’ll see.”

“I just hate that I’ll have to bow. I think that bugs me more than anything.”

“What? What’s wrong with that? You bow to mares all the time.”

“Teasing and flirting. And it’s my choice, nopony is forcing me to. The whole ‘you must bow before Her Highness’ thing grates on my nerves.”

“Honey, it’s a show of respect.”

Scoffing, Cure shakes his head, “No it’s not. It’s a show of supplication, not respect. I respect plenty of ponies, I damn sure don’t bow to them. It doesn’t matter anyhow; it’s expected either way and, as much pride as I may have, I’m not so bad as to refuse.”

“There’s that, at least. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“Eh, it’s a cultural thing.”

“Ahh… I seem to recall mention of a rebellion. Is it from that?”

“Basically,” he agrees with a nod. “A founding principle of the country is that all are created equal. To be fair that definitely wasn’t remotely the case ever in history, but it still sticks in my craw that there’s ponies, mortal ones at that, that I’m expected to lower my head in deference to. If that Blueblood twat wants me to bow he can try and make me," he growls. Blowing out a sigh he leans into his mom and says, "I have… strong opinions on the subject, clearly.”

“I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen you angry before. Maybe peeved, but this really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“It does, but like I said, I’ll deal with it. I’ll bow and grovel like a good little pony should, don’t worry.”

Title can very clearly hear the snarl in his voice. “... Okay, if you say so,” she hesitantly agrees.

The treats and drinks are long gone and Cure has a couple errands to run, so he spends a minute just leaning into his mom in silence, content to enjoy her comforting presence. Finally, he lets out a sigh, deactivates the sound crystal, tosses it in his bag, and turns to wrap her in a hug. “I love you, mom. Thanks for going with me today. And for the treats.”

Wrapping a foreleg around him, she squeezes him tight. “I love you too, honey. I better get going before your sire starts trying to hunt me down.”

“Eh, he’d probably look here first, wouldn’t he?” Cure asks, climbing down off the bench.

“Shattap, you… Yeah, probably,” she reluctantly agrees. The two take care of their trash as they make their way out of the store. “You don’t have to point it out, ya know. I’ll meet you at Lemon’s in an hour or so.”

“Sounds good. School will be letting out in a few minutes so I’m going to take this note in before I hit the stores.”

After delivering the note to his somewhat surprised teacher, Cure confirmed with the bookstore and the seamstress that all of his orders would be ready well in advance of the holiday.

It dawned on him that he hadn’t gotten anything for his probably-soon-to-be little sisters, so he picked out a few coloring books, some crayons, and some girly letter books for the pair. Once he got to his “office” he whipped up a couple thick silk blankies for them as well. His talent let him alter the colors as easily as his own coat, so he made a cute cherry design on one and a purple lotus pattern on the other.

The three mares that had appointments with him were a little more involved today than normal. The first was scheduled for eye correction and a full-body skin makeover regimen for a total of seven hundred bits.

The second wanted a complex vine-weave permanent wing design that was challenging to get right since he didn’t have an exact scan he could use as a template and her illusion wasn’t very detailed.

The third was pretty easy; she only wanted some of the fat moved off of her belly and added to her rear instead.

In about an hour, only maybe twenty minutes of which was actual work, he’d made 2000 bits, so he couldn’t complain.

After dinner with the family Cure made his way to Dawn and Solar’s house to hang out and to get Solar’s daily cell conversion taken care of. Leaning into the colt on a couch with Dawn snuggled on top of him, he makes the changes, then relaxes into the soft cushion.

“Whew. There ya go, dude. Eight percent. So, have you started noticing anything?”

“I definitely have,” Dawn answers while nuzzling into his mane. “It’s made a huge difference in my ability to grab things. I’m not sure about the strength thing, but I’m not getting chilly outside like I always have.”

“Yeah,” her brother agrees. “I’m thinking the strength increases is a magic thing. Not feeling the chill is really convenient though.”

“Hmm. I wonder if the active magic use part won’t work for you two. That means that in high winds or extreme cold we may not be able to burn magic to stay warm.”

“Didn’t you say that pegasus and earth pony things are only in your muscles normally?”

“Yep, you’re probably thinking the same thing I am.”

“That having more things converted may make the aura more effective?”

“Exactly. I’ve done all of my earth pony cells and most of the pegasus ones. I’ll have those done in a little over a week, then it’ll take a few months to do the unicorn cells. I’ll probably have a better idea of what that means around the end of the month. Maybe January at the latest. By Hearth’s Warming you’ll be at twenty percent, which I think is a good stopping point.”

“Yeah, that’ll give me a couple weeks to get used to everything so I’m not accidentally doing anything too out there at Basic.”

“Yep, good call. So… Solar?”

“Hmm?”

“Sorry if this is a sensitive subject, but I have a reason why I’m asking…”

“What?”

“Were you able to patch things up with your marefriend? Honey something, right?”

Solar sighs and shakes his head. “Sweet. Honey Sweet and no… she’s moved on. That’s okay, though. I’ve kinda met somepony else. Now, don’t go thinking this is because of my dam…”

“She’s a unicorn?”

Slowly nodding, he echos the colt. “She’s a unicorn.”

“Meh, nothin wrong with unicorns,” he says, shifting slightly under Dawn. “Corporal Ricochet seems pretty nice after all. All the stallions I’ve met have been pretty cool too,” he finishes, getting a nip on his ear.

Solar can’t help but chuckle at his sister’s annoyed look.

Releasing the flappy appendage she says, “I guess earth ponies can be okay too, especially ones with pretty blue coats.”

“Yep, definitely. We should hang out with Delta Coast more,” he agrees with a smirk, cutting off her line and getting a harder bite and a growl this time.

“So why do you ask?”

“Eh, I was just wondering if you had yourself a 'lil lady right now. Are you doing anything nice together for the holidays?”

“We were all going to go to the Hearth's Warming Eve party at town hall. You got invited right? I know dam did because of her work at the clinic, so I assumed…” he trails off at Cure’s no head shake.

“I didn’t mean you as a family, I meant you and your mare. Were you going to do something nice together for Hearth’s Warming or New Year’s?”

“I… uhh… don’t want to make anypony uncomfortable, but other than the scroll money I don’t really have much in the way of savings to do anything.”

“Well that sucks,” Cure bluntly points out, getting a snicker and a poke from Dawn. “Good thing you have a rich friend, huh?”

“Uhh…”

“Hey Sunrise?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you pass me that envelope poking up there in my bag?”

Dawn lifts the envelope and floats it over to Cure asking, “What’s this?”

“I asked Ms. Gale for a small favor. As you can imagine, the hospital bigwigs were happy to help their new miracle colt. I told them that I wanted to get my big brother something special for Hearth’s Warming and as a pre-going-away present of a sorts. These are for you and your beau,” he explains, passing the envelope to the older colt.

Solar reaches over and takes the envelope, looking a little warily between it and the colt. He opens the envelope and unfolds the papers. “What’s this?” he asks, reading over the document, Dawn leaning to see too. “The Lady Baltimare? New Year’s Eve?”

“That’s an invitation to a fancy hotel and a ritzy party with the children of several important ponies in the Baltimare area. I understand many of the sergeants along with the captain over the area will have a couple of their foals there, so it’ll be a nice, safe, age appropriate shindig for the two of you to meet some other young colts and mares that may end up being important ponies to know.”

“Dude… I can’t accept this!”

“Well we’re too young and I don’t have any other friends your age, so if you’re not going then you could just toss that in the trash, I suppose.”

“... You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. Velvet Stitch knows to expect you with a plus one to pick out a nice tux and a pretty dress sometime this week. Don’t worry about a thing; it’s all paid for.”

“Velvet Stitch?”

“The mare that runs the boutique in town.”

“Huh. I can’t help but notice that there’s only one hotel room.”

“Damn right. Just go easy on the poor girl. She probably won’t have your…stamina,” he says, waggling his brows and getting a laugh from Dawn.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’re gonna knock her up,” he casually says, Dawn no longer laughing and instead making a grossed-out face. “Go have yourselves some fun. I’ll give you a checkup before you take off anyhow.”

“... A checkup? Why would I… Dude!”

“Hey, just sayin. I don't know who yer takin,” he responds with a shrug. “Also, if things get out of hoof just come get me and I’ll patch her right up.”

“Your weirdness aside, I’m not sure what to say. Thank you, Cure. I’m sure Starlight will appreciate it very much.”

“Starlight?”

“Mhmm. Starlight Shine. I’m not sure if you’ve ever met her. She’s a unicorn, like I said. She’s got a dark blue coat, lighter blue mane and tail. She has a wedding cake for a cutie mark.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen her. I mean, maybe in passing, but the name and colors don’t ring a bell. What’s she do?”

“She works as an event planner. She does weddings, birthdays, corporate parties, stuff like that.”

“Huh. Nice. Well I look forward to meeting her at some point.”

“Me too,” Dawn growls out.

“What?” Cure asks, looking at the underside of Dawn’s chin. She’s glaring at Solar, so Cure turns to the older colt. “What’s that mean?”

“Big bro still hasn’t brought her around. I haven’t met her yet,” she explains in an annoyed tone.

“Are you trying to keep her away from your dam?”

Solar winces but slowly nods.

“I can’t say I recommend doing that, dude. You can warn the girl; there’s nothing wrong with that. You shouldn’t push your dam away like that, though.”

“She chased away Honey,” he defensively argues. “I don’t want her doing it again.”

“Yeah, I get it, but she’s your dam dude. She was just doing what she thought was best for you. I don’t agree with it, but you don’t turn your rear on family like that, especially if they’re trying to change.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this, especially from you.”

“Solar… if there’s one pony on this planet that, no matter what else happens, you can trust will always do whatever it takes to look out for you, there’s a very good chance that’s your dam. Your sire too, probably, but from what I’ve seen occasionally even a sire’s dedication to their child pales before the lengths a dam will go to for them.”

The three sit in silence for a moment. “Now, that doesn’t mean she’ll always be right, so you gotta keep that in mind, but at least you’ll always know where her loyalties are.”

“That’s… a fair point, I guess,” Solar agrees with a sigh.

“That was a very nice thing for you to say, Cure,” Dawn says, nuzzling into his mane.

“Eh, it’s true,” he explains. “You know what they say. A good friend will help ya move. A great friend will help you move a body. Your dam will hold ‘em down for ya.”

Dawn jabs a hoof into his side and shoots him an annoyed look. “And then you ruined it. You can’t say stuff like that, Cure.”

“Oh come on! You know I’m just teasing you two. I mean, seriously, can you imagine my dam doing anything bad at all? I think I’ve heard her apologize to the weeds she’s pulling.”

“You’re gonna say something like that around ponies who don’t know how weird you are one day,” Solar warns. “They’re gonna think you’re serious if you’re not careful.”

“Bah, it’s just a saying,” he says, waving a dismissive hoof. “Y’all just overreact to stuff,” he insists with a teasing smile. Dawn rolls her eyes and looks away with a sigh.

“So,” Cure starts, trying to dispel the slightly awkward silence, “how about you go put that away,” he motions to the envelope and papers, “then we go to the range for a little bit and, if you two burn off your magic fast enough, we go grab a shake or some hot chocolate?”

Scowl fading, Dawn reluctantly agrees. “A hot chocolate does sound pretty good,” she admits.

Solar tucks the papers back in the envelope while standing up. “Sure, dude. Are you going to be able to actually do anything? I know the conversion thing kinda saps you.”

“Not much, but you two need to burn yourselves out too. Besides, I have a belly full of food from dinner, so with the whole cheat thing I’ll still be able to do a little. Let’s get movin before it gets any later, though. The train should be there soon.”

“Are you going to try anything you learned from those chemistry books?”

“No. Definitely not. I’m not even going to bother looking into that stuff for a while. There’s too much potential for something to go wrong and, like you said, I’m not experienced enough with modifying spells to predict what’ll happen.”

Cure nudges Dawn to slide off of him, then starts making his way to the door. “I’m going to go ahead of you and get changed at the station. I’ll meet ya there once I can sneak away. Just don’t let me forget to come back to get my bag afterwards, alright?”

“Alright, Cure,” Dawn calls as he steps outside. “We’ll see you in a few minutes!”

The range, as it always seems to be, is completely vacant. This isn’t a surprise to anypony, as unicorns really do not like cold weather. The siblings are both at eight percent of their mitochondria converted, which, added to the five percent of “pegasus” cells unicorns innately have, means that they’re roughly a quarter as protected from the elements as an actual pegasus.

While the weather has fallen to about twelve degrees (about fifty five degrees Fahrenheit), that one fourth protection is more than adequate to stave off the cold with the thicker winter coat both have grown in over the last two months.

Cure, now in his fluffy, brown Riddle guise, sits idly by and watches the unicorns blast away at the various mounds of dirt, occasionally throwing out an illusion for them to aim at or to try to scare one of them into a miscast.

With the sun slowly approaching the horizon and the siblings getting close to running out, Cure makes a request of the pair that neither expected.

“Sorry, what’d you say?” Solar asks. “I must have had something stupid in my ear.”

Rolling his eyes, Cure explains. “You heard me just fine ya big wuss. Just a really low power concussion shot. I’m just curious whether I can tank it or not.”

“Tank it?” Dawn asks. “Does that mean… store it or something?”

“Nah, minotaur term. It means shrug it off. You both know I’m armored up. I’m just curious what a low powered shot feels like. I know it’s not really that dangerous.”

“It can be… we could get in a lot of trouble if you’re hurt.”

“Just don’t shoot me in the face, duh. I can heal anything else easily, ya know. Just hit me with the weakest and we’ll see if it actually does anything.”

“Eh… the weakest is basically a push. I guess that’s not a big deal. You use that in “first to hit” duels, after all.”

“See? How’ll ya ever know what it’s like on the receiving end if it never happens?”

“Usually foals don’t duel, Cure,” Dawn points out, scowling.

“Yeah but you both know that I’m stronger and tougher than any unicorn adult.”

“He actually is,” Solar agrees, looking down at his sister. “He’s stronger than me and our sire, at least on the press machine. Cure did two fifty. I did two thirty and dad could only do two fifteen.”

“I wasn’t using my magic either,” Cure calls out.

“You weren’t? How much can you do with it?”

“Dunno. Based on the one experiment my sire did I’m guessing around seven to nine hundred. We didn’t get the opportunity to really test much, but he was able to more than double his max on the draft pull machine. He did the full stack.”

“2000 kg?!” Solar asks, wide-eyed. “Fucking earth ponies… that’s insane.”

Dawn is looking at Cure like he’s absolutely nuts. “You think you can lift up to nine hundred kilograms? That’s eight times my brother.”

“Probably closer to seven now. Dude’s gotten swole, yo,” Cure says, giving the older colt an approving bro nod. “But yes. I think my max is around three hundred. I suspect that magic can triple it, or at least do two and a half times… hence the range on that estimate.”

“Fuck it,” Solar growls, “I’ll shoot ya if you want. You have enough magic to heal, right?”

“You bet.” Cure turns sideways and stops himself from bracing. “Aim for the back half. Umm… not low, please.”

“Fine. Regular beam, lowest power,” he says, shooting a weak beam at Cure. It pushes him and spins him around about fifteen degrees, but he stays on his hooves. There’s no indication of a hit aside from messed up fur.

“Okay, that was weaker than I thought. I’ll brace for the next one. What increments can you do with that?”

“Ten percent, roughly.”

“Okay.” Taking a moment to look around and make sure nopony is watching, he resets himself and turns back with a nod. “Bump it up one. Fire when ready”

“Ten percent. Firing.” The beam has a bit more punch to it, but Cure is braced and shrugs it off easily, shedding some hair at the same time.

“No problem. My fur isn’t toughened, so don’t freak out if you blast it off. If I’d moved with the hit that wouldn’t have happened. Go up to twenty.”

“Wait!” Dawn insists, making sure Solar stopped before approaching Cure to look over the area. Casting a low power light spell she inspects the skin and finds no injury. “Okay, he’s fine,” she calls, stepping back out of the line of fire.

They repeat the cycle two more times until, at 40% power, Cure is finally knocked over, spinning a full 180 degrees. He hops right back up saying, “Well since I actually moved with it, that did less damage. It’s still not enough to actually injure me, but I bet it would break a weaker bone in a normal pony. I’m going to start bracing with magic to see if that helps. Do the same power, please.”

Reset, braced, and ready, Cure nods to fire. The beam staggers him, causing him to lean, but fails to knock him off his hooves. “Okay, that mitigated some. Let’s keep going, please.”

The experiment stops at 80% when Cure is blasted off his hooves, spun nearly fully around, and rolled a few meters. He still gets back up, but tells the pair that the experiment is done.

“So 80% can definitely break bones. I’m not injured now, but I had to heal some muscle and a strained ligament. If I was a fully grown adult with normal bones and unarmored I would probably have a broken bone or two. When do they use full power?”

“Everypony’s scale is different. Most use full power only when they’ve authorized lethal force. I’m not as powerful of a caster as an average adult, yet. Maybe in another year or so when I’m fully grown…”

“You’ve grown almost a hoof just since I met ya. I think you’re going to cap out by June or so. Why, how tall do you want to be?”

“I’d like to end up a little over average… so about eleven and a half hooves, maybe twelve. Lemme guess, that’s another thing you can do.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t make ponies taller!” Dawn yells.

“No, you asked me if I was making myself taller. I’m not. Yet. I can make ponies taller, slowly. Like, very slowly. I’m talking maybe a hoof over a year. That’s a really big change, and it’s not linear either… the bigger they get the slower it goes since the whole body has to grow, not just legs or whatever. Then again that’s an adult not already growing, so it may work better on a teenager.”

“Of course,” Solar deadpans. “I thought your sire seemed taller,” he says, getting a nod. “I hate to ask any more from you…”

“Nah, it’s okay. It doesn’t take much since that’s not so much me forcing your body to grow as it is me encouraging it to do its natural growth thing. Let’s go back now and I’ll give you a push with your mitochondria thing from now on. I’m going to head to the station. Dawn, do you remember that bakery we went to before I deaged that unicorn mare?”

“Yep!”

“Okay, could you go grab my bags and meet me there? I don’t have any money on me.”

“Sounds good.
“We’ll see you there.”

Cure splits off from there, muttering, "Twice in one day... mom's gonna be so proud. I wonder if they have a loyalty card..."