If you thought boarding a second train in a single day would’ve made me used to it, then I have some bad news for you.

Yeah, uh, that mode of transportation still wasn’t fine tuned to my liking. I had a whole lot of progress to do on that front. Problem was, I didn’t see myself getting cured of that cumbersome fear anytime soon, especially when my latest attempt ended with me cowering behind my hooves and trembling like a helpless foal. That’s... That’s what I did this time around.

Twice in one day I’ve been humiliated in front of other ponies for my inability to cope with my phobia. Seriously, what in the world was wrong with me? Why did I have to instinctively react like this? I’ve always prided myself on not being made of weak stuff, but that right there was just sad. Really, really sad.

Being chronically afraid. Yuck, what a disgusting and pathetic disease. Maybe I should see a doctor and get my scaredy brain checked out. Lucky Coin had no business feeling anything less than normal!

Well, if there was a silver lining in this whole debacle, it’s that enough time had passed for me to gather my bearings. You see, unlike last time, I hadn’t been the only one leaving the train. A large swarm of commuters and tourists alike had joined me on the platform. I tried to make myself as minuscule as I could, so they wouldn’t notice this minty green unicorn dry heaving in this sea of fresh air. I had no desire to fall in line and attract more cocked eyebrows than I already had, no sir. Luckily, they all scampered away relatively quickly, smiles on their blissful faces, all of them more than happy to stretch their legs all across Ponyville.

Because that’s where I was.

In Ponyville.

Despite my struggle to decelerate the drumming in my chest, I gotta say, it was good to finally step hoof in this renowned suburb! Especially one with such a notorious reputation for attracting trouble, and for harboring a team of first responders ready to fight off said trouble. Intricate lil’ self-sustaining ecosystem, in a weird kind of way.

I hadn’t been in this corner of Equestria for a hot minute there. Last time I paid this town a visit was about five years back, when I was still a college sophomore. Younger and more prone to roll along with impromptu plans, I had been coerced into having a few drinks on a terrasse with a classmate of mine who lived here. Hrmmm, wonder what’s happened to her? Unlike my boy Java, I hadn’t bothered keeping contact with my college buds after we parted ways. Hey, maybe she still lived in her old crib?

But that was a story for another day. Point was, five years down the line, and Ponyville was still very much Ponyville. It hadn’t changed one bit. It was just as rustic and just as colorful as I last remembered it. No kidding: This place was so saccharine and so bubbly that even the ambient air itself tasted sugary – way too sugary. This assault of olfactive sweetness was so nauseating that my first Ponyville breath automatically triggered a painful acidic reflux in my guts – same as it had five years ago.

Yuck. Yeah, this aura of friendliness and touchy-feels wasn’t doing it for me. It was such a different mood from the apathetic nature of my hometown. Honestly, if I could avoid lingering in Chuckletown, that’d be just fine.

I floated Mrs. Amphora’s roadmap out of my saddlebag and into my field of view. I saw that the Carousel Boutique had been circled for my convenience. Well, you know what they say about X’s and how they mark the spot, eh? I had a destination, and an unstoppable drive to bring me there!

I rolled up the map, readjusted my ERB saddlebag, and left the now deserted train station.

Onward, my friends!

I trekked with poise, chin held high. Ponies greeted me with amicable hoof waves, to which I replied with subtle head nods. I wondered why I attracted so many sets of eyes. I mean, don’t get me wrong: Basking in the respect I was owed was a wonderful boon for my insatiable ego. But part of me pondered if the locals weren’t simply pegging me as an out-of-place outlier who perturbed the well-established routine of their quaint little borough.

Or perhaps it was simply the suit that made me stand out. Indeed, everypony else went pretty much in their birthday suits – a stark contrast with Canterlot’s haute couture of hats, scarfs, and the occasional cape for the braves. There was none of that here. I think I spotted a construction helmet and a chef’s hat, but besides that, Ponyville’s fashion statement was minimal at best.

Perhaps this counted as yet another strike against Rarity. How could she thrive in an environment so naked, so devoid of clientele? Hmmmm. Didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but the pieces were slowly falling into place!

A couple of blocks closer to her boutique, and I had to take a pause to put the Gauge Rod by my side in a more stable position. Yeah, turns out, that thing was pretty heavy. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Unicorn here. I wasn’t used to doing petty earth pony chores. My skeleton wasn’t tailored to carry heavy loads, especially not for such an extensive amount of time. Not that I was physically unfit or anything, but the biology I’ve been given at birth still had its limitations!

...

You know, looking at that accursed device with a fresh mind, it reignited my skepticism once again. Yeah, yeah. I’ve asserted countless times that I had no business thinking beyond my assignment. But heck if I couldn’t help it!

Heh, and to think that Java had accused me back at the Barley Parlor of never asking any questions. Well, would you look at me now. Guess he got through me somehow, the scoundrel.

Still though... The more I replayed the Dev Co scenes in my head, the less it was making any sense. Something definitely wasn’t adding up, and believe me, as someone with a knack for math, I was good at adding things up.

Why did Dev Co ask the ERB for help with Project Chameleon in the first place?

Didn’t they have employees available to handle the installation phase themselves? I’ve seen their headquarters, and boy, that place was like a bustling city. Don’t tell me they didn’t have a couple of extra idle hooves over there to carry out this kind of work, ‘cuz I ain’t buyin’ that hogwash.

And then there was Lexi. Unprepared she was, she had acted bizarrely the whole time I’ve been in her company. Making a big deal out of me being a unicorn, as opposed to Smith and Jones, for reasons that still escape me. And then, insisting with all of her might that I had to follow her written directives to the letter of the law, no matter how unusual they might seem. Why put so much emphasis on this particular point?

Oh, and the ponyguard too! How could I forget about the way he mouthed off at me? I’ve had a few clients of my own toss some well crafted insults my way before – look no further than Tropic Cascade from last week – but him? Telling me to stop yapping and kneel like a good boy?

How DARE he try to undercut the authority of a Bureau agent?

Pfeh! At least, I gained solace knowing that this idiot will have its just comeuppance soon enough.

“Oh my gosh, what is that!?”

Huh? What was what, now? Oh! Wait, was I the one being talked to?

I looked up from the metallic stick and noticed a duo of ponies standing perhaps a little too close in front of me. One of them was beige and had a nice curly mane, and the other had more-or-less the same coat color as mine. An earth pony and a unicorn respectively. Judging by the latter’s big toothy grin, when it came to guessing who had demanded my attention, I knew where to put my money.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” I said, quickly holstering the Gauge Rod back in its receptacle.

“That thing you were just looking at, what was it?” asked the turquoise unicorn once again.

“Lyra,” sighed her nonplussed travel buddy, “leave the nice gentlecolt alone, will you?” Then, she turned toward me, apologetic. “You’ll have to excuse her, she’s easily excitable.”

“Raaah, but Bon Booon!” moaned her nosy friend.

“Oh, think nothing of it,” I courteously dismissed. “Now, Lyra, was it? I believe you took an interest in this little toy of mine, did you not?” I said to the unicorn in question, a head tilt toward the rod by my side.

She nodded frivolously. “Well, yeah! I’ve never seen something quite like this before! What does it do? Is it edible?”

And there it was. Lying and defusing for the sake of Dev Co, just like I hadn’t practiced before! Took me what, not even 10 minutes before I bumped into a pony who noticed how little I belonged here? In retrospect, I definitely should’ve expected an encounter like this one.

Oh well. Show time.

I cleared my throat and pivoted 90 degrees, exposing the device to the curious mares. “That, right there, is none other than a Gauge Rod, a half-magical, half-technological marvel of science conceived by, uh, by the ERB. This nifty bauble can do many things, but its main function is to track the general travel habits of the town it’s deployed in.”

“Hahaha, I understood some of these words!” said a bewildered Lyra whose pupils were lost in their surrounding whiteness.

Lack of comprehension aside, she nevertheless seemed decently satisfied with this little nugget of knowledge I had bestowed upon her.

Wish I could say the same about her friend Bon Bon. If she appeared fed up with her pal’s interference at first, now, she positively took a level in skepticism; this time, aimed entirely toward my sales pitch. She rubbed her chin, and looked at me with squinty, untrusty eyes.

“The ERB, eh?” she probed, her tone low and serious. “As in, the Equestrian Revenue Bureau?”

Before I could give her the proudest ‘you betcha’ I had in me, she took three quick steps forward and leaned her head down, only for her eyeballs to become a few millimeters away from my insignia. This immediately confirmed her newfound suspicions.

“Ah-ha! I Knew it! ‘Agent Lucky Coin.’ You’re one of those guys, aren’t you?”

“What, a hard-working keeper of fraud and corruption?” I facetiously guessed. “If that’s what you had in mind, ma’am, then you’re right on the money!”

Hearing my nonchalance loud and clear, Bon Bon huffed out of disbelief and trotted back to her naive friend’s side.

“C’mon Lyra, let’s get outta here. I know all about the ERB’s sleazy business practices, and lemme tell you: This guy is nothing but a con-artist.”

“Uuuh, sure thing Bon Bon!” Lyra nodded, completely oblivious. “Bye bye mister artist guy!” she waved.

Bon Bon grunted and rolled her eyes. Blissfully unaware, Lyra followed her bossy friend’s orders and they turned their tails on me, more than ready to abandon me to my own devices (quite literally). But before they swerved around a conveniently placed corner, Bon Bon turned her gaze toward mine one last time.

“You do realize you’re not welcome here, right?” she spat, venom in her timbre. “The mayor made sure to tell everypony all about the danger you pose to Ponyville during this week’s many seminars. Just sayin’!”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to believe that we live in a world where not everypony is as gullible as you in the face of disinformation. Have a good day, madam.”

Bon Bon blinked a few times. Unable to find a proper rebuttal, she simply harrumphed, and the two ladies disappeared behind the nearby Quills and Sofas shop.

So, the rumors were indeed true. Mrs. Amphora theorized this morning that Mayor Mare might’ve painted us in an unsympathetic light, and would you look at that, that’s precisely what that old geezer did. My boss was always one step ahead when it came to getting in other ponies’ heads. Once again, she had been right, just like she’s always been right.

Obviously, this complicated things a little bit. This town was now on high alert for ERB agents, which may or may not make Rarity more inclined to resist our investigation.

Well.

Who said it was going to be easy, right? I’ve been stuck between bigger rocks and harder places before. This? This was nothing I couldn’t handle. In fact, there were some enticing properties about being seen as the enemy. Fear was a form of respect of its own, wasn’t it?

Yes... I sure relished the idea of seeing Ponyville citizens trembling at my mere presence, wondering what poor soul among them was next on the chopping block. I was the big and powerful elite in a sea of country bumpkins; of course I’d be seen as a harbinger of doom!

But you know what? This sort of reverence, in all of its essence, was worth all the hate in the world.

The Carousel Boutique.

Here it was in all of its glory, glimmering in the late afternoon sun. And I mean, I wasn’t making stuff up here. Remember when I told you that a good way to start an evaluation was to size up the living quarters of your target?

Well, truly, this place thrived. It looked so fancy, so delightfully decorated. It was shaped like, well, like a carousel. Fitting name, I suppose. It was also rather tall. Three-four stories kind of tall. It stood in a quiet little corner of Ponyville, putting the size of the adjacent establishments to shame.

No wonder Rarity had garnered the reputation she strived for; how could you not feel awestruck facing a store as prestigious as this one?

It’s a bit of a shame, really. For her, I mean. Because the taller you are, the higher you fall. There sure were a lot of goodies the bureau could poach with a case as bountiful as this one! I could hardly wait to see the look on my coworkers’ faces after they see me seizing every last asset in there...

I breathed in and out, still getting that Ponyville cotton-candy smell in my irritated nostrils.

“Time to bust a spendaholic!” I pumped myself up.

I pushed the entry door. A little bell reverberated, announcing my presence. Fortunately, there were currently no other clients inside of the boutique. Coolio! Unfortunately, there was no Rarity either. Not so coolio!

“Hello? Miss Rarity?” I called out.

But, uh, nothing. No responses. Nada. Just an empty room full of red silky curtains hanging from the ceiling, dress forms waiting to be clothed, racks overstuffed with coats and various garments... Oh, and that big elevated circular podium over there. Pretty unconventional centerpiece, if I do say so myself. It was surrounded by a couple of tall mirrors, leading me to believe that this was where the fashionista’s muse went from blueprints to exportable goods.

Evidently, somepony must’ve been home, considering that the door had remained unlocked. Unless the house owners of Ponyville were that confident with their city’s low robbery rate?

“Anypony here? Anypony at all?”

Tell you what. Talking to the sweet sound of silence was getting old.

I took a few steps forward, seriously hoping I didn’t travel in those awful, awful trains for no good reason. Mrs. Amphora had allowed me to rent a hotel room should my client prove difficult to reach, but I would’ve sincerely preferred to tackle this case in the span of a day if I could help it.

...

I looked at the circular platform once more with mild intrigue. I dropped my ERB saddlebag (including the Gauge Rod) on the floor, and absentmindedly approached said platform, testing its sturdiness with a cautious hoof. It replied with a small creaking noise. Satisfied with its structural integrity, I hopped onto it, because, uh... Well, just because I could.

Hey, if nopony was going to greet me, might as well indulge a little bit, right?

I saw myself four times in four different reflections, each at different angles. I slowly moved my head in all directions, evaluating my physique. Man, what a stud I was! With that suit and those glasses, I definitely could’ve passed for a celebrity. Good looks and good clothes: This, my friends, was the ultimate representation of success! A healthy, dapper unicorn, all pampered up in his best uniform, and ready to take on the world!

I lowered my sunnies on my snout and looked at myself in the eyes. “Well hello-o-o to you too, beautiful~. Ready to mop the floor and grab that cash?”

“What are you doing?”

ASDSFGD!!!

I bounced. Bounced? No: I launched into the stratosphere! My fur became all erect, and my heart narrowly dodged a coronary rupture. When I finally landed on the floor after a million gazillion years, I frantically looked left and right, hoping that I had simply fallen prey to an ill-timed auditory hallucination.

Alas, it wasn’t so. I had well and truly been caught during my shameful display. By uh, a small, snow-pelted filly. One with a horn, and a poofy curly mane surrounding it. She stared at me with her head angled up, and her mouth hung agape.

“Well?” she insisted.

“N-Nothing! I was doing absolutely nothing!” I badly lied, mismanaging my panic.

The filly tilted her head. “I heard you say: ‘Hello beautiful.’ Sooo... Who’s beautiful? Is there somepony else here? Do I know them?”

She bounced next to me, and looked all around the showcase podium, searching for a pony that simply didn’t exist. She looked rather confused, and I mean, I get it. She was far too young to understand the esoteric rules behind my vanity. Meanwhile, I wiped my brow, immediately feeling the sweat spots growing under my appendages.

“Um,” I stammered, untightening my collar awkwardly, “l-listen, little girl, I’m looking for ah, for the lady of the house. Is she here?”

My change of subject proved effective. The young unicorn stopped snooping around, and instead, focused her attention back to me. She stood on her hind legs, and pumped her chest, all boastful.

With her eyelids shut, she proudly declared, “Well look no further, mister! It’s me! I am the lady of the house!

Squeaky voice notwithstanding, yeah, I was not falling into that play pretend trap of hers.

“... Unless you’ve severely shrunk down, I have a hard time believing you are actually Rarity.”

She immediately sagged, and fell back on all fours. “Awwww. Why doesn’t anypony ever believe me!?”

She pouted at me with big twinkly eyes, her lower lip bulged out and quivering. Sorry kiddo, but catering to your inferiority complex was not part of my job.

“Could have something to do with your age,” I deadpanned. “Listen, do you know who Rarity is? According to the address I’ve been given, she’s supposed to reside and work here,” I interrogated her, as if talking to an adult.

“Uh, sh’yeah she does!” replied the kid, thankfully putting some of my concerns to a rest. “She’s my cool big sis! And I’m her even cooler lil’ sis, Sweetie Belle! And you, mister, who are you?”

Oh, didn’t know introductions were in order here. Well, she was my best source of information so far, so better not squander this opportunity.

I walked back to my dropped saddlebag, and as I was dragging them toward a more appropriate corner of the boutique, I said, “Name’s Lucky Coin. But you can either call me Lucky or Coiny, whichever you prefer.”

“Oooh! Lucky Coin!” she exclaimed, still with that high pitched voice of hers. “That’s a cool name! Does that mean that you are, like, lucky in life or something? Is this why you have a four-leaf clover cutie mark? Is finding pots of gold your special talent?”

Charming barrage of questions there.

I let go of my ERB saddlebag, freeing my mouth of the handle. I also craned my neck back to observe my own cutie mark, since it had captivated this little filly’s attention.

“Hehehe, no, it’s nothing quite like that. My name and cutie mark have nothing to do with luck. Sorry to disappoint, but no pots of gold for this fella.”

Sweetie Belle sagged. “Awwww. Well shoot, that would’ve been soooo cool, though!” She then drew an invisible circle with her hoof on the floor, her head hung low. “I would’ve LOVED to suggest gold hunting to the rest of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, but I guess no such thing exists after all...”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Come again? Cutie Mark... Crusaders?”

“Yeah!” she perked up again. “There’s me, there’s Scootaloo, and of course, Apple Bloom! We form the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and our mission is to help the others – and ourselves – find their cutie marks!”

She looked to her flank, and for the first time, I noticed how barebones it was. She sighed, presumably saddened by this sad state of affairs.

“Still not quite there, eh?” I offered as sympathetically as I could.

“No...” Sweetie Belle muttered, then looked up to me. “But, okay, so you’re not a gold hunting expert. What IS your special talent then? Never seen a cutie mark like yours in Ponyville. I gotta know what it does! I need new ideas, and my noggin is running out of steam!”

Now, this might seem contradictory as to how I would normally act, but I slowly trotted next to her, and sat on my haunches. Thing is, I had been asked about myself, and I absolutely loved talking about myself! Succumbing to the temptation was unavoidable.

“Well, if you must know, Sweetie Belle, my main proficiency isn’t so much connected to my cutie mark. This clover could mean a hundred different things, but in the end, I chose my path through my own volition, regardless of what my mark had to say about it. Just because you have an ‘awakening,’ or feel ‘destined,’ doesn’t mean you have to be railroaded in that direction. It’s not a be-all and end-all kind of deal, you know?”

Sweetie Belle nodded hesitantly, unsure if she was truly grasping what I was trying to tell her. Perhaps this lesson about free will was a bit above her current grade.

“Regardless, to answer your question: I am a tax collector,” I abridged, for the sake of her brain. “Kind of the reason why I showed up here today.”

“Tax collector?” she repeated, incredulous. “Well, I do collect plushies, and I’ve heard of rock collectors, card collectors, stamp collectors... But I’ve NEVER heard of anypony collecting ‘taxes.’ What are they anyway?”

“Wait. You seriously want me to explain to you what taxes are?” I scanned my surroundings, as if searching for an escape route. “Like, right now?”

She nodded with fervor, fully expecting me to fill in the blanks. I passed a hoof in my blond mane, and exhaled heavily. Then, I took off my shades with magic, folded the legs, and floated them onto an adjacent coffee table.

“It’s a bit... complicated, Sweetie Belle. I’m afraid you’re biting a little more than you can chew with this one. I mean, this may take a while, and I’m not entirely sure you’d want to-”

“I’ve got time!”

Well, I didn’t.

...

And yet…

“Okay... I guess I can give it a shot. I’ll try to be as concise and put it as much in laypony's terms as I can,” I conceded, rubbing my temples. “So, first thing first: You know how the Kingdom’s got two princesses?”

“Ya-huh!”

“Alright, so far so good! Anyhow, as everypony knows, these princesses, they’re the ones who are in charge of Equestria. They build beautiful parks, they pave our roads with the finest cobblestone, they invest in all sorts of social programs, they fund hospitals... You with me, here?”

“Yup yup! They told us all about that in school.”

“Well then, Sweetie Bell, you should also be aware that all of these cool things subsidized by princess Luna and princess Celestia cost a whole lot of money, right?”

“Uuuuh...” she droned, caught by this curveball.

I subtly chuckled. “Yep! As much as we love magic around here, it sadly can’t conjure bits on the spot. Well, theoretically, it can, but counterfeiting is SUPER illegal. Look- Point is, everything has to be paid for. So, given that, where do you think that our benevolent diarchs find all of those coins?”

“... Their super duper massive vault?”

Now I laughed out loud. “Fair guess! But this vault has to be refilled every now and then. Otherwise, it’ll end up running dry. So, to make sure the princesses have a steady supply on their hooves, they ask for eeeeevery single working creature in Equestria to give a little bit of what they earn to them, and in exchange, they give us the streets, parks, and hospitals I told you about. That, Sweetie Belle, is essentially what a tax is: A small contribution we give to our rulers, with a promise of helpful things in return.”

I could almost hear the cogs grinding under her mane. She looked down, processing this verbal essay of mine, and then, she lifted her chin up, a figurative candle popping over her head.

“Ooooooh! I think I’m getting it, Lucky,” she said, employing the nickname I had allowed her to use. “It’s kind of like sharing, except we aaall share with the princesses, and then they share back?”

“That’s... one way of looking at it, I suppose,” I winced with a slight eye twitch.

Sweetie nodded again, and then, made a funny face. “But... I still don’t understand what it is that you do? Are you the one... collecting what everypony shares?”

“Oh, if I did, I’d be at it all day!” I heartily chortled. “No, rather, my main task primarily boils down to catching cheaters.”

“Wuzzat? Cheaters?” Sweetie scrunched her snout. “Some ponies don’t wanna share?”

“More or less. You see, not everypony has to, uh, ‘share’ equally. It’s... it’s a bit complex. There are many rules and regulations behind taxation, but for the most part, the richer you are, the more you’re expected to give. That’s a very, very broad oversimplification, but all in all, us tax collectors know exactly how much the princesses are owed. And so, it is up to us to search for the ponies who refuse to contribute fairly.”

As I was explaining all of this, Sweetie Belle’s smile, which started as a big goofy grin, gradually faded into something I could only describe as the lovechild between lassitude and dissatisfaction.

“That sounds a bit... boring.”

Confound these children and their undying honesty! Always so blunt, always so candid!

“Au contraire, Sweetie Belle! It couldn’t be more thrilling!” I preached, a glint of passion shining in my eyes. “Think of my job as some kind of treasure hunt. Or- Or spy work! Spies are still considered fun with today’s youth, yes?”

My younger compadre agreed. Marvellous, we had found some common ground! Time to double down and show this Negative Nancy that my livelihood was the best and most satisfying way one could earn their bread.

“Well that’s who I am: A spy whose mission is to find thieves! Every day, I’m debriefed with hot new leads, and I have to scrounge through aaaall of the evidence at my disposal to spot potential suspects. Then, once I settle on a proper target, I get to go out, and BAM! I lay it all out on them. It’s so rewarding to have a suspicion, do some research, and tie it all together with an incriminating investigation! The thrill is like no other, Sweetie Belle.”

I stood up on all four, my speech just about to climax.

“It’s all in the name of protection, too!” I proudly declared, looking to the nonexistent horizon. “We’re the invisible crew that keeps things in order, ensuring peace and prosperity by culling away roguish pests from Equestria’s streets! Honestly, I’d say we’re pretty much like superheroes; undercover superheroes!”

“Whooaaa! Well when you put it that way, yeah, I’m sold!”

Bingo! I had captivated her, which was a win in my book. Making the uneducated willing to join the ERB cause? Now that there was a worthy investment! Our reputation was for sale, and my silver tongue was the vehicle to deliver the goods.

“Y’know what Lucky? Maybe there’s a chance my special talent IS to collect taxes! I mean, I do love sharing! What d'ya say, huh? Think I can pull it off!?” she pleaded full of hope.

I rubbed her candyfloss of a mane, stricken with pride. “Absolutely! There are no better cutie marks to get, my dear Sweetie Belle. You just gotta study hard and keep that motivation afloat!”

She squealed in joy, happy to have found a workable avenue.

“Oh this is so sweet!” she said, bouncing around. “I cannot WAIT to tell the rest of the Crusaders about this!”

I couldn’t help but admire her determination. My Lord, was it gratifying to see a younger generation of ponies willing to take the reins! I felt like a parent whose offspring just told them that their true calling was to follow in their hoofsteps.

“Maybe we could try this tax thingy at school?” Sweetie hypothesized. “Get our classmates to donate their lunch money, and then, and then, we could buy a new playground ride for the schoolyard! Yeah! I’m sure everypony would love that! ... Except for that mean, grumpy Diamond Tiara! Oh, she’s DEFINITELY one of those cheaters you talked about! She even HAS the face of a cheater, and, and...”

Sweetie Belle slowly cessed prancing around, her movements coming to a crawl. Her ears also became flat, and she timidly turned her saddened head to face me.

“Cheaters...” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “L-Lucky? If your job is to nab cheaters, then... W-why are you here exactly? I-Is my big sis in trouble?” she hesitantly asked, her vocal chords trembling.

“Oh, no no no,” I held my hooves held up in self-defense. “Everything is under control, little girl. There is no need to get yourself upset over... Rarity!”

The name of my client echoed in my head, and my eyes bulged out as a wave of reality crashed down on me.

What the HAY was I doing, getting sucked in a conversation this... irrelevant foal? I had been so engrossed chatting with Sweetie Belle that my priorities became all out of whack. I had more pressing issues than exploring her cutie mark hardships!

I frantically looked for any time indicators around, and my eyes settled on the cuckoo clock hooked next to the entry door. It read 4:30, which matched the diminishing light of the boutique’s interior.

I shook my head. “I-Is your sister home? I really gotta go talk to her already!”

“Uh, no, she’s not here. Sorry Lucky!” Sweetie replied, noticing my change of tone.

“Shoot. Okay, well, do you know when she'll come back, then? Where is she right now anyway?”

“Prrrfffft,” she blew air into her mane with a bratty eyeroll. “Who knows? She’s probably out on some epic adventure with her friends,” she waved her hooves in a mocking manner. “Said something about ‘saving Equestria’s butt’ once again. Knowing her, she could be back in a few minutes... or in a few hours? It’s kind of a tossup, really.”

Oh, great. Wonderful. Ten outta ten.

I couldn’t help but grunt, knowing that this delay probably settled the score. As much as I would’ve loved to avoid this undesirable outcome, there was no way around it: I’ll be forced to stay for the night. I really wish this case didn’t have to drag on like this, but hey, nothing I could do about it.

“Alright, well, thank you, I guess,” I said, mildly annoyed.

Sweetie Belle observed me regaining a sitting position. She kept staring at me with undivided attention as I floated a quill and a few documents out of my saddlebag. I brought them in front of me; the idea being to use this downtime to revise some of my notes.

“Uuuh, are you planning on staying here, Lucky?” Sweetie Belle queried. “She may be a while, y’know.”

“That’s fine. I can get some busywork done in the meantime. I just really want to catch her first opportunity I get.”

“Oh, I see... Alright then.”

And with that, my focus went to this pad floating in front of me. It contained a few comments I had written ever since I departed from Canterlot. I jotted down a few more of my observations, so I could have a thorough report to give back to my boss. Nothing too shabby; I was merely describing my journey thus far. There was a lot I needed to get off my chest, especially about my Dev Co misadventure. Lambasting a certain ponyguard in written format felt pretty cathartic, to tell the truth.

All the while, Sweetie Belle had remained by my side. I didn’t know what she was gaining from doing that, but I wasn’t going to stop her if she wasn’t bothering me-

“Um, Mr. Lucky guy sir?”

-And now she was bothering me.

“Yes, Sweetie Belle, what is it?”

“Weeeell, I was thinking. Since you’re staying here for Celestia knows how long, maybe I could show you my plushie collection?”

...

What.

“Uuuuh, tempting offer there, squirt, but ah, I’m sort of in the middle of something, here. Don’t you have friends your age to play with anyway? What about those Crusader gals you mentioned before? Apple Blossom and Skaterloo?”

“Unnnghhhh!” complained Sweetie out loud. “It’s Apple Bloom and Scootaloo! And I can’t go see them! Rarity, she said before leaving: ‘Now Sweetie, be a dear and tend to any customers who might need my service during my absence.’ So I’m stuck here with nothing to do!”

Ah. I suppose that’s why she went to see me while I was, uh, admiring my features in the mirrors. She was essentially on guard duty. Wasn’t that endearing.

“I can only sympathize, Sweetie, but I’d rather use this spare time to review my documents. I’ve been distracted enough as it is,” I dismissed her.

“Oh come onnnnnn!” she squeaked. “I’m so boooored, and I can’t see my friends, and Rarity is away, and you’re there, doing nothing! Come on, you’re like, the worst guest ever! Come on! Come on! Come-”

Now. I don’t know if it was my nerves or my eardrums that broke first, but there were some things ponydom simply wasn’t meant to endure; Sweetie Belle’s aggravating voice cracks being one of them.

“Alright alright!” I abdicated. “Show me those plushies already!”

“Yay!”

The young unicorn clopped her front hooves, overjoyed. That cheeky grin was something else, lemme tell you. Definitely a picture for the scrapbook.

She practically disappeared in a Sweetie Belle-shaped cloud of dust, darting toward the staircase. I took that as an invitation to follow her. Whether I wanted it or not.

Between Dev Co and the Carousel Boutique, choosing which location had discombobulated me the most was one hell of a tough pick.

“... And this right there is Madame Pippin! She’s a bit eccentric, but she loooves her garden full of carrots and lettuce!”

Sweetie Belle waved a pale yellow rabbit in my face, its long droopy ears wobbling under the hat it wore. Good thing I had become accustomed to woodland critters being shoved in my face. This was, after all, the tenth plushie I had been formally introduced to ever since I entered this bedroom.

“Sigh... Greetings Madame Pippin,” I shook her little paw, disinterested and despondent. “What nice garments you have.”

It’s with this half-hearted comment that I wondered what chain of events in my life had brought me precisely to this moment. Playing the foalsitter against my will.

Sweetie, of course, saw none of my discontentment, her smile permanently plastered on her face.

“Oh, Rarity’s the one who knitted her suspenders... but I weaved the sun hat! With my sis’ help, I’m getting pretty good at making costumes for my teeny tiny fluffy friends!” she explained, before swooping her entire menagerie of animals onto her barrel and squeezing them tight.

Sure, Sweetie Belle. I cared. I cared immensely. Look at my completely horizontal mouth: Couldn’t you see how much I cared?

Sigh sigh sigh…

We’ve been at it for a good hour now.

Hanging out with this filly has been rather... revealing. I mean, being kind and patient with younger folk certainly wasn’t my forte. Heck, just a week ago, I was traumatizing Tropic Cascade’s only child to the point of drawing tears. And that wasn’t an isolated case either! I’ve never displayed an ounce of care to my clients’ progenitors. They, to me, were nothing but nagging little parasites used as bargaining chips to buy my compassion. So why oh why did I let myself get dragged by Sweetie Belle this time around?

Well. That was the bad. There was the good, too. For instance, Sweetie Belle happily gave me a tour of the house, which played straight into my investigation. It gave me a better picture of who I was dealing with, so it’s not like being pulled away from my work has been a complete waste of time.

As it turns out, I had been right: This boutique had three floors. Sweetie Belle’s bedroom and the most luxurious bathroom I have ever seen shared the middle floor. Since the cupola of the Carousel Boutique was cylindrical, both rooms had been divided into two half circles, with the corridor to the third floor splicing them in the center.

And of course, Rarity’s boudoir was found at the very top, as if she was the queen of her own palace. Sweetie Belle told me that this area was private, that she wasn’t allowed to snoop around in her bedroom. It also served as Rarity’s personal workshop, where her “creative process” was not to be disrupted (Sweetie Belle had learned that lesson the hard way).

After prying my hostess for all the juicy info I could milk, I also found out that Sweetie Belle was only paying her big sister a visit, and was to stay with her for two more weeks. My goal was to subtly verify that this boutique was indeed the main residency of a single tenant, as the portfolio report foretold. But no, much to my chagrin, this bedroom I found myself in only served as a temporary one while little Sweetie Belle was away from her old folks.

“Lucky? Heyo, Lucky, wake up! You’re starin’ at the wall!”

I was staring at a wall.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I was mentally going over some things. Any more stuffed friends of yours I gotta check out?”

She shook her head. “Nope! You’ve met them all! But- OH! I could show you my drawings! I’m gettin’ pretty good at it, you know.”

I shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

At this point, I had already made my bed, so why not lie in it? If I was going to procrastinate, then might as well do it in style. I had given up any hope of being productive anyway.

Sweetie Belle skipped toward a big antique chifforobe next to her bed, and began spelunking in the lower drawer. She tossed many toys out of it, without a care for the tidiness of her room. Finally, she ah-ha’d, and levitated a pile of papers out of the disorganized mess she had made. Also encapsulated in her lime green magic was a wooden box with the tips of wax crayons protruding at the top.

She dropped her cargo onto a little desk, which, presumably, served as a workstation for her. She splayed out the papers, exposing the many drawings she had sketched over the years.

“Here they are, Lucky!” she said, excited to show her craft to a stranger of my caliber. “Ah, where to begin? Oh! What about this one? Check it out, I’m really proud of how it turned out!”

I took a good gander at the paper she highlighted. On it were six easily identifiable ponies, all of them side-by-side, facing a tall, dark alicorn in some kind of decrepit castle. The sketch was pretty rough, but recognizable enough. Gotta admit, for a foal of her age, that there was some top percentile stuff! Way ahead of the bell curve. Although, not enough to give her a cutie mark, apparently.

“Lemme take a guess: Nightmare Moon’s defeat?” I spitballed.

“Yup, you’ve got it! Drawing the dark mist around Nightmare Moon was tough, but if you press lightly with the crayons, it can create a neat ‘translucent’ effect!”

“Heh, smart.”

Her cheeks became pink, and she looked sideways, a bit embarrassed by my backhoofed compliment.

“W-what about you, Lucky? You like drawing?” she then asked out of the blue.

“Not particularly, no,” I admitted. “But, that doesn’t mean I’m half bad at it. I vividly remember how I used to draw in the margin of my notebooks back when I was in school. I was always ahead of the material being taught, so to kill the hours, I often found myself scribbling random doodads. Here, check this out.”

I floated a few crayons out of the box, and placed a blank paper on the angled desk right in front of me. I began sketching, switching crayon every now and then to give a bit more color to my drawing. Sweetie Belle, as curious as ever, poked her head over the desk, almost covering my canvas.

“Oooh, that’s a pony!” she exclaimed as my drawing was slowly taking form. “Wow, you’re- You’re really talented, Lucky!”

I gave a few final touches, and voilà! This quick caricature was completed. On it stood a gray unicorn with a scraggly copper mane and a goatee. I made him smile with a hoof lifted up, saluting the viewer. And of course, I did not forget to give him his iconic coffee cup cutie mark.

“Is that someone you know?” Sweetie Belle wondered.

“Yup. His name is Cinnamon Roast, but he’s best known as Java. He’s my best friend... Well, in theory, at least. Been a bit of a hiccup lately, but I’m hoping to smooth things out with him down the line.”

Or not. This, as always, all depended on whether or not I got that apology, which was seriously dragging its hooves at this point. But Sweetie Belle didn’t need to know about that. I had no desire to share the bitter details of our lil’ quibble.

“Why, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Java!” Sweetie waved at the drawing. “Wanna meet some friends? Here, look!”

Lost in that imaginary world of hers, she floated another drawing toward “Java.” This time, it depicted two unicorns. A dude and a dudette. A well-built mustachioed stallion, and a portly mare who sported a tall, purple, beehive mane.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“That’s my parents! They’re super duper fun to draw, and- Hey! You should totally draw yours too! Cuz when my drawings are reaaaaally good, mom and dad peg them on their icebox. So maybe yours could do the same?”

...

Aheh. Well, good luck with that, sport. I don’t think my parents were in any position to realistically pull that off. But before I could tell her that, she tapped my drawing with excitement.

“C’mon, put Mr. and Mrs. Coin right next to Java!” she joyfully expressed. “Give the lonely stallion some company!”

“Yeah, I’d rather not,” I protested, rigid and stoic.

Sweetie Belle’s enthusiasm disappeared in a jiffy, caught off-guard by my sudden negativity.

“Huh? Why not?”

“Dunno. I don’t really feel like it,” I shrugged. “I hardly remember what they look like anyway. Feels like it’d be disrespectful putting my half-baked memories of them on this paper.”

Sweetie’s ears fell flat on her head. “Oh? W-What do you mean, ‘you don’t remember?’ A-Are they on vacation, or...?”

I let out a sardonic chuckle. “Yeah. A very long vacation, if you catch my drift.”

I winked at her. She did not catch my drift.

“Look,” I sighed, “I don’t know how to put it in words that are easily digestible for a foal of your age, but let’s just say, the cycle of life can be a tad unpredictable at times. Sure, it may give a lot, but it also takes away a lot – sometimes way earlier than it should. Let’s leave it at that.”

She looked ajar, the implications behind my euphemisms slowly sinking in. “I, um, I-I’m sorry, Lucky. I didn’t know that you were just like Apple Bloom,” she said, whatever that meant. “You must’ve been sooo sad! I can hardly imagine...”

She took a good gander at her drawn parents again, possibly putting herself in my horseshoes. Nice display of compassion there, Miss Belle, but if you really wanna have what it takes to become a tax collector, then you’ll learn to cull those pesky feelings away.

“It’s fine, it’s all fine,” I waved a reluctant hoof. “I don’t really care. There are more important things in life than brooding over stuff you cannot control. I’d rather focus on the positives, because, as it turns out, feeling bad feels bad. It would behoove you to remember that, Sweetie Belle.”

Really hope I got through her with that one.

Seriously though. Crying over spilled milk was beyond useless. The sooner you accept that some doors can be permanently closed – that sometimes, in life, you can cross a point of no return – well, the quicker you’ll heal. Torturing yourself over impossible “what-ifs” and taking long trips down memory lane was, to me, the most pointless of all mental exercises.

In an ideal world, my undersized interlocutor would pass this message along with her classmates. Get the word out about the benefits of keeping your chin up whilst stiffening pessimistic thoughts. It’s a pity I wasn’t in charge of the educational system, because I’d definitely slot that important life lesson somewhere in the curriculum. Teach the young as early as possible that winners smile and losers cry.

Anyhow.

I had no idea why I was pouring my heart out here. What I said about not remembering all that well those who gave me life? I absolutely meant it. I didn’t even keep any framed photos of them in my house. Not that I had any to display in the first place, but.

For each passing year, their facial features slowly faded from my long-term memory. Hey, a brain’s like a big cabinet, right? Well, mine was overstuffed as-is; it desperately needed room for more important day-to-day stuff. Sorry mama, sorry papa, but we had to keep a practical outlook, here.

Still. Exploring what I no longer had felt... Wrong? Guess that was the best way I could put it, for lack of a better word. Dunno how else I could explain the stupid knot that had formed in my stomach. And that nasty wave of cold shivers that ran down my spine too, why not.

Obviously, opening up has rendered me sickly. Any idiot could tell you that. Urk, why did I let myself revisit the angst I had successfully repressed? I mean, it’s been eons since I’ve shared anything personal with anypony. Now that I’ve tried to do it again?

Heh.

I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Thankfully putting my sharing session to a rest came a myriad of noises from the staircase. Somepony was rushing in, and-

“Sweetie Belle!” scolded a female voice from the doorway. “I thought I made myself clear when I told you not to invite your Crusader friends over while I was... While I, um...”

The newcomer lifted her eyes from the filly who had kindly tended to me, and took in my whole form. She scanned me from horn to hooves. Behind her crystalline blue irises, I could see confusion. The mare blinked a few times between lush eyelashes, struggling to find any words that could justify my presence.

“You’re not a Cutie Mark Crusader...”

“Never claimed to be one.”

Between my jest and her prudence, Sweetie Belle, blind to this malaise us adults momentarily shared, brightened up at the arrival of a second potential playmate. She jumped off the desk bench and nuzzled the white unicorn who had joined us.

“Rarity! You’re back!”

Rarity, eh?

Well, well, well! Her identity didn’t come off as a surprise, but it was nice to get some confirmation. I was glad she and I could finally get down to brass tacks. No more plushies, no more drawings, no more Gauge Rods; just some good ol’ fashioned auditing!

First thing first: What kind of client did I have here?

Well, I already mentioned her eyes, but I didn’t talk about the abundance of mascara that surrounded them. Indeed, Rarity had meticulously applied a powder blue layer on her eyelids, which gave her a distinguished yet mysterious look. This also applied for her purple curly mane, which had been ironed to perfection. Her tail had likewise been carefully tended to; it curled as elegantly as her mane did. To tie it all up, the three cyan diamonds adorning both of her flanks elevated her polished appearance even further.

Her portrait was leaving no margin for error: She was, in its most uncontested form, a lady of culture who took pride in her beauty. A diva who probably attributed a great deal of importance to the finer things in life.

Hey, I wasn’t judging here! I too had an affinity for caviar and cigars. But these came at a price. Question was: Could she afford it?

I cleared my throat and opened my mouth, ready to recite my usual spiel. Buuuut, I didn’t get the chance before Rarity turned to the younger gal with a suspicious squint.

“Sweetie?” said big sister to little sister. “Would you mind explaining why there is a grown-up in your bedroom? Don’t tell me you’re bothering a potential customer again?”

“Nuh-uh!” she shook her head. “This right there is my new friend, Lucky Coin!”

Say what now? ‘Friend?’

No, no, she had it all wrong. The only friends I had were the ones who could afford to toss a coupla drink my way every now and then, and something told me that Sweetie Belle’s allowance wasn’t all that permissive.

“He helped me pass the time,” continued the toddler. “He also taught me all about the power of sharing!”

Oh for goodness sake.

As I was mentally facehoofing, Rarity looked back to me, this time, with hints of contemplation.

“Sharing, huh? Is that so?” she cooed. “Why, that certainly is a commendable virtue to teach the young, Mr. Lucky Coin.”

“Well, actually, I-”

“Wait!” she halted me, hooves held up. “Those clothes... The suaveness... The prestige...”

She orbited me, lifting my legs, probing my suit, and having generally no sense of personal space whatsoever.

“Oh my... Darling, you wouldn’t happen to be from Canterlot, would you?”

“Born and raised!” I said, my self-esteem reinvigorated.

“Splendid!” she applauded. “I was wondering who had left that marvelous custom-tailored saddlebag in the parlor downstairs, but of course it would belong to a gentlecolt from the grand capital of Canterlot!”

Heh, between the two of us, I dunno who was swooning harder at the moment. Bribes might’ve been beneath me, sure, but being coddled verbally was not something I could pass on. Keep ‘em coming, Rarity! My hubris craved for more of your generous portions!

“Aaaah, you have no idea how envious I am of your roots, Mr. Lucky Coin,” Rarity continued to fawn. “The big city has always been a fascination of mine. Everything over there is simply stunning! The houses are taller, the hedges are plumper, the citizens are more well-mannered... Even Celestia’s sun shines brighter! Oh, what I wouldn’t give to open a new branch over there...”

I saw Sweetie Belle silently roll her eyes. Seems like this wasn’t the first time the filly had been subjected to one of Rarity’s praising sessions. Probably wouldn’t be the last either.

“Well, speaking of opening new branches, that’s part of the reason for my visit,” I waggled my eyebrows deviously. “I’m here to discuss some rather important financial matters with you, if that’s not a problem.”

Rarity gasped in an overdramatic fashion. Ha, starting to feel the heat yet?

“Oh that is WONDERFUL news!” she exclaimed.

... Eh?

“Surely, you must’ve heard of the many chef-d'œuvres I’ve crafted over the years, and that is why you’ve been dispatched to my humble abode? Oh, how I’ve always known that a Canterlot breakthrough was right around the corner! This... This is such a monumental step in my career, I... I wasn’t prepared for this!”

“Wait, no, you misunderstand, I-”

“Hush now, you’ve come too far to start getting cold hooves, darling. So let me do away with any doubt that may linger! I simply must show you what I’m capable of, and then, you will see why the untapped market of Canterlot is an opportunity worthy of my fabulous creations!”

Next thing I knew, Rarity circled behind me, forced me onto my haunches, and pressed on my back with her head. I felt her horn poke on my spine, but that’s not what disturbed me the most. That award went to being forcefully pushed toward the staircase, as if I was an inert puppet. I gave a confused look to Sweetie Belle as I slid away, and she shrugged in return, as if saying: “Better not fight it, Coiny.” Oh well, guess I was at Rarity’s mercy, then. Such was my life, now.

“Dare I ask where you’re taking me?” I grumbled, resigned to my fate.

“Why, downstairs darling!” she said, her head still wedged in my back. “I shall conceive a new piece of clothing before your very eyes – with you as my model – that will match, or perhaps, exceed the quality of your resplendent ensemble! I guarantee that Rarity’s special touch won’t leave you on the fence anymore~!”

Sweetie Belle followed suit, with her trotting closely behind the two of us. Even she found my predicament rather entertaining. Ugh.

What a bizarre turn of events I found myself in. Manipulated by both sisters into partaking in activities I never signed up for. All the while, the fraud claims I sat on could do nothing but wait patiently for their turn.

But by all means, Miss Generosity: Keep stalling! We’ll see how well that works for you by the time I’m done with your report.

Author's Note

First thing first: I swapped RD's character tag with Miss Belle's. I still plan to fill a role for Equestria's fastest flyer, but it'll come later. For now, I'd rather tag characters that are actually appearing. Seems less deceiving this way, idk.

Anyhow, time to tackle the crux of the story! Or at least, the first part of it. It’s all coming together, trust me.

So, the Sweetie Belle moment was really fun to write. In my notes, I ad-libbed something like: “Write a scene where the asshole tax collector connects somewhat with the squeaker.” In the end, I was having such a good time with this scene, that I stretched it perhaps a little too far. But I think this is good character growth for our dearest protagonist, regardless of how small his progress into being a semi-decent living being is. He’ll get there eventually. Maybe.

I improvised a little bit with the Carousel Boutique’s interior, how it’s structured and what not. This is trivial and rather unimportant for this story, but still. If it doesn’t fit with your canon vision of how the rooms are placed and whatnot, I do apologize. This is the best I could do with the material the show gave us.

In the next chapter, a nice modelling session that certainly won’t be ruined by Lucky’s allegations.