Symbiosis

migration | maɪ̯ˈɡɹeɪ̯.ʃn̩ | noun
An act of moving to live in another place.

Ponyville in the early evening picks up a bit from the late afternoon – last-minute shopping before stores close, couples out on evening dates, that sort of thing. For me, though, because of my stay at the Spa I felt compelled to check on my print shop. How much further had they gotten without me to do my part? Or rather, how much further behind?

But when I got there, the front door was locked. Peering through the window, I also saw the lights were off, and the Wondertype’s crucible had even been switched off. Normally at this hour I would still be typing out slugs (this time reading them myself since my apprentice would have gone home), trying to hit some arbitrary quota before calling it a day. I sighed – clearly I was too late to get an idea of where they were, progress-wise, especially with Minion Fleuron at the keyboard.

“Back so soon?”

I turned around. Lorem knew me all too well – he’d stayed behind, waiting for me to come inevitably crawling back to work.

“You’d honestly be shocked how quickly Minion hammered those entries out,” he told me. “We stayed on the clock for about ten more minutes, just for her to finish up all the Ms.”

My eyes widened. “All of them?” I asked. “But that would’ve taken me another half a day!”

“Correction: it would’ve taken the old you – ” he prodded my chest – “another half a day. I trust you went to the Spa, per my suggestion? Got freshened up and so forth?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I scratched the back of my neck. “I just wonder, now that Minion’s had a real trial by fire. . . you think she’ll want to do that again?” I glance back through the shop’s window. “I still feel guilty for hanging her out to dry.”

“Don’t.” He nudged me away from the door. “From the looks of things, she’s eager to do it all over again tomorrow. Matter of fact, if you don’t show up early, she just might bump you off the Wondertype altogether.”

“I’d like to see her try.” Even with a mask of sarcasm, I could tell he sensed my nervousness in my voice. The truth is that typesetting was my first and best distraction from my perverse thoughts and daydreams. To have someone rob me of it, much less my own apprentice – somehow it seemed unbearable. Certainly it’s good to see her become a proper printer like myself, but if I be relegated to the ornamentals. . . it’s only a matter of time before they return in full force.

Of course, I could just buy a second Wondertype for the shop, and while that would bring the benefits of being able to typeset something twice as fast, it would also create the headache of having to maintain two machines. Not to mention the initial cost. . . .

Regardless, the shop was closed, the workday was well over, and even I had to concede that fact. “Guess I’ll see you here tomorrow at eight?”

“You bet. ’Til next time, brother of mine!” He turned on his frog and trotted off to his hotel room. (I had invited him to stay at my home, but he preferred not to impose on me – which, now that I think of it, does explain why he’s never called me to help at his Canterlot print shop.)

The Sun had started going down, the red pyrelike embers flaring up hot to the west, and I started my way back home, whistling a tune I often heard on the radio. As I walked, my mind couldn’t help but wander back to the spa, to the bathhouse – what if Aloe had never knocked? What if Chrysalis and Vardi were able to have their way with me? Ah, but such wishful thinking was meant for another time – I had to get home, cook my dinner, wash off the dust, dirt, and sweat from the print shop and the outside, and at least try to get enough sleep to focus on this monumental project Princess Twilight had for me.

Hmm. . . perhaps I could strike a deal with Minion, I pondered. I could work the Wondertype in the morning, she could work it after our lunch break. . . yeah. That could work. That could work just fine. . . .

⁂

Before I knew it, I was facing my front door. Home sweet home – for a given value of ‘sweet.’ In truth, it was a lonely affair, though those feelings were tempered by the fact that privacy was a product of solitude. It was lonely, but by the same token, it was safe.

I fished for my house key, but as soon as my fingers found it, my eye darted to the window. I realized something wasn’t adding up. Yes, one of the lights was on, the one inside the kitchen. I distinctly remembered making sure all the lights in my home were off before leaving for work, so a detail like this was going to stand out to me.

How was I going to approach this? Had someone broken in? To steal something? I didn’t keep anything valuable in the kitchen. To wait to do something to me, then? Whatever it was, I had better be careful. Key still in hand, I slowly and quietly unlocked my front door and sneaked into my own home.

Even before I closed the door behind me, quietly as I could, I could tell this wasn’t an ordinary break-in. To wit, my nose picked up the scent of garlic cooking on the stove. Someone broke in to. . . cook something? Still quiet, as quiet as I could manage, I crept into the kitchen, rounded the corner – and what I saw was the absolute last thing I expected.

Roseluck was in here, wearing an apron, cooking up dinner. She was quick to notice me, however – “Welcome home, darling!” she greeted me. “Long day today?”

Alarm bells were ringing in my head. I distinctly remember talking to Roseluck on the way to the Spa today; she knew full well why I was heading there, and why; she had zero romantic feelings toward me, certainly not anything I could perceive as ‘romantic’; and yet, here she was, in my kitchen, and the first thing she asked me was ‘long day today?’ like we’ve always been a couple?

How am I supposed to respond to that?

“It, ah. . . .” I tried to improvise a response right on the spot, but years of taking instructions from manuscripts held me back from an immediate one. “It went alright?” As alright as it could have, in my state of fatigue at least. Now it’s your turn. “What I want to know is, what are you doing in my house? In my kitchen, no less?”

She giggled – a very soft, high-pitched one – then looked at me with what I could only describe as a genuine sparkle of joy in her eyes. “I just thought you might want somepony special in your life,” she simply answered, “for a change.” She winked at me, then grabbed the saucepan to pour a dollop of tomato sauce onto a bowl of spaghetti. After dusting the surface with some Parmaresian, she grabbed it and took it over to the table.

That’s when I noticed she was wearing an apron and nothing else.

Her cutie marks were in full view, and her rear end had a bit more of a jiggle to it than I distinctly remember from seeing her. I mean, not that I ever went out of my way to stare at her or anything! Really! I don’t! I just. . . just liked the way she wears her hair, I promise! But then she set the bowl onto the table, and when she did she made a slow and deliberate show of bending over.

For the first time in my life, I found myself staring directly at Roseluck’s. . . well, rose. Is it normally that wet?

That familiar burning in my cheeks had returned in full force, and to make matters worse, my clothes were starting to tighten around my nethers. I didn’t dare look back up until I heard the chair creaking – by then Roseluck had completed dinner. “Aren’t you gonna sit down?” she asked. “You must be famished after a long day of work.”

Aren’t you too? Working in the park on a hot day couldn’t be easy. I sat down, taking a look at what she had made for me. Besides the spaghetti, she had also taken the liberty of grilling some fresh vegetables for me: carrots, broccoli, potatoes, mushrooms (well, that’s not a vegetable per se, but you get the point), mixed up and served on a plate. Off to the side was a glass of ice water to chase it down.

Roseluck had seated herself opposite from me, leaning forward, with her apron tugged down to expose her (rather considerable) cleavage – but something was still off about the sight. “Not having anything yourself?” I pointed to her empty part of the table. No grilled veggies of her own, no spaghetti, nothing. She had prepared just enough for me, and me alone.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” She beamed at me. “You just have your din-dins, honey!”

“Nuh-uh.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Something’s up. This isn’t like you, Rose.”

“C’mon now,” she insisted, nudging the plate closer to me, “you need to get some food in your hungry tummy. I made it with love, after all.”

And that’s when the bit dropped. Roseluck, a mare I’ve had my eyes on since I was a young colt and she was a filly, here in my home, cooking my dinner, wearing an apron with no underwear, deliberately flashing her most intimate parts of herself to me, insisting that I eat while she does not. . . of course. Why didn’t I spot it sooner?

“. . . Vardi?”

She giggled – before bursting out in laughter. “Took you long enough, you dork!” It took her a few moments to compose herself after another fit of laughter. “Heh. . . heh-heh-heh. . . honestly. . . I thought the extra jiggle in my butt would’ve tipped you off.” She cleared her throat. “But anyway. Jig’s up, I know. But I’m not gonna shed this skin just yet.” She tapped the plate of veggies. “I noticed you haven’t tried anything yet.”

Not the answer I was expecting, but under the circumstances I guess it makes sense. I stuck a fork in a carrot and brought it to my mouth. Then I stopped. I raised my eyebrow at her, thinking she might’ve played another of her changeling tricks on me.

“Oh, that. No tricks, no gimmicks, just good food for you.” She leaned back, but did nothing about the apron still exposing her cleavage. “I’ll explain as you eat. Now dig in already!”

True to her word, as soon as I stuck the carrot in my mouth, my tongue was overwhelmed with. . . something I can only describe as goodness, as if the general word was distilled into a single spice. The grill marks didn’t just look picture-perfect, they also imparted a char that I couldn’t get enough of. Add to that an apparent pepper-based marinade, and I’d say this dish was just. . . perfect. Simply perfect.

‘Roseluck,’ meanwhile, breathed in deeply, apparently taking in my newfound love for the food. I guess it really doesn’t matter what that love is meant for, as far as a changeling’s concerned. Love is love. As she breathed out, however, I couldn’t help but notice a muted green-blue glow shining from her throat. “Oh, right.” She snapped her fingers. “I know we got interrupted in the middle of our, shall we say, session at the spa, but, well. . . let’s just say my Queen saw something in you, a certain spark of potential.”

I nodded for her to continue, potato on my fork.

“Like we told you, we need love to live,” she went on. “I’d explain how that works, but then we’d be here all night and it’s not the point anyway; point is – ” she leaned back forward, once again giving me an eyeful of her chest – “the Hive isn’t doing so hot these days.” She had lowered her voice. “Ever since my Queen’s disastrous invasion of Canterlot, you ponies have gotten a lot better at spotting us. Consequently, it’s almost impossible to get enough love for the Hive to survive; day by day we grow closer to collapse.”

I tilted my head. “So where do I come into this?”

“It’s easy to gather up love, simple enough to get away with it – but much harder to hide it in the meantime.” She grabbed her breasts. “As you well know, and as you’ve seen earlier today, we tend to swell up big and full when we’re overfed, which usually calls us out sooner than any lapse in character. ‘That which is hoarded soon is lost’ – that’s our proverb, anyway.”

She somehow leaned in closer to me, just as I started on the pasta. “You, however, are not prone to that fault. You actually like it when we swell up, bigger and bigger with more and more love – and with a few adjustments on where we store it on ourselves, we can create a feedback loop that just might actually bring us back from the brink.”

I flinched as green flames shot up from the base of her chair. In the blink of an eye, Vardi sat opposite in her true form. What was more, however, was a green amulet clasped around her neck. “Which brings me to the question of getting it back to the Hive,” she continued, this time in her normal voice. “Some time ago, between the Canterlot débacle and now, we recovered a book from the Supernal Sisters’ old fortress, one from the Crystal Empire. Several pages showed us how to move magic from one focus to another – instantly, as if in the same space.” She pointed at the amulet. “We modified that spell – ”

“To shift love over to your hive from here,” I finished. She nodded. “Meaning. . . .”

“I can gather up as much love in the field as I can,” she surmised for me, “for as long as I like, and never get any bigger for it. With these telephile amulets, it all gets sent straight to the larders.” She leaned back again. “But of course, that last bit is a nonissue for you, isn’t it? So all this means for you is that I don’t have to leave you eventually, risking being caught even in the dead of night, and you get to enjoy my curves, and my bulk, and my insatiable lust for more and more.”

More green flames; there was ‘Roseluck’ again. “So how ’bout it? Sound good, sweetie?”

I blinked. “Uh. . . .” Even after hearing all that, I still couldn’t quite register it. Surely there’s a downside to taking this deal; surely there’s some hidden cost to dealing with what Equestria considers to be the enemy. Even so, her vivid descriptions of expanding to ever-larger sizes did make my pants feel perhaps a bit tighter than they ought. I just hope she didn’t notice that last bit. “Is it really that simple?”

“Yup. Simple as you like! Nothing for you to worry about.” She gathered up the dishes. “Tell you what: I’ll go wash these off,” she told me, “while you wash yourself off in the bath. Meet you in your bedroom?” She winked.

I nodded, getting up. Now that she mentioned it, I could use a shower. Still, I had some measure of anxiety at the prospect of having to satisfy an entire hive of changelings, especially one as starving as she said it was. Just how efficient were they?

“Oh, before I forget – ” A sharp pain radiated from my butt as ‘Roseluck’ smacked me. I turned around, only to be met with an expression of equal parts satisfaction and smugness. “That’s for swatting me on your way to the Spa.”

⁂

Tonight was just full of surprises, wasn’t it?

As soon as I stepped into the bathroom, right away I could see the light was on, and I was not the first pony to be in here. The real surprise was that Lyra Heartstrings was also in my home. She was just an acquaintance, somepony I did want to get to know better, but to have her in my bath – ah. Right. I had met two changelings in the Spa, so this one must be Queen Chrysalis incognito.

Eh, whatever, she’ll most likely want me to play along. “Uh. . . hi?” I tried acting natural, but as one can tell, I’m not a very good actor. “I was about to have a shower, but if you wanna – ”

“Well sure, you could wash off alone, or. . . .” Without getting up from the stool she was seated upon, she dipped her hand into the tub, which I seldom ever use, and I could see water splashing onto her shorts and tank top. “You could get somepony else to wash you?” She batted her eyes at me, her golden irises seeming to shine in the room light.

Even if this was Chrysalis, I was starting to get cold hooves on the matter. Already she’s probed and gotten into the most secretive depths of my mind; what more does she want from me? Does she take pleasure in shaming her potential prey? Seeing who can survive this trial? In that case, I’m dead in the water, aren’t I?

“C’mon, take your clothes off,” she reminded me. “You don’t want them to get wet, do you?”

Do you? I sighed, resigning myself to my fate. First I undid my pants, letting them hit the floor, rivets clacking against the linoleum. Them my shirt was next – anypony could tell I was not what one might call the ideal male form, nowhere close to ‘peak performance,’ but ‘Lyra’ didn’t seem to mind it all that much. In fact, she gave me a far more lecherous look than I would have deserved.

My underpants were last of all. I shut my eyes and I dropped them unceremoniously on the floor. I didn’t move for several seconds – until she broke the silence: “What are you embarrassed about? You look just fine, honey.”

I finally opened my eyes. Her face didn’t show anything remotely approaching disgust, cringe, or even pity. The only thing she did was tap the side of the tub. “C’mon, it’s not getting any warmer. You’ll feel so much better when you’re all clean, I just know it.”

Again I sighed, this time in relief, and climbed into the tub, carefully setting my head down against the opposite end. It had been some time since I treated myself to this luxury, a bath – a shower did just as well, but was faster.

But she had already prepared the tub for me, and it’d be a waste simply to drain it after all of that.

“Relax,” she told me, “you’ll be done before you know it.” After thoroughly soaking my hair in the warm water, she squeezed some shampoo into the palm of her hand, then lathered it up against my head, getting it deep into my scalp.

I closed my eyes and let her work. I had just been to the Spa that day, and already it was like I was back there again. I didn’t have to lift a finger to do anything; she did all the work, she did all the washing and rinsing and so forth.

After a minute of scrubbing with her fingertips, she slowly and gently rinsed my hair out. I didn’t dare open my eyes, since I didn’t want to get shampoo in there – but I really wanted to, just to see if she had that green glow in her throat like Vardi as ‘Roseluck.’ Finally she stopped rinsing it out, even flipping part of my hair out of my eyes, so I could get a look.

Then I felt a soapy washcloth on my face, forcing my eyes back shut. I did remember Lyra had green fur – so if ‘Lyra’ was wearing an amulet, I couldn’t easily tell. Of course. Stupid!

“Your arm, please?”

I lifted my left, since that one was closer to her. Washcloth in hand, she started scrubbing it down. Even with my previous finding, I decided to try it anyway. I briefly relaxed, losing a bit of myself to the sensation of somepony else washing me, tending to me – aha! She had one too. The glimmer was faint, certainly, but I could see one all the same, no trick of the light.

She looked down and saw where my eyes were focused. She must’ve decided I was staring at her chest, because then she thrust it forward. But when I didn’t react, she held her hand up to her throat, and put two and two together. “Yeah, I’ve got one too,” she told me. “What, did you think my Queen would settle for just one prototype?”

“‘Your Queen?’” I echoed. “So you’re not – ?”

“Wait, you thought I was my Queen? That she would get involved again, after that close call?” She giggled. “Oh, you are a silly goose. I can tell I’m going to like you. – Other arm?”

I set it back in the water and gave her my other arm. So, she’s another worker changeling, just like Vardi. I wonder if she plays the same role as her. I blinked with an epiphany. She must do that – not every changeling has the equipment, the patience, or the skills to survive outside the hive. “So I know you’re not actually Lyra,” I told her. “The real Lyra would never enter my home, much less wash me in my bath. So who are you?” I glanced back at the door. “Last I checked, Vardi was in the kitchen, doing the dishes.”

A flash of green flames, and there sat another changeling, one I hadn’t seen before. “Call me Knari.” She set my arm down, the grabbed my left leg to wash that next. “I’m guessing my broodsister Vardi gave you the lowdown, didn’t she?”

“She did,” I answered, “not to mention cook my dinner.” I tipped my head back. “I will say, it’s one of the best I’ve ever had.”

“Not surprised; cooking’s what you might call her ‘special talent.’” She dug the washcloth into the inside of my hoof, making sure the frog was squeaky-clean. “Usually she likes to infiltrate kitchens and assume the role of a line cook. That’s how we got inside knowledge of the Supernal Sisters’ diets.”

So at any point in time, they could have tried to poison them. . . and they didn’t. I guess Princess Cadance was a much juicier target if love was their aim. Or perhaps they had, but the effects were much more subtle. . . .

“I was at the Grand Galloping Gala last year, you know.” One flash of green flames later, Knari was ‘Lyra’ again. “I, well. . . let’s just say their harpsichordist wasn’t feeling well that morning.”

I raised my head back up. “And yet you weren’t spotted.”

“Nope!” She set my leg back in the water, them grabbed the other. “To be fair, I couldn’t believe it either. Every other changeling got purged from Canterlot Castle staff one by one. The situation was considered hopeless.” She focused the washcloth inside the hoof again, but started to furrow her brow at something. “Vardi said you got an ungulicure at the Spa. Did they miss this spot?”

“Hm?” I looked at what she was talking about. Sure enough, I could feel her trace a lump of keratin with her finger. “Now that you mention it, I hadn’t had them trimmed in a while, so there was a lot that came off. Did Vardi mention that at least?”

She recoiled in surprise – then looked down at me. “C’mon now, you gotta take better care of yourself. Even a machine needs to be greased.” Now where have I heard that one before? She finished scrubbing out my hoof, then set it back in the water. Next she started scrubbing away at my torso: starting from the neck, traveling down to my chest – to which she paid particular attention, much to my shame – then to my abdomen, lastly stopping at my nethers.

As she started washing me, she ran her hand up and down the shaft. I realized she might need to be thorough, but this seemed rather excessive. I looked up to her, eyebrow raised.

She just smiled, seemingly innocently. “I just want to get you everywhere I can,” she answered my unspoken question. “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

“. . . somewhat, yeah.” It was never a particular point of pride for me, especially in front of somepony else. I shut my eyes and looked away from her.

“Hey now.” She stopped washing me for the moment, setting the washcloth aside. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. I just want to bathe you; is that so much to ask for?” She traced my jaw with her finger. “I just know it’d make you feel so much better.”

“I just feel guilty about letting you do this,” I admitted. “Especially when you get to a few places I have trouble reaching.”

“You just let me worry about that, okay?” After a moment, I nodded. “I’ll be done soon.” ‘Soon’ seemed to be another moment, as she also washed out the rest of my, ahem, equipment. “Alright big boy, pick yourself up – gotta do your back now.”

I grabbed the rims of the tub and hoisted myself off of my back, until I was more-or-less upright. With that, ‘Lyra’ thoroughly scrubbed my back, starting from the base of my neck and again working her way down. I could swear she muttered “Such strong muscles” under her breath as she washed me. Next she urged me to stand up.

The less said about the last part of the process, the better.

But with that, I was finally done. I was finally done. I started climbing out, the water channeling down my skin in small rivulets. ‘Lyra’ grabbed the chain connected to the drain plug, and yanked it, putting some of Equestria back where it belonged. I set hoof on the bathmat, and she grabbed a towel for me. I reached out to grab it, but she quickly dried me off for me. “Thank you,” I told her, “but I think I can manage that myself.”

“Nope!” She stuck her tongue out at me. “I’m gonna do it for you!” She firmly grasped it and ran it through my hair, down my head, around my torso, then along each of my arms and legs. “There you go – all done, mister!”