“And next we have a … Caramel, I believe? Please explain what brought you to join the –” the pale unicorn lifted a sheet of paper and peered closely at it, the orange glow of his horn barely denting the shadow enveloping the room. “– Canterlot Culinary School?”
Having been here before really ought to make the whole situation less intimidating, but it was still a very tall, very dark room. Caramel straightened, and tried not to let it get to him. “Well, uh, Chancellor, sir, it started when Sassaflash showed me this flier someone’d given her, and yeah, it saying they had a 100% graduation rate sounded kinda like a scam, but I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook better, and I figured, well, maybe it was legit, right? And then –”
One question was followed by another, and another after that, and Caramel did his best to answer them, truly, but some days he could barely remember what he’d had for breakfast, much less whether there’d been one sink or three in a classroom he’d been in months ago.
But eventually, finally, it was over. He wobbled out of the room and sank onto a bench just outside with a grateful sigh.
“Was it… was it very bad?” Candy Mane asked, eyes wide. Behind her, several of his other classmates turned their heads, clearly listening.
Caramel made an effort to smile. “It’s pretty intense, but tell the truth and it’ll be fine. Can’t be any harder than making that souffle, right?”
She giggled, and he saw a few other smiles. “Worst kitchen disaster ever.”
An aide stepped out. “Candy Mane? Please follow me.”
Caramel held his hoof out and she bumped it, smiling slightly, before disappearing into the room.
He stretched and stood. Time for some sunshine, and maybe a hay burger or two – he should see if Cherry Berry was around, she always liked –
“Excuse me, are you Caramel?” A small unicorn with a muted blue coat, dressed to match the rest of the EEAs’ junior scribes, appeared at his side. He blinked and nodded. “Great, follow me please!”
They took off down the hallway. His remaining classmates looked at him. He shrugged sheepishly, said “I probably forgot something?” and followed.
This was new.
Caramel shifted.
He tapped his hooves. Shifted again.
It didn’t look like an interrogation room.
There was a table, but no scary lamp glaring white in a sea of darkness, and yeah, there was a forbidding-looking chair – narrow and tall and made of dark wood, with barely any cushion at all – but the couch was a soothing mint green and really comfortable, actually.
… He really hoped he was supposed to sit on the couch, not in the chair.
The door creaked open, and Caramel shot to his feet.
A short stack of papers floated through the door, followed by Chancellor Neighsay himself. “Sit, sit,” he said dismissively, settling into the tall chair. Caramel uneasily returned to the sofa. “I assume my aide told you why you were asked to remain?”
“Uh … something about follow-up questions? I figured I’d just forgotten to mention something important, to be honest.”
“It is not what you ‘forgot’ that interested me,” the Chancellor said blandly. He flipped through the sheaf of papers hovering beside him, keeping one and letting the rest settle to the desk. “You said the 100% graduation rate made you think the school was a scam, I believe?”
“Well, yeah.” Caramel drew a circle on the couch with a hoof. “Didn’t you say that yourself, last time?”
“Indeed.” He raised an eyebrow. “You do seem to end up testifying in these halls … unusually often.”
Caramel’s shoulders hunched. “I like learning new things,” he muttered. “And I thought that maybe this time–”
“‘It would be legit’, yes.” His own words sounded strange in the Chancellor’s crisp tones. “I wonder, what would you make of this?” Another paper slid out of the stack and flew over to Caramel.
“Skating lessons! I’ve always wanted to –” Caramel could swear the Chancellor’s face hadn’t moved at all, but the vibe just changed, and he hastily moved on. “Uhh, it’s kinda pricey. And I don’t know anything about these skating competitions they mention, but saying that 90+% of their students place in them sounds like a lot? And the part about being an ‘excellent way to stay fit for retired Guardsfolk’, I remember you said something about that with the polo school –”
He sighed. “It’s a scam, too, isn’t it.”
Another raised eyebrow. “‘Learn 2 Sk8’ is a fully EEA-accredited skating school that has so far passed all inspections and audits,” the Chancellor said precisely.
Caramel brightened. “So it is legit?”
The Chancellor leaned forward, his smile wintry. “How would you like to find out?”
Caramel nudged the mirror with the tip of a hoof. The Chancellor knew he was an earth pony, right? So … however it worked, it probably didn’t require magic? He’d said ‘simply tap it three times’, and they’d agreed to have their next meeting now – well, technically, five minutes ago –
Orange sparkled around the mirror and the Chancellor’s face appeared. “Yes?”
“Gah!” Caramel tumbled backward, the mirror sliding off the carefully piled stack of stuff he’d used to prop it upright. “Ow. Sorry. Uh. I guess you wanted my report?”
“That was the intent behind lending you the mirror, yes.” A pause. “I would appreciate you readjusting the view.”
“Right. Sorry.” Caramel carefully propped it back up again, belatedly noticing and shoving a knitting project from … last Hearthswarming? out of view. He should probably … finish that, or at least put it away somewhere. “So, the lessons are really fun! But I asked if I could talk to any of the alumni, maybe see about doing a mentorship thing, like you suggested, and apparently all of them are pretty busy so no luck there –”
“Or it is simply a less obvious way to avoid making an introduction than refusing outright,” the Chancellor said dryly. A pause. “Apologies for the interruption. Do continue.”
“... Oh.” In hindsight, that probably should have been obvious. Caramel scratched his neck. “Maybe I can find out more at the competition they’re taking us to next week –”
The Chancellor looked a bit more ordinary, outside that dark room; not like, ordinary-ordinary like Caramel himself, but like Rarity, or maybe Rainbow Dash. Still more important than he’d ever be, but not someone you could only ever even look at from afar. His questions still took everything Caramel had to answer – he hadn’t even realized the number of fire extinguishers mattered – but answering them still felt … easier, somehow.
Finally, the Chancellor nodded sharply. “That will do for today. I appreciate your assistance.”
Caramel shrugged sheepishly. “You’re paying the tuition, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the chance to try it otherwise. … Sorry about the fire extinguishers and all the other stuff I forgot.”
“I am aware that not everypony has the entire EEA manual memorized,” the Chancellor said dryly. “But you appear to have an instinct for noticing when things are out-of-order, which has its own value, and is far more difficult to train.”
Caramel squinted. “Are you saying my special talent is finding scams?”
The Chancellor raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe that is what I said. Do you believe it is?”
“... Well, it’s more complimentary than ‘gullibly believing the best of everyone’, like Cherry Berry claims, I guess.” Caramel shook his head. “Anyway, um. Can I ask a question?”
The Chancellor inclined his head slightly and gestured for Caramel to continue.
“Why does the number of fire extinguishers matter?”
“Section 183, sub-section (g), historical context –” the Chancellor paused. “Regulations, it is often said, are written in blood,” he continued, every word weighted. “In this case, a terrible kitchen fire in a small school for fillies that spread to consume the entire building, several hundred years ago. That… any of the students escaped alive is a miracle, and largely due to the quick thinking and bravery of two young pegasi.”
Caramel gulped. After almost starting his fair share of kitchen fires at the culinary school, he could imagine that a lot more easily than he wanted to.
The Chancellor inclined his head, recognizing Caramel’s distress. “Quite so.” A brief, grim smile. “That incident also led to significant revisions to section 185, regarding the appropriate times and circumstances under which doors may be locked during school hours.”
Caramel made a mental note to test the doors next class too. Subtly.
“If that is all –”
“Uh, one more question actually!” Caramel said quickly. “Why this whole… thing, with the mirror? Wouldn’t it be easier to just like, chat over hayburgers or something?”
… Did the Chancellor eat? He had to, right? Even the Princesses ate.
“I am not in the habit of patronizing … hayburger places,” the Chancellor said, as though the mere words were foreign to him. “And more to the point –” he added as Caramel opened his mouth “– it would be unwise to show our hand so clearly. I am not precisely unknown.”
Caramel supposed that made sense. He hadn’t even realized the EEA existed before the first time a school he was attending got its accreditation removed (for falsification of records and unsafe clown practices), but surely anyone who ran a school did.
“If that will be all –”
“Uh, yeah. See you next week?”
“Indeed.” The Chancellor’s face disappeared, leaving Caramel staring at himself and – had that towel been there the entire time?
Note to self: clean room before the next mirror call.
“So let me get this straight,” Sassaflash said slowly between sips of her shake. “The reason you’ve been around less often is because you’re having weekly mirror calls with a mysterious unicorn stallion.”
Caramel nodded.
“Who gave you the mirror.” Another nod. “And is paying for your latest obsession.”
“Hey, roller skating is cool! And I’m getting pretty good at it! I might even have a chance at placing in the student competition.” The fire extinguishers and the locks had both checked out, too.
Sassaflash gave him a deeply unimpressed look and put her hooves on his shoulders. “Caramel. My friend. Take it from someone who used to want to date you. This stallion wants to date you.”
Caramel snorted an entire mouthful of shake across the table. “What?! No!”
Sassaflash wiped at the spots that’d spattered on her coat. “Gross.” Caramel hastily passed her another napkin. “Look, I’m just saying –”
“What you’re saying is wrong!” Caramel waved his hooves, just barely avoiding knocking the rest of his shake over. “He’s like – he’s my b– mentor! He’s way older than me. And I don’t think he even does emotions like regular ponies.”
Caramel suddenly remembered the intensity in the Chancellor’s voice as he spoke about sections 183 (g) and 185 (h) (he’d looked them up later) and felt guilty. Maybe that was unfair.
“And anyway, even if he did, I don’t want to date him.” There. Surely even if nothing of his other arguments worked, that would.
Sassaflash took a long sip of her shake, squinting at him. He stared back, resolute. “So, why go to all this effort, then?” she finally asked.
“I can spend time with someone I don’t want to date!” Caramel protested.
She reached over and nudged him, mischievous smile sparkling. Reminding him that they had had some pretty good times together, too. “Yeah, but we tend to be the ones you stick around long term. Come on, fess up.”
Caramel stared down into his shake. Why did he keep doing this? Why did knowing that the Chancellor would decide to move on to something else soon enough hurt so much?
“... He makes me feel like I’m not a fuckup,” he finally said quietly. Glanced guiltily up at Sassaflash. “I know, you and Cherry Berry and Daisy, you care, and you usually don’t mind that I’m a fuckup, that I always forget stuff, that I’m always late to everything unless I spend the whole day fretting about it, but with him, it’s like–” he gestured vaguely. “Like he sees a version of me who’s not a fuckup at all.”
He paused, scrunched his nose, and reluctantly amended, “Or at least, no more of a fuckup than he thinks everyone else is.”
“... Okay, you almost had me convinced, but now he just sounds like a jerk.” Sassaflash said dryly.
Caramel laughed, the tightness in his chest easing. “… Yeah, he sort of is.”
She rolled her eyes and nudged him again. “Well, good luck with your mysterious jerk.” She leaned in. “Anyway, I was just chatting with Daisy the other day, and we were thinking of putting together a picnic next weekend; you want in?”
Caramel grinned. “When do I ever not?”
“– And I got third place!” Caramel said cheerfully, still high on the accomplishment. “It would have been second, but I tripped when I was almost to the finish line. It’s not a lot of bits, but good for a shake or three at least!”
“Congratulations,” the Chancellor said. He didn’t sound like he was making fun of Caramel? But it was enough to remind him that the other pony had better things to do than just listen to him babble.
“Right, and the other things you asked me to check on, they all checked out too,” he added, and shrugged sheepishly. “I think … maybe it’s just that there are enough small skating contests that it’s not that difficult to place in one if you try?”
The Chancellor nodded, and Caramel could faintly hear the now-familiar sound of a pen scratching beside him. “Arguably misleading advertising, but not entirely false. The alumni?”
“Oh, yeah. I ran into a couple at this last meetup. It was one of them who gave me the idea, actually – said she’d done a couple competitions, placed in one, then moved on with her life, you know? She was only really there to cheer on her friend, who’s a former Guard.”
The Chancellor nodded again, the scratching continuing. “Perhaps it was a simple case of bad timing, after all. Either way, there is no rule in the EEA guidelines requiring schools to connect students to their alumni.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, before returning the full force of his gaze to Caramel. “Well then, with you a newly minted graduate, it appears that our investigation has reached its conclusion.”
“... Sorry I couldn’t find anything?” Caramel offered hesitantly. He’d liked the lessons, he hadn’t really wanted to get the place shut down on a technicality, but – if there was anything their weeks of discussions had brought home, it was that a lot of things that seemed like technicalities on the surface, really weren’t. “Maybe I didn’t look hard enough, or forgot something important again –”
The Chancellor raised a hoof. “If you are unwilling to trust your own memory, trust my recordkeeping abilities,” he said dryly. “Occasional lapses are not unexpected, and we have covered all points of significant concern, some several times over.”
“Oh.” Caramel blinked.
“And there is no need for apologies regarding the results, either,” the Chancellor continued. “The point of accreditation is to maintain a standard of excellence in pony education. A necessary aspect of that is finding and rooting out those schools that do not meet those standards, yes, but it is both expected and preferable that most schools would live up to the standards they were accredited for in the first place.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Caramel scratched at his neck sheepishly. “I guess I’m just not used to things going right.”
Except, if the investigation was over, then …
Well, no point in putting it off. “Um. I guess you’re going to want your mirror back? I could mail it, or bring it over if it’s too delicate; I’ve got family in Canterlot who’ve been asking me to come visit anyway.”
Or meet in a neutral location and – no. Sassaflash and her wild ideas, honestly.
The Chancellor frowned. “While you are of course free to leave, and I would appreciate the return of the mirror should you do so, was there something dissatisfactory with our arrangement?”
Caramel blinked. “No, not at all, I just –” he shrugged. “You said it yourself, the investigation is over, so I assumed…”
A stack of paper nearly as tall as the Chancellor’s head floated over and dropped to the desk with an audible thud, then straightened itself so sharply Caramel could almost feel the papercuts-in-waiting from here. “I am rarely lacking in investigations to pursue,” the Chancellor said dryly. “Nor am I one to turn down able help if offered, especially someone from who now has experience.”
He raised an eyebrow, and waited.
Caramel grinned. “It’s a deal!”
