Wednesday, May 13th, 909 AB (3 days later)
Schoolhouse

“I don’t even know why you bother coming at this point!”

“I mean… if you don’t want me to,” he suggests, rolling his hoof leadingly.

“Cure…” the mare groans, then looks up, sighing loudly. “Your attendance this year has been awful!”

“Not my fault,” he grunts, looking away.

“How is it not?! You’ve only been here half a day every Friday, you’ve left early a dozen times for taxes, work, or whatever, and you flat out missed a dozen more for every reason under the sun!”

“Those have all been legitimate, parent approved reasons! I’ve given ya notes for all of ‘em!”

“I know they have, but that doesn’t excuse taking four days off just to go watch some flying show!”

“It was the Wonderbolt’s season opener! My sire bought those tickets for me! I wasn’t standin by the pond watchin ducks flap about in the friggin water!”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young colt!” she sternly warns, waving a hoof scoldingly. “I’ve put up with your snark and back-talk enough times throughout the year because you’re normally very helpful. I feel like I’ve been very fair, but in this classroom I expect you to behave like a well mannered young colt should!”

Cure grumbles under his breath. “See if I play wingpony again…”

“What was that?!” she asks, ears snapping in his direction.

“I said I have a pony coming by to get her wings done again today,” he quickly blurts out. “She’s scheduled before we start movin stuff, so I’ll hafta go soon.”

Sighing, she gives the colt a long stare. “Cure… I know you’re smart, and I’m sure you’ll make a lot of bits given your talent, but if you ever really want to make something of yourself you need to stop coming up with excuses to skip out on your responsibilities. I only hope you show more dedication to your work than you do here.”

“I do, Miss Apple! I see customers six days a week, usually! That’s not even counting how much I volunteer at the clinic!”

“And that is admirable, especially given your age. You have great potential, Cure. I would hate to find someday that you didn’t live up to it. You should consider going to a university; maybe think about becoming a real doctor instead of just coasting on your talent.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about the new alicorn prince. Let him be an example of how hard work and dedication can pay off!” She sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disbelief. “Only a colt about your age and he’s already done something I didn’t even know was possible!”

Refocusing back on her student, she reverts right back to her lecturing tone. “If you really applied yourself, who knows? Maybe you could… I don’t know,” she grimaces, trying to come up with some way to finish the sentence, “umm… be some kind of advisor for him someday! Maybe even an apprentice!”

Cure presses a hoof against his forehead, slowly running it down his face in annoyance. The temptation to pull his peytral out of his mane is present, but nowhere near strong enough to make him do it.

“Don’t let it frustrate you, Cure. Nopony is expecting that from anypony,” she reassures him. “He’s still a good example to try to live up to, though. And just think; rumors are saying he’s from just over in Baltimare! I bet that’s who’s been healing all those ponies over there!”

“Well, the princess said he’s the one that made their new equipment, so probably,” he agrees. “Maybe I’ll get to meet him if my parents let me work the births again in the summer.”

“Maybe, if they even need your help. Who knows with an alicorn healer nearby!”

“Right. Welp, I really do need to get goin if that’s okay. I mean… you have the note from my parents. Should I maybe get one from the princess next time instead?”

“Har har, Cure. I’ll tell you what, you get me a note from any alicorn and I’ll never bother you again.”

“Really?”

Scoffing at the suggestion, she shrugs. “Sure, why not? There’s only two weeks left anyhow.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’m hooo-ooome! How are all my little pony parents doing?” They seem to be doing nothing, he observes. Only Amethyst and Title are here, snuggled together reading and, as best Cure can tell, they waited for him to get home before starting. That’s fine with him; he had told them he could probably move almost everything with virtually no effort whatsoever.

“Ugh, I need you to adjust all that happy,” Title huffs in annoyance. “I don’t even wanna get started. Moving sucks.”

“Try doin it twice in six months, sugarplum.”

“You didn’t really move anything, though. You just kinda… came over.”

“Eh, fair ‘nuf.”

“Y’all got it easy compared to humans. Clothes, electronics, no magic -”

Title rolls her eyes, cutting the colt off mid sentence. “Ugh… tell us again, Cure. How bad did the poor widdle hoo-mans have it when their fancy gadgets and infinite entertainment.”

“Aught’a show ya how humans make glue,” he quietly huffs.

“What?”

“Nothin.”

“Thought so…”

“So seriously, what do we even need to take? We barely have any clothes, we’re getting all new furniture… frankly, we just don’t have much.” Actually admitting it out loud really drives home how little the family has. The living room has little more than a few cushions the family has used for couches. There’s the A-frame spice rack and some art supplies on a bookcase that Deed keeps organized.

There’s the toybox full of things Cure has made along with the ones they’ve bought for the girls, another bin with the puzzles and games he’s made for Savvy, then a shelf with some books on it. With no cameras there are not any family portraits or anything; just some pictures his sire has drawn since he started doodling.

No electricity means no technology, though magic replaces that for some things like kitchen appliances. The stove, refrigerator, and his coffee maker are the only ‘modern’ appliances they have, and all of those are free standing, the stove latched down to prevent tipping. Crystals with Cleaning and the more powerful Sanitize make a dishwasher, washing machine, and vacuum all unnecessary.

“Other than the girls’ toys, dad’s art stuff, and miscellaneous stuff like linens, books, or whatever, I don’t think we have hardly anything to move.”

“There’s the file cabinets and the stuff we have in our room, but other than that…” Title pauses, looking around. “Huh. We’re getting all new kitchenware, too, right?”

“Sure are,” Amethyst confirms. “Sweets is orderin quality pans, utensils, and whatnot all through a catalog she has at tha store. We’ll only be usin this stuff a couple more weeks.”

“So basically we just need to take the beds and crap ‘till all the new stuff gets delivered?”

“Yup.”

“Well, that’ll make this pretty easy then.” He looks around, giving a couple sniffs and pointing his ears about. “Where’s dam?”

“She’s at the park with the fillies. She ain’t liftin nothin.”

“No, no… I was just askin ‘cause I didn’t hear her movin around or see the girls. I mean… I could literally have all of this crap packed and the house empty in an hour. Have you already eaten?”

“I can get lunch started while ya get it all loaded up,” Amethyst volunteers.

“Sounds good. Thanks, momma. Mom, could you move all the keepsakes and the stuff you guys have hidden in your room down here? I’m gonna go get my plant ready.”

“Sure thing, honey,” she easily agrees. The two head up the stairs together; Cure peeling off to go to his room and Title heading off into theirs.

He hops on his bed and looks around his room, shocked again at how little he actually owns. The really bizarre part of the whole thing is that it occurs to him that there’s really very little a pony actually needs. Earth ponies, in particular, are hardy enough that virtually all of the things a human would literally die without are, essentially, luxuries.

Clothing is entirely unnecessary unless temperatures are well below freezing; their thickened winter coat alone is amazingly effective. With the pegasus cold mitigation, and now with access to their magic, Cure isn’t sure what his minimum operating temperature is, but it’s cold enough to deal with anything he’ll encounter outside of the Frozen North; a place he has absolutely zero interest in visiting until the Crystal Empire returns.

Their beds, while raised off the ground on a platform, are little more than a mattress wrapped in a fitted sheet with a few pillows, a sheet on top, and, during the winter months, a blanket. There are no box springs and the entire unit is solid; a necessity given it’s holding up somewhere north of a thousand kilograms worth of pony.

They have all the usual towels, extra linens, and a variety of grooming and cleaning products for their coats, manes, and tails, but there’s very little Cure’s talent hasn’t made unnecessary. They haven’t touched a hoof file since last September and he can fix any skin or hair issue in a few seconds. They still brush their teeth just because the notion of not doing so feels strange, but it’s not like they have fancy toothbrushes that can’t just be replaced.

They are taking their kitchen appliances with them. His parents had a good point; whoever ends up buying their house will probably be an earth pony and, unless they show them how to charge crystals, they’ll need to replace the fancy magic stove he bought with another wood-burning unit, then re-hook it to the exterior vent that they blocked off when installing the magic-powered units he bought for Hearth’s Warming.

That’s fine though; wood burning stoves are a fair amount cheaper. There’s no point in leaving the refrigerator behind either, so whoever gets the house will have to buy a new set of pot-in-pot coolers like the family used to have. Of course, that’s just another area where ponies are simply easier than humans. Since virtually all the nutrients a pony needs can be gained from leafy greens, grains, and fruit, they don’t have freezers full of meat that need power all the time.

The table and chairs are staying behind. They’re a matching unit, and the table is secured to the ground so ponies can lean their chest or barrel against it while eating. Cure’s sure he could make a better one with soft cushioning that’s fused right into the ground, but his parents insist it’s unnecessary.

Plugging into his plant, he checks to ensure nopony is in their backyard or nearby overhead, then begins shifting the mass. From the outside of the house the view would probably end up with somepony yelling for the Guard. Flowing down one of the large vines in the back, the mass of vines slowly takes the shape of a large, wooden, flatbed wagon.

The wheels don’t need to be overly large and the bed is low to the ground to help with easy loading and unloading, not that anypony will be lifting anything on or off of it. He adds a hoof thick layer of springy, spongelike cellulose between the frame and the flatbed, hoping that it’ll reduce the jostling. With the ability to molecularly bond two surfaces there’s no need for braces or attachments between the layers.

Cure takes a closer look at the axle and comes to the very quick conclusion that he has no clue what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how much weight an axle can support, nor does he have any idea what an axle should actually look like. Fortunately, he can cheat.

Opting to over engineer the part, he makes each axle a little over fifteen centimeters in diameter; completely unnecessary given the weight reduction that’ll be in effect. The wheels are solid rather than spoked, and they are fused directly to the axles themselves. The outside is textured to give them more grip.

The “sleeve,” since he doesn’t know the correct term, that the axles run through spans the entire width of the undercarriage. A slightly larger ball in the center will prevent slippage from side to side, and a waxy, oily mixture between the surfaces should minimize friction.

It occurs to Cure that when he’s ready to make his dam a new wagon he should probably consult Ferric.

<< Hey Red, do you all put wagons together or is that somepony else? >>

<< Huh-uh. Blacksmiths just make the metal parts. Remember the big building just a little east of my job? >>

<< The huge barn lookin thing? >>

<< Mmhmm. That’s the town cartwright. You’ll want to talk to them. >>

<< Cool. Thanks, babe! >>

Making a mental note to consult the cartwright when he’s ready to build the real thing, Cure finishes the wagon, adding a raised bench for himself and the girls, a tall, bowed frame arched up and over the bed, and a thin cotton cloth to cover it.

Cure figures that as their possessions are loaded he can alter the shape to fit each item or add shelves as necessary. All told, only about half of the mass of the plant is required, most of which is due to the heavy axles, their supports, and the frame on the undercarriage.

With the wagon in place he remains attached to benefit from the extra magic generation while forming a large horn in the attic. He catches Amethyst looking at the new wagon outside the back door for a moment before going back to stir the pot of cubed potatoes she’s boiling to soften.

Hitting each larger piece of furniture with a Reduce, Cure starts floating items one-by-one out of their rooms, down the upstairs hall, down the stairs, past the living room, through the kitchen, and out the back door. He has to pace himself even with the extra magic generation from his plant, but there’s no hurry. Amethyst and Title both watch in awe at the parade of possessions as they float by, set down on the flatbed, then get strapped down.

Smirking mischeviously, he casts Reduce on Title as well, barely holding back a laugh as the pink mare floats up in the air, scowling at nothing as she’s floated down the stairs towards the kitchen.

“Jus’ toss that in the compost heap, Cure!” he hears Amethyst shout from downstairs. She runs a hoof through her mane as she yells, “Yer parents found a better, prettier model anyhow. Eats less, too.”

“You shattap,” Title calls out as she’s floated out the door and strapped down. “Damnit, Cure! Untie me!” Sufficiently entertained, he helps the mare back out, floating her up and out of the wagon so she doesn’t break anything flailing to get loose as he dispells the Reduce. With a light telekinetic force, he gives her a gentle pat on the head between the ears while chuckling at the angry scowl she’s aimed up towards his approximate location.

“Sorry, momma! I wasn’t payin attention. Just saw a heavy piece of furniture, ya know? I forgot we don’t have any big pink couches, and sight through the aura ain’t exactly the same.”

“Damn brat,” she huffs as she makes her way back in the kitchen. “Show you heavy when I stomp yer damn rear…” she grumbles, taking her seat at the kitchen table and crossing her forelegs to sit in mock offense.

Cure hops off his bed and takes care of his own room next, floating down his Spell Scanner tree, furniture, and then his homework desk his parents got him when he started school almost two years ago. With everything that they weren’t imminently using loaded and ready to go, he starts casting Mending on section after section of the house, anywhere he sees the slightest bit of damage.

The behavior of the spell is odd to Cure. He can’t quite wrap his head around how, conceptually ‘damage’ is repaired, but wear and tear is not. The table on the train he’d sliced in half, the paper he’d torn when he initially refused to sign them, and the lock that the minotaurs broke could be fixed by the spell, but for whatever reason casting it on an aged support beam didn’t suddenly make it new again.

The theory books he’d read with Celestia helped explain why and how the limitation existed, to a degree. Apparently the spell analyzes an object’s conceptual ideal state at a given moment. A piece of wood that has rotted over years is, unless otherwise damaged, in the state that would be “ideal” for a piece of wood that has been exposed to the elements of nature and allowed to rot.

Inflicting artificial or intentional damage such as scratches, nicks, or full-on breaks causes the item to deviate from that ideal state and, therefore, the Mending spell is capable of restoring the item. A rusted tool will remain rusted, for example. Any cracks or scratches would be Mended back to new, though.

The spell has no effect on anything living; the definition of ideal for anything still alive is not quantifiable, apparently. Either that or the sequence that determines what is ideal isn’t robust enough to make that determination.

It may also be being blocked somehow by the metaphysical presence a living creature has. The spell failed to work on a piece of enamel he’d extruded and snapped in half until the metaphysical three week timer expired. Any breaks that occurred prior to the connection severing remained; new ones could be mended, though.

Cure had expected to find some kind of time component in the spell formula, but there isn’t anything he could find that has any chronomancy sequences, aside from a part of the analysis procedure that, again, conceptually looks at the “life” of the item to determine where exactly it should be.

The only real modifications he can make to the Mending cantrip is to increase the area of impact. Doing so requires much more magic since the runic version is limited to only about half of a meter per side at a maximum or a few centimeters per side at its lowest setting. Mana consumption is low either way, which is why it is considered a cantrip, but repeated casts at maximum size would still burn a lot of magic and, again, with it only fixing breaks and tears, little would be gained.

Cure goes through the house, centimeter by centimeter, and Mends everything that needs it. He’s not going to take the time to replace all of the wood since his plant has nowhere near enough mass, but that can be an ongoing nightly project in the new house. He figures by the end of summer he’ll have, effectively, re-built the house one part at a time.

Once everything is loaded up and everything has been Mended he joins his moms at the kitchen table, ready to enjoy the soup and salad lunch Amethyst is whipping up for them.

<< Food’s about ready, dam. You four headed home soon? >>

<< We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, honey. Go ahead and start without us. >>

He reaches over and sets his hoof on Title’s and consolingly says, “I know you wanted to wait for everypony, but dam says ta go ahead and eat without ‘em. They’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Mom and I will get started, but feel free to hold off until the rest get here.”

Amethyst snickers quietly at the stove, careful not to turn where Title can see. The dark mare’s light shaking isn’t missed even if Title is busy scowling at the colt.

“You’re all kinda funny today aren’t ya, brat? Something good happen at school?”

“Not really, just glad not to have to go back. Miss Apple gave me shit for leaving early again. You’d just about think she forgot that, technically, I don’t have to go at all. At least she offered me a deal, of a sort.”

“A deal?”

“Yup. I made a quip about parents’ notes not being good enough and asked if she’d like one from the boss lady next time. She gave me this spiel about applying myself and going to university in the hopes I may do something amazing like our new prince.”

“HA!” Amethyst barks out a laugh from the stove. “Ya didn’t tell ‘er didjya?”

“Nah, it woulda been funny but isn’t worth it. She said get her a note from either alicorn and she’ll stop bugging me when I leave early.” Both moms look at the colt questioningly. “No, I’m not going to do it.

“I might as well tell the whole world it’s me if I link myself to that identity like that. Besides, she’s been a pain all year despite notes from you all and even a copy of my contract with Sgt. Bulwark. At this point I’m really tempted to stop goin, but I told the girls I’d stick around till the end of the school year, so,” he finishes with a shrug.

“Food’s ready,” Amethyst tells them, shooting the colt a grateful smile when he floats it all onto the table, then dishes it up for the three as she takes Deed’s normal spot. All three dig in, enjoying the quiet meal.

Once Vines and the fillies all get home, make the necessary pit stops, and get fed, the family finishes loading up the few miscellaneous items; keepsakes, recipe books, official documents, wedding bands, and the like. Cure calls for Cherry and Lotus to hop up beside him while holding Savvy between his forelegs. He’s perfectly fine with walking, but being connected to the wagon gives him the ability to lighten it, as well as the contents, significantly.

Title straps herself into the yoke, complimenting the plush cushioning and softness of the silk straps that ensure the wagon is securely fastened and will stop when she does. With the far lighter weight and her absurd strength she has no difficulty pulling everything as they make their way north through the park and around the western edge of town, skirting around the downtown area’s more crowded paths.

It’s only about twenty minutes later when they arrive at their new house, eager to start unpacking and putting things away.

“Hey babe,” Amethyst shouts back to Title, “ya sure ya got tha right keys? These ain’t workin.” The dark mare fiddles with the lock for another moment as Vines, Title, Cure, and all the daughters watch with growing confusion.

“Those are definitely the ones he sent us. The letter said he tried to drop them off at the office, but since we were in Canterlot…” she lets out a sigh. “Unhook me, honey,” she calls back to Cure. Once she’s freed up she joins Amethyst, the two each trying the key a few times before failing.

“Hold on,” Cure calls as he hops down and sets his sister by his dam. “Here, you’re doing it wrong,” he explains, beckoning for the keys as he trots up to join them. “Stupid question; today is the day we officially take ownership, right? You’re one hundred percent sure?”

Title sits on her rear and digs into her saddlebag, pulling out the folder with the closing documents and showing Cure the date. “Well, we owned it once we all signed the title. But yes, today is the day they said they would be gone and we can occupy it. May 13th, 909 AB at noon,” she reads aloud. “You got home from school around noon, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, thereabouts,” he confirms. A quick check of his watch shows it’s now just shy of 1:30 in the afternoon. “Alright, I’m going to show you a little trick, so make sure you’re both paying attention, okay? It’s very complex and I don’t want to have to demonstrate it again.”

A couple eye rolls is his only answer, though Title does pass him the keys at the same time. He takes the keys, tucks them into his mane pouch, then reaches up, grabs the doorknob, and rips it straight out of the door, shattering the doorframe at the same time.

Devoid of anything keeping it closed, the door swings open into the house. “Ta daa!” he exclaims as he extends his horn, levitates the knob back in place, and Mends the door and the frame as his moms look on dumbfounded.

“Silly ponies don’t even know how to open doors,” he scoffs, walking in the house. “Why is all their shit still here?” he asks, looking to his left at the formal living room. “That… doesn’t look like the same stuff as when we looked at the place last month.” He perks an ear when an unexpected noise catches his attention upstairs. “Did they leave a shower running?”

“What?” Title asks as she and Amethyst follow him inside. She looks to the right, angling her ears up the stairs and nods in agreement. “It sure sounds like it. That’s weird.”

“Is that singing?” Amethyst asks. All three stand motionless, listening for a moment as a mare’s voice reaches them, singing and humming away, presumably while showering. The water and the singing both stop as the three share a look.

With a shrug, Title turns back and approaches the stairs, calling out a “Hello?” To whoever is in their house. The rushed, frantic clops of hooves on the floor signal that the shout was heard and, a moment later, a door is thrown open down the hall. With all three looking on in confusion the ears, brow, and eyes of a dull yellow mare slowly creep over the staircase landing looking down at them.

“Why are you in my house?” she warily asks.

“Ain’t yer house, lady,” Amethyst answers. “We bought it a few weeks ago. Today’s the day yer supposed ta vacate. Bout an hour ‘n half ago, ta be precise.”

The timid look evaporates in an instant and her ears go rigid, pinning back as she scowls at the dark mare. “I just moved in! Leased it two weeks ago! Get OUT!” she shouts, throwing a balled up towel roughly in their direction, then darting away back down the hall.

The towel comes unrolled midair and wetly smacks into the floor in front of Title’s hooves, inflicting minimal injuries upon the mare. She looks over her withers at the other two, cocking a single brow in confusion.

“I’m not sure if that was some kind of attack or if she was trying to surrender,” Cure comments. Both mares give him questioning looks, so he waves at it and explains, “Well she literally threw in the towel.” In a cheeky tone he asks, “Does that mean we win?”

Vines pokes her head in the door as the two groan at the awful joke. “There’s a mare leaning out a window on the back of the house screaming for the guards. I think a few ponies went running to get them.”

“Does this kinda thing happen a lot?” Cure asks Title.

Shaking her head no, the mare pauses and perks her ears towards the stairs again. “Is… is that a foal crying?”

Amethyst lets out a long suffering sigh, hanging her head in frustration. “This is going to be a fuckin pain. I can tell already.”

It only took five minutes before three guards could be seen trotting down the street. Amethyst had taken the girls into town for ice cream while Vines, Title, and Cure stayed behind to mind the wagon and speak to whoever showed up. A few ponies passed by, looking between the three, their wagon, and the house in confusion. Not surprising, given they’d witnessed one family move out and, apparently, another move in already just in the last few weeks.

Cure recognizes the corporal leading the small squad; it’s one of the earth ponies that used to go to Base Carol with as part of Sgt. Haze’s group on opposite Fridays from Bulwark and his squad; one that only has a few months left before his enlistment is set to end.

Corporal Sabot is not in the know as far as Cure’s recent change in status, but that’s probably for the best given that he isn’t looking for any special treatment, nor does he particularly want anypony letting something slip out in a public setting.

Of course, that doesn’t mean the colt is particularly happy with the way things are going. In fact, after the second retelling of the events, he’s basically lost all patience. Hoof pressed into his face, he can’t help but let out a sigh as the corporal looks up from his notepad and asks, “And you entered the house, how, again?”

“I ripped the doorknob off, Sabot. I know you freaking wrote that down already, so how’s about we skip to the part where you tell us what the plan is here, huh?”

“Cure! Be nice!” Vines shouts from the wagon.

“I am being nice! I didn’t cuss once,” he insists, glaring at the bronze earth pony, “yet.”

“Let Title take care of it,” she insists, hoping to spare the corporal the colt’s temper.

Sighing, the corporal looks down at the colt, explaining, “Cure, I understand your frustration, but despite the fact you help the Guard a lot, I expect you to be respectful when interacting with us in a situation like this.” He waves back and forth between them and adds, “This needs to be kept professional, got it?”

“And how is my expectation that you can read something I know you already wrote being disrespectful? The keys weren’t working, so I yanked the doorknob off. Since it’s our house,” he shouts, pointing a hoof at the file Title is holding, “I immediately fixed it with Mending. I have crystals with lots of spells in a bit pouch. What’s the issue here?”

“The issue,” he starts with a huff, “is that you broke into an occupied dwelling. That is typically considered a crime, I assume you realize.”

“A dwelling we own and are supposed to take possession of today,” Title heatedly argues. “She isn’t supposed to be here! You can’t charge somepony for breaking into their own house, especially when it should be empty!”

The still damp mare sees fit to interject from the upstairs window. “It’s my house! I paid for it!”

Title doesn’t even acknowledge her, focusing solely on the sighing corporal in front of her.

“I am aware, which is why we’re discussing this here instead of at the station.”

“It’s a scam!” Title shouts, waving the house’s title in front of the him. “The owner was able to get out earlier while we were in the capital. You know, visiting your boss,” she says with a hoof jabbed in his direction, “and some flankhole saw an opportunity to make some bits. Her lease is invalid!”

“I am aware of that as well, but she is currently occupying the residence,” he calmly explains.

“EE-LEE-GALL-LEE,” Title slowly enunciates, sounding out every syllable in a shout, punctuated with stomps. “She’s illegally occupying the residence! She’s a squatter!”

“YOU’RE ILLEGAL!” comes the shout from the second story window. Title glances up and growls at the mare, causing her to duck back away from the opening with a yelp.

“And tell me, Mrs. Search,” the corporal replies, “what has to happen when somepony has taken up residence in a house when they are not supposed to be there?”

“You throw their stupid rear out on the street?” Cure asks hopefully.

Title hangs her head and lets out a sigh. “They have to be evicted by the court…”

“Exactly,” the stallion nods. “And when there’s a foal involved?”

“Celestia damn it… they get two notices instead of just one.”

“Correct.”

“Wait a second,” Cure calls. “We have to get the court involved to move into our own house that we bought legally,” he growls, “because some prick out there wanted to make a few hundred bits?”

“Yes,” both his mom and the corporal reply at the same time.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” he immediately replies, earning a scowl from the stallion and the two privates.

His dam shouts from the wagon, “Cure! Language!”

He turns and waves at the house, nearly whining, “Well it is! We have three foals, soon to be five. How is this fair?”

“You have a house to stay in. Two, if I’m not mistaken,” Sabot argues. “Does she have a spare?”

“No!” is shouted from the window.

“Ffff…” Cure hisses, staring up at the window before biting back the curse and calming down. “Fine. What’s the process here?”

“We give her an eviction notice,” Title explains. “She has thirty days. We give her a second notice. She has another two weeks to respond,” she says, glaring at the window where the mare pops back up to smugly smile back.

“So we’re looking at the end of June, start of July,” Cure mumbles, waving for her to continue.

“Then we have to file a court motion. She can fight it. It can go to trial and, at some point,” she waves to the distance, “she will, inevitably, eventually, lose. And then,” she growls, thrusting the hoof holding the file at the mare, “I’ll be sure to file suit for damages, collecting, or issuing a lien for fair market rent for every second between now and then.” That causes the mare to wince, at least, before she disappears back in the house.

Sabot shrugs and slowly nods. “That’s more than likely about the sum of it,” he agrees.

“How long does the trial part take?”

“Well,” he pauses, leaning back to think, “the courts in Baltimare aren’t too backed up. A month or so to schedule it, maybe? The trial itself should be pretty quick. Less than an hour, I’d bet. This seems relatively open-and-shut.”

“So we won’t even get into our own house until August?!” he shrieks.

“Oh, no… the court won’t hear your case until around then. If a decision comes down right away she’ll still have thirty days to vacate afterwards. Again, she’s got a foal. It’ll probably be September or so at a minimum. That is,” he glances at the house, “unless you all can work something else out.”

“How much did she pay whoever pulled this?”

“She says she paid two hundred for the deposit, another two hundred for the first month’s rent,” he explains. “She doesn’t have a receipt, but it is in the lease. Not that it’s valid or anything.”

“That seems low for a house this size.” Cure looks at his mom and asks, “How much would you charge somepony to rent one of our houses?”

She tilts her head side to side in thought, “Ehhh… for ours, with all the upgrades and fixes you’ve done, the new stove that we were getting and whatnot… two fifty is probably about right. Whoever let her have this for that was obviously just tryin to get somepony to sign on without asking too many questions.”

“I figured. I’m gonna do the same fixes and upgrades with Amy and Lemon’s place before I move the rest of my plant. Do we have any buyers lined up for either property?”

“Not yet, no… think she’d be okay moving?”

“It’s just her and her foal. She doesn’t exactly need four bedrooms,” he points out, waving at the house. He notices the mare peeking over the windowsill, listening in on their conversation. “We could move all her stuff and she could stay at either of our old places rent-free for a while. Six months?”

“A year!” she shouts out the window.

“It’s… not a bad idea,” Title tentatively agrees. She looks at the window and yells back, “We’ll help you move, you get the place rent free through December, and we don’t have to drag your rear through the courts. It has a fully stocked, very well taken care of garden, a new stove once it’s delivered, a new roof, and was cleaned from top to bottom. You’re not going to get a better deal.”

“I was going to move the garden,” Cure comments.

“How would you move a garden?” Sabot asks in genuine curiosity.

“My talent is completely unfair, that’s how,” Cure offers.

The corporal shrugs but nods in agreement despite the seemingly ridiculousness of the statement. He’s seen enough of what the colt can do that there’s not a whole lot of things he would legitimately doubt is possible.

“We can come collect seeds and we’ll take a few things to get us started,” Title suggests. “There’s enough there that it’ll spoil if it’s just the two of you.”

“I can get our new garden up and running in no time, mom. I’ll just commit some of my plant to it. We’ll have it good as new in a couple weeks.”

“I know you can, honey,” she assures him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “We’ll all do it together.” She looks at the window and yells, “Well, how bout it? With the corporal as witness…” she turns from the nodding mare to Sabot and asks, “You’re okay with that, right?”

“Sure. If it solves the problem we can witness the agreement. It won’t be legally binding, exactly, but if this ends up in front of a judge because somepony didn’t fulfill their end of the agreement… well, it won’t look good.”

“No,” Cure immediately dismisses, getting a scowl from the mare. “Have your attorney draw up something ironclad; a real lease agreement. I want it notarized and fully official. We’re not going to go through this again come December just to save whatever the lawyer charges. Especially since the corporal will have left the Guard by then. For now, let’s get the ball rolling on the eviction. What do you need to do?”

Title looks at Sabot and asks, “Is there a standard form? I’ve never looked into being a landlord.”

“There is. The receptionist at the station has forms like that you just fill in. I would have brought one if I’d known the situation. You can also get them at Town Hall and I bet your attorney would have them on hoof. Drop it off at the station and we’ll serve it the next business day. In the meantime,” he finishes, looking between the house and their wagon.

“Such crap,” Cure huffs, turning to retake his spot on the bench. He pauses and turns back, looking up at the corporal. “I’m sorry for being a jerk, Corporal Sabot. I know none of this is your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

The earth pony gives him a half shrug and a wry grin. “No big deal, colt. I know it’s frustrating. We learn pretty early on not to take it to heart.”

Cure looks up at the empty window. “I hope you’re real happy with yourself. I know you’re a victim here too, but instead of tryin to come up with a solution you sat up there and acted like a heckling jerk. I’m sure you’ll set a really great example for your foal some day, lady.” Piece said, the colt turns his rear on the house, nuzzles his dam’s chest, and hops back up on the wagon.

Title watches as he walks away. The rebuke by such a young foal apparently struck a chord; the mare peers out the window looking none too pleased with the situation. Cure intentionally positions himself to keep his rear turned towards the mare who, after a moment, shuts the window and slinks away.

Sabot watches on, wincing at the verbal haymaker the colt delivers. With business concluded for now, he calls over the two privates, and the three begin their trek back into town.

With little else to do, Title rejoins her wife and son, stepping back into the yoke and calling for Cure to hook her back up. As they get underway he tells them, “I’ve already sent messages to dad, Amy, and Lemon giving them a short summary. I told them to just come home when they’re done working for the day like normal. I’m going to take the wagon to their house to fix it up like I did ours after I unloaded everything.”

“Alright. Thanks, babe. I’ve only seen this kinda thing happen one other time. I shoulda known something was up when they told us the water was already turned on.”

“Lesson learned,” Cure agrees. “Next time we’ll have somepony keep an eye out if we’re gonna be out of town. At least I can finally tell the boss something happened that I didn’t plan for.”

“That’s hilarious!” Drift cackles as she takes aim. “She has no idea who she’s messing with! What’re you gonna do?” She kicks the ball to Heavy and asks, “Fill the place with bees or something?”

“Crosswind Drift!” Dawn scolds, “There’s an innocent foal in there!”

Drift grimaces, awkwardly nodding in acceptance. “I guess, but still…”

“Still nothing,” Cure answers as he traps the pass from other colt. “The Guard will know if anything weird happens it’s probably from me. That’s not exactly the kinda stuff the boss lady would be happy about.” He glances Glacial’s direction and shouts, “Go high!” Kipping the ball up, he rotates and gives it a one-hoof buck as it comes down.

Glacial shoots up to intercept the high kick, flipping over mid-air and spiking it back down to Coast. The cyan filly isn’t quite ready for that much speed, dodging out of the way as it goes flying past. She shoots a scowl at the apologetic pegasus, barely turning to fetch it before Sapphire shoots past her.

“June isn’t that far away,” Ferric comments. She’s sitting next to Rising as the yellow filly idly plays some music on her clarinet. She was leery of bringing the sax outside even though Dawn assured her they could Mend it if anything happens.

“It’s still unfair,” Dawn grumbles. “She’s in your house and you can’t even do anything about it.”

“Yeah, well… I dunno what to say,” Cure offers with a shrug. “Crap like this just happens sometimes.” The sudden instinct to duck is the only thing that saves Cure from getting bapped on his side as the ball sails just over his withers.

He turns to his left and finds Sapphire smiling broadly. The filly gives him a challenging look and bobs her head side to side. “Whatchya gonna do, snakey-poo? Hmm?” Cure gives a start, fake lunging at the girl who laughs hysterically and runs to dive behind her sister and Rising, peeking out from the pair’s sides and sticking her tongue out.

“Nutjob,” he mumbles, watching as Dawn bounces the ball in her TK for a moment before kicking it back to Heavy.

“I guess if you think you’ll have it in a few weeks that’s probably not too bad, dude. Sucks you didn’t find out ‘till you got there, though.”

Cure takes a moment to really look around. Nopony is near their little group, so speaking candidly is fine. “Yeah… Well, at least I was able to use my plant, so packing everything up was a cinch.”

Heavy quirks a brow at that. “The ones from the train?”

“Yep. They’re all really just one big plant I split up to make more portable. When they’re merged back together, though, I can use ‘em all over the house.”

“He showed me,” Dawn boasts. “It’s in his attic. He can move it around like it’s part of him. His whole roof is part of it.”

The group all pauses to process the statement. Drift, as usual, is the first one to speak up. “Your talent is absolutely ridiculous. I mean, I know we’ve said it before, but… seriously?”

“It is, but I’m also using it smart. I’ve been tellin ya all along, you gotta cheat properly. Mine may be stupidly exploitable, but at least I can explain how it works. Sort of. Yours is just pure divination cow manure, and yer sister’s just laughs in the face of physics.”

“What the fuck does my talent have to do with math?!”

Glacial face-wings so hard Cure feels the draft from several meters away. “Divination, you doofus!” she groans.

At Drift’s uncomprehending look Dawn steps in to explain. “Divination is a school of magic that has to do with reading futures or, in your case, knowing something you shouldn’t be able to know.”

“Oh. Is that how I can find somepony?”

“Crosswind Drift, everypony,” Cure sighs, “Hide and go seek champion, 909 AB. At least, the seeking part.”

The filly preens, thrusting her chest out and standing tall. “I am pretty awesome.”

Snickering aloud, Sapphire argues, “‘Cept at math and vocabulary, it seems.” Rising pauses her playing to giggle at the burn, then reaches over and gives Sapphire a hoofbump.

“I wanna see it next time we’re over,” Glacial requests.

“We could always go now,” Cure suggests. “I could use it to make some Buckball supplies. I haven’t suggested it before now ‘cause, ya know, it takes at least two unicorns to play, but I could always give it a whirl in disguise.” He looks over at Dawn and adds, “It’d be good for our practice too. You said Solar struggled with fine TK control in Basic, so…” he trails off at everypony’s confused look. “What?”

“Buckball?” Ferric asks.

“Yeah… you know, two teams, a member of each tribe on a team. Get goals through a ring or into a basket?”

Sapphire gives him an impressed look. “It sounds fun! Did you just make this up?”

“No? It’s not popular -”

“Apparently,” Drift interrupts.

“... but it looked fun when I saw it. It’s at least more fun than just passing,” he insists, waving amongst the group. “The only problem is we have an odd number of earth ponies.” Shrugging he adds, “I mean, I guess it won’t really matter. We’re not playing for money or anything.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Glacial starts, “but it does sound pretty fun. How’s it work?”

“Split a playing field in half. The earth ponies and pegasus are on one side with the other team’s unicorn. The unicorn has to stand behind a line in the back and move a ring or basket around to get the ball to go through, or catch it, I guess. The other team has to stay ahead of the line. Each team is trying to score in the ring on the opposite side of the field.

“Pegasi usually play defense ‘cause y’all are fast and can fly. Earth ponies can kick harder, so we are the ones trying to buck the ball through the ring. Bucks only, no foreleg kicks. I don’t know the field size or anything, but I could change the grass white or yellow in lines for different markers and we could experiment to find what works. Same with the size of the rings… too big or too small may make it too easy or hard.”

“I could just referee,” Rising suggests. “It sounds like you’ll need one.”

“That would work… y’all wanna give it a try? We could play in my backyard and go for a swim at the pond afterwards.” With eager nods all around, Cure and co make their way to his home; the colt unaware he introduced a new sport decades prior to when it would otherwise be invented.

Author's Note

A little shorter SoL chapter for y'all. As always, thanks for reading!