Something Wicked This Way Time Travels

Chapters

Crushing Defeat
My Two Pieces of Eight
Lyra, H.P.I.
Just in Time for Tea and Waffles

Crushing Defeat

Lyra, H.P.I.

Lyra sat behind her writing desk, completely motion- and emotionless, locked in a vicious staring contest with her client Cherry Berry on the other side. She longed for a pencil, or a rubber band, or anything she could throw at her opponent to divert her attention, giving herself the deciding edge in this competition, but to scan her desk for any usable item would inevitably mean averting her own gaze. And averting her gaze would mean forfeiting the stare down. And forfeiting the stare down meant admitting defeat. And admitting defeat meant losing her payment. And losing her payment meant receiving an eviction notice, unless she somehow scratched up money in a regular nine-to-five job. She would rather die than let that happen.

With new determination, firmly established by her desperate need for bits, Lyra intensified her glare, making sure her client's spirit would soon be broken.

“This is ridiculous!” Cherry Berry yelled, her slamming hoof checking Lyra's desk for any structural deficiencies. It had worked. Lyra had won. For now.

“I'm not going to pay for any of this!” Cherry Berry added.

Lyra had anticipated this reaction and had prepared a response well in advance. “When you came to me three days ago, you agreed to my hiring fee with paid expenses. I've been working on your case relentlessly ever since; it's only fair for me to get paid.”

“No, it's not!” Cherry Berry shouted. “I come in here, expecting some report on the progress you've made, or at least some concession for your incompetence towards finding my beloved Tonto, when you present me with this... this... shameless excuse for a bill! Half of these are made-up charges, while the other half are made-up words! What by Celestia's mane is specter-repellant salt.”

“A special kind of mineral believed to repel ghosts,” Lyra explained. “I always take some as a precaution – in case I have to fight any. I was running low.” Lyra continued as if this were a valid explanation. “I do believe I had informed you about my, what other ponies might call unconventional methods in finding lost pets. Though unconventional they may be, they're equally guaranteed to lead to success in the long run. While most of these items may seem gratuitous to the unknowing eye, I can assure you that all of them are completely pertinent.”

“Impertinent, that's what they are!”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Lyra said. She opened a drawer, took out a folder labeled 'Tonto – the case of the missing ferret', and flipped it open. On top lay a photo of the auburn pet along with her own copy of the bill. “Maybe we can go over whatever upsets you the most. I'm sure I can clarify the whole situation, and eliminate any doubts you have about the importance of the items in question.”

“I already have a problem with item number one,” Cherry Berry spat, restraining herself from jumping down Lyra's throat. “It's completely unnecessary and uncalled for.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Lyra innocently replied.

“I mean, what in Equestria can a fifty bit meal at Chez Valier, the most expensive restaurant in all of Ponyville, possible have to do with you finding my little Tonto!?”

“Ah, I see where the confusion lies.” Lyra leaned forward in a 'this should be obvious, but you seem to be too thick to get it, so I'll explain it to you nice and slow'-kind of way. “You see, what you didn't know is that Chez Valier had just hired a new waiter the very same day Tonto went missing. I was sure this couldn't have been a mere coincidence, so I went to investigate. To do so as discretely as possible, I needed to appear like a completely regular customer; otherwise I would have raised suspicion. That's where those fifty bits come from.”

“And how exactly did you think my missing Tonto would relate to Chez Valier hiring a new waiter?” The twitching of Cherry Berry's right eye tried its best to upstage the twitching of her other eye.

“I had absolutely no idea. That's why I had to investigate so thoroughly. Otherwise I would have passed on the last course; I was barely able to eat up. But thanks to my sound methods of observation, I was able to deduce that these two events were by no means connected to one another. Probably.”

“This is outrageous!” Cherry Berry's hoof took another quick slamming sample of the desk's structural integrity. “When I hired you, you promised me with a hoofshake, with a hoofshake, that you would keep the costs to a minimum!”

“And I did. As you can see...” Lyra tried to point Cherry Berry to the bottom of the bill. This was a rather difficult task to undertake, as her desk was far too big to allow for her hoof to reach the other side. “...I have merely charged you thirty bits as actual salary. That boils down to ten bits a day, which is a more than generous offer, considering my services, if I dare say so myself.”

Cherry Berry was pressing her words through gritted teeth. “Then why does the whole thing add up to a total of more than a thousand bits?”

“Well most of that really comes from the price of that silver arrow. You can't exactly just waltz into a store and grab them off a shelf; those have to be custom-made.”

“What does a silver arrow have to do with all this!”

Lyra leaned back in her chair. “At some point, I had valid reason to believe that your ferret is a lycanthrope.”

“A what?”

“A lycanthrope. A special kind of shapeshifter. While you probably have heard of changelings, a lycanthrope's shapeshifting abilities are much more limited, but also much more dangerous. It can usually only change between two forms, but possesses the full strength and abilities of both. The only way to harm a lycanthrope is with silver that manages to pierce its skin, and that's where your bill comes into the picture again.”

“Oh I get it,” Cherry Berry said, getting up before continuing in a much calmer voice. “You're trying to play me for a fool. You've been a fraud trying to cheat me out of my money from the very beginning, is that it? No wonder you couldn't find a missing pet when I could have hired a goat to do it.”

Lyra was getting tired this conversation. “Look, I get that you don't want to pay for that arrow. The good news is that I haven't used it yet. The bad news is that, because it was custom-made, I can't return it to get your money back. I can however offer you that when I use it, I'll charge the client I had to use it for, and return the bits to you. Scout's honor.”

“You must think I'm an idiot if you believe I would fall for that. Why would I trust a crook like you not to go back on her word?”

“I'll have you know that my intellect and my brilliant methods of deduction have recently lead to a distinct commendation by the Canterlot palace guards.”

“And by distinct commendation she means they chose not to throw her in jail despite her breach of several laws against trespassing, and breaking and entering.” Bon Bon had remained quietly in her room so far, but had now decided to participate in the conversation by poking her head out the door.

Lyra was taken completely aback by this breach of trust. “What are you doing, Bon Bon? As my secretary, you're not supposed to reveal confidential information to my clients.”

Bon Bon moaned, putting a hoof up to massage her temples. “First off, I'm not your secretary. I'm your roommate who merely decided not to bludgeon you to death despite you deciding to put this monstrous, Brobdingnagian atrocity of a writing desk into our shared living room.”

“You're also not supposed to use such grandiloquent language in front of my clients,” Lyra interjected. “It makes them feel asinine.”

“Second!” Bon Bon couldn't have emphasized that word any more. “Second, your client has already exposed you as a fraud and clearly stated that she has no intent of paying you. There is no point in keeping up this charade any longer.”

“I won't have it!” Lyra defended herself. “This is not a charade. I work very hard and with utmost dedication on every case presented to me.”

“Then how come every time I'm around, all I see you do is linger around the house?”

“I too have my working hours,” Lyra explained. “And after they're over I firmly believe that I'm entitled to a little rest. I can't help it if you...”

“Enough of this!” Cherry Berry shouted at the top of her lungs. “I'm not having any more of this! I am leaving. And don't except a single bit out of me for this... this... monkey business!”

“In fact,” she added as she was about to leave through the door, “I'm going to sue you for attempted fraud and utter waste of time. You'll be hearing from my lawyer.” The door slammed shut behind her.

“I don't get it,” Lyra said, turning to her roommate. “Why does everypony keep thinking they can just sue my like that? I mean, I have successfully evaded charges for high treason on two non-consecutive occasions. I'm completely confident I can refute anything they throw at me.”

“Yeah, it's like they suddenly develop an aversion to being scammed out of money once they enter our home,” Bon Bon replied.

“And just what are you implying?”

“I'm implying that you should apply your time and energy to something more productive than stealing other pony's money,” Bon Bon said, before leaving for the kitchen.

Lyra followed right after. “I'm not stealing from anypony. I'm providing a valuable service to anyone that lost something and needs advanced and extraordinary means of finding it. I am a legitimate businessmare.”

“Yeah, right!” came the rather snarky and infuriating response. Bon Bon didn't bother to look at Lyra, and went looking for a glass in the cupboard instead. Lyra kept following hoof to hoof at every step she took.

“I am! And may I remind you that it was you who kept telling me to stop going on wild goose chases to uncover the greatest conspiracy that Equestria has ever seen, and instead devote myself to an honest and paying profession? Well, guess what: this is what I want to do. This is what really brings my talents to fruition. Or would you rather I go back to ransacking Princess Celestia's private closets?”

“I don't want you to ransack anypony's closet.” By now, Bon Bon had found a glass, grabbed some orange juice, and poured herself some. “In fact, I'd like the complete opposite. I'd like you to, for once, do something that isn't in the least bit felonious or unethical.”

“It's not felonious!” Lyra was getting more and more agitated with every word she heard. “I'm a legitimate businessmare! I help ponies with the utmost sincerity and care. Why do you always give me such a hard time?”

“Because, so far, I've only seen you take it easy.” Bon Bon had finished her juice and for the first time she looked Lyra directly in the eye. “I'm sorry. I know you mean well, I really do, but all you end up with is charging ponies for services you didn't do and exploiting their hopes.”

Lyra laughed at these ridiculous, preposterous, baseless accusations, laughed them off with tears in her eyes, hanging ears, and her lips curled into a frown. She imagined from Bon Bon's naive perspective her triumphant laughter might have mistakenly looked like wailing sadness.

The very idea was ridiculous. She would never take advantage of anypony. Ponies who hired her clearly knew what they were getting into, and couldn't possibly mistake her for something else. Or could they?

No they couldn't, unless they were complete idiots (which, admittedly, covered some ponies in her clientele). Her business card and all newspaper ads clearly stated her as a holistic private investigator, a fact she informed any customer who came to her about. The term should be self-explanatory: 'investigator' meant she was hired to investigate, 'private' meant anypony could hire her, and 'holistic' meant she would be doing her job holisticly. Simple as that. And if Bon Bon couldn't understand this, she would have to see for herself.

“I'll prove it to you,” Lyra announced.

“What?”

“I said I'll prove it to you. Come with me, and I'll show you how much hard, honest detective work I'm really doing.”

Bon Bon didn't even want to consider. “No, sorry. I have better things to do than chase a ferret on the loose.”

“Please?” Lyra tried putting all her heart into that plea.

“I said no.”

Luckily, Lyra knew more than one way to persuade her long-time roommate. “But Bon Bon, I can't do it without you. I really need your help.”

“Still a no.”

Luckily, Lyra knew more than two ways to persuade her long-time roommate. “But if you don't help me, I won't catch the ferret. And if I don't catch the ferret, I'll lose my reputation and nopony will want to hire me ever again. I'll slowly go broke and eventually will be unable to provide my share of the rent. When the landlord hears about this, she won't listen to our excuses, and kick both of us out on the street. Homeless and destitute, we will turn to a life of crime just to get by, which will inevitably land us in jail, wherein unspeakable things will happen to us. I guess neither one of us wants that. So you see, it is of vital importance for you to come along.”

“Still not coming.”

Asking her nicely hadn't worked, reasoning with her hadn't worked, unreasoning hadn't worked, but Lyra still had an ace up her sleeve. She knew it was time to haul out the big guns.

With big, wide puppy eyes and her lips puckered up into a pathetic frown, the lower one trembling, she gave Bon Bon a heart-melting stare that was sure to trick her into coming along. Bon Bon stared back callously, not moving as much as a single muscle. She seemed completely without compassion for the candid appeal. That is until her upper lip started trembling.

Lyra knew her roommate well enough to know what this meant. That upper lip was trembling out of anger – anger at Lyra for stooping to such a shameless display, and anger at herself for falling for it once more. Lyra couldn't help but smile.

“Should I fetch you anything?” Lyra politely offered. “A hat maybe? Or a snazzy scarf?”

“Don't even bother!” Bon Bon shouted as she led the way to the front door.

* * *

“I can not believe this,” Bon Bon uttered, looking with said disbelief at the store in front of her.

“Believe what?” Lyra asked, turning around while still holding the door open.

“This is what you call work?” Bon Bon yelled, pointing a hoof accusingly at Lyra and the scene that was unfolding before her. “We haven't been out here for five minutes, and you already want to take a break!? I'm beginning to think that all of this was just an excuse to go to Sugarcube Corner from the very beginning.”

“I'm sorry,” Lyra explained nonchalantly, “but I just don't work on an empty stomach.”

Bon Bon felt genuinely hurt. “But you do realize that I make sweets for a living. I would have gladly made you something if you would have just asked me. Do you have any idea how insulting this is to me?”

Lyra blushed a little. Fortunately, at the same time another customer arrived, blocking Bon Bon's view of Lyra. After he had passed by and nodded a quick thank you, Lyra had recovered herself and was ready to answer. “I couldn't have asked you to bake something just for me, that would have been way too much. And it would have taken too long. Besides, I wanted a muffin and your muffins always tend to turn out a little mushy.”

“Mushy!?” To Bon Bon was just too much. If Lyra was unwilling to eat her muffins Bon Bon was at least going to make Lyra eat her words. By force if she had to. She mentally already prepared a battle tactic, she was ready to charge, but she changed her mind before she could do anything foolish. There had been enough fighting for the day, she realized.

“Forget it,” she said coldly. “I'm just going to wait outside.”

“Suit yourself, ”Lyra said, as she went inside the store and let the door fall into its hinges.

As it was still early in the morning, Sugarcube Corner wasn't exactly bursting with business, but the stallion that passed her and the mare in front of him still forced Lyra to wait in line and lose herself in thought.

Bon Bon staying outside had its advantages. She had intended to get some private time to talk to Pinkie Pie anyway, and this development seemed much more promising than her plan to excuse herself for the bathroom, or fake a customer complaint. There was no risk in Bon Bon just leaving her, no matter what, and if Lyra brought her a muffin, she would be too surprised to see her friend actually pay for a treat to remember being mad or the little fight they had.

The line was moving along quickly, and all of a sudden it was Lyra's turn already.

“Hi there, Lyra! What can I do for you?” Pinkie Pie greeted with her usual cheerfulness. It was Lyra's good fortune that Pinkie was working the counter today.

“Hi, Pinkie. Just the usual for me, the usual for Bon Bon, and a minute of your time,” Lyra said.

“Sure,” Pinkie said, fetching two muffins from the display, “I always have a minute for anypony, especially my friends. Then again, I'm friends with almost everypony, and if somepony wasn't my friend, I'd give that pony a minute anyway, hoping she would become my friend soon. So I guess I would give a minute to anypony no matter who, but that shouldn't mean your minute is any less special.”

The sudden end of Pinkie's speech left Lyra a little startled and at a loss for words. “I wanted to talk about the favor I asked you,” she finally said. “Did you get around to doing it yet?”

Pinkie frowned a little at having to admit the truth. “No. I tried my best, but I'm only half way done. I just didn't have the time yet. But I promise to get right back to it once my shift ends.”

“Don't sweat it, there's still some time. Just remember that Bon Bon mustn't know about any of this.”

“I won't tell her a word. Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” Pinkie said, gesturing along to her promise.

Lyra took another moment to gather her thoughts before she added: “Thanks, Pinkie! I can't tell you how much this means to me. And you know, if you ever find yourself missing anything, like a missing pet, or a missing tooth, I'll gladly find it for you – free of charge.”

Pinkie responded with a smile that seemed to say 'don't worry about a thing, that's what friends are for'. Although Lyra wasn't sure, it could have also been a 'don't worry, Sir, I'll come right to you' smile directed at the customer waiting behind her, who had just come in.

“Anyway,” Lyra said, grabbing the two muffins with her magic, “I don't want to keep you any longer. I guess I'll be seeing you around.”

“Okie-dokie-lokie!” Pinkie replied, turning her attention to the other customer.

Lyra rushed outside to get back to Bon Bon, hoping for damage control in case the muffin didn't work. “I'm sorry you had to wait so long. I bought you a muffin as compensation.”

“I'm not hungry.” Bon Bon was much more content with sulking in her anger instead.

“Are you sure? It's your favorite: chocolate-banana-walnut explosion.” Lyra stretched the last word, while temptingly levitating the treat in front of Bon Bon's nose.

Bon Bon angrily grabbed the muffin from Lyra's magic. She angrily examined it from all sides, before angrily taking a bite, and angrily relishing the flavor. She angrily noticed just a hint of pecan mixed into the dough that nicely complemented the flavor. She angrily swallowed and angrily felt her anger go up in smoke. With a few more bites, she had finished her muffin.

“So, what are we going to do now?” Bon Bon asked with genuine curiosity.

“Why, we go looking for that ferret of course. And for that, we first of all have to buy a newspaper,” Lyra said, leading the way to a nearby newsstand.

“A newspaper?” This only added to Bon Bon's confusion. “Why would you possibly need a newspaper for that?”

“To see what the ferret is up to.”

“Oh, sure. The ferret will certainly announce its whereabouts in the newspaper,” Bon Bon sarcastically remarked.

“Of course not! I expect to find some information on current events around Ponyville that are largely intertwined with the case at hand. It's part of my personal approach as a holistic private investigator,” Lyra informed.

“You keep using that term as if it were a real thing,” Bon Bon noted. “Why don't you just call yourself a regular private investigator. You'd maybe even get more customers that way.”

“Because I'm not!” Lyra called. “I'm a holistic private investigator and ponies need to know that.”

“I don't see the difference.”

“Because you never bothered to ask,” Lyra said accusingly.

“I'm asking now,” Bon Bon remarked. “Do you care to explain.”

“Very well.” Lyra cleared her throat. “A holistic investigator is somepony who bothers to look at the bigger picture to solve a case. You might know how traditionally detectives try to solve a single case by following a single trace that leads to a single suspect they convict by a single piece of decisive evidence. I'll admit, this strategy works some of the time, but with a really tough case it simply fails. That's when a holistic investigator comes into play.

“A holistic investigator acknowledges that the big mysteries of life, and of investigative work, can't be broken into smaller pieces. To be solved, all the cases and all the clues have to be looked at as a single entity that can only be understood as a whole. That's why the case of the missing ferret can't simply be approached by just looking for it everywhere. I have to be informed about all current events to even have a chance at finding it.”

“I'm sorry,” Bon Bon admitted, “but all of this just sounds like crazy talk to me. How can you possibly believe any of that?”

“It's not crazy talk,” Lyra defended. “The signs are all around you, if you happen to look close enough. Take this for example...” She pointed at a pony sporting a trench coat and a fancy fedora. She was carrying a suitcase, that was carelessly dangling in her arm behind her, as she seemed very rushed. “You can plainly see three things: First, the way she is dressed, she is most likely a traveling sales agent. Second, she seems to be in quite a rush, probably to catch a train she is about to miss. Third, her destination seems to be the very same newsstand we are heading to.

“Now look at the newsstand.” Both of their gazes had already shifted. “If like me you have been watching it all this time, you might have noticed that the customer already being served seemingly appeared out of nowhere.”

By now the sales agent had arrived at the newsstand, waiting in line. “Now, it's obvious that the news vendor can only serve one customer at a time, and he does that on a first-come, first-served basis. Unfortunately for our traveling salespony, the customer seems to be an elderly stallion who has decided to pay for his purchases in pennies, pennies he has to slowly gather from all his pockets no less.

“Now I ask you, what are the odds of that happening? Next to zero I can assure you. Yet, you can probably guess how many ponies can tell a story very similar to this; many more than should statistically be possible. Can that all really just be a coincidence, or is it possible that there is an unspoken, inseparable correlation between these two customers that can't be separated?

“Maybe it doesn't even have to be a coincidence. Maybe there is an unwritten law I don't know about that forces any pony who runs a store to hire an elderly stallion to come up to the counter and pay in pennies whenever another customer seems to be in a rush. But riddle me this: How come the only four ponies around this crossing are all heading to the same newsstand, inescapably bothering one another.?”

Bon Bon looked around. It was true, all four streets adjacent to the newsstand were completely deserted. The only ponies in sight were the five ponies now collectively waiting at the newsstand.

“Alright, I get your point,” Bon Bon said. “But still, what are we going to do about the newspaper. This is probably going to take forever.”

“By now we're part of the bigger picture ourselves,” Lyra declared. “Our actions are now intertwined with those of the ponies before us in line, and if another customer shows up, we're all going to slow that customer down as a single entity. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, we'll just have to wait.”

My Two Pieces of Eight

Crushing Defeat

There are plenty of days in a pony's life. Many of them are pretty mundane, usually weekdays on which ponies go to the same workplace as any other day, doing the same work as any other day, before relaxing at home the same way they always do.

Of course some days are simply magnificent, a gift from Celestia herself. The sun shines extra bright, the birds sing extra sweet, and the flowers look extra lovely. Those are the days when you can't even dream about anything going wrong.

On other days however, everything seems to go wrong. Every step is a trip, every try a failure, and every word an insult, may they come from you or at you. Those are the days a pony wishes he'd have just stayed in bed instead.

Then at least once in a lifetime, there is a day were staying in bed would only send the bedroom ceiling crumbling down, hitting the bed and said pony within multiple times, painfully reminding him that he had plenty of reasons not to put the ceiling there in the first place.

Red Shirt intuitively knew his day would fall into the last category. Reluctantly, he got up nonetheless.

His subconscious kept telling him that it had been a bad idea to return to Ponyville. He in turn kept telling his subconscious that it hadn't been his choice to come back, that he had been pretty much forced to do so, unless he wanted to start cashing in checks from social services. His subconscious didn't care. Like most subconciouses, it only liked one-sided arguments in which its reasoning was so flawless, that if the other side was bright enough to actually understand it, the argument would be over already. Therefore it just kept repeating its point with never-ending zeal.

While he didn't have a choice whether or not to return to Ponyville, Red Shirt admitted that it had definitely been a mistake to stay with his mother; he could have easily canceled on her and stayed at an inn instead. His pesky subconscious chose to disagree: If he hadn't accepted his mother's invitation, he would have never heard the end of it.

He brushed his teeth and gave himself a catlick, before walking down to the kitchen. His mother was already waiting for him.

“Good morning, dear. How did it feel sleeping in your old room again?” she asked.

He told her it felt like any other bed he had ever slept in as he went looking for a plate. A well-prepared breakfast already awaited him, including toast, juice and fresh fruit. He eventually found a plate and started filling it.

“You know, it's really nice to have you back,” his mother said. “The house feels so empty when I'm all by myself. It's just so big, while I'm so small and all alone, while the house feels empty.”

What his mother might have called casual small talk, Red Shirt's therapist might have called passive aggressive subjugation. But he knew, this was just the usual way his mother would ask for anything; she didn't seem to know any other way. As he took a seat, he asked whether she couldn't just spend some more time with her neighbor, Butterscotch, casually proceeding to inquire about how she was doing.

“Butterscotch and her husband are doing fine. They say their daughter, Minute Maid, just bought a house in Vanhoover, while their youngest, Minty Fresh, finally got a job. We were just talking about it the other day, over a game of cards, when she– ”

She stopped mid-sentence and gave her son an angry glare. He knew that glare all too well. It was always accompanied with the silent treatment she was also giving him. They both meant that he had made a mistake so painfully obvious, that she needn't even tell him, and unless he were to fix it on his own, she would never ever speak to him again; a principle she would keep rigorously. To this day she was still not speaking to the mailmare, her best friend from high school, and her own mother, who followed a similar mode of behavior.

Red Shirt frantically looked around to see what got his mother so upset. Once he found his faux pas, he grabbed a coaster from a shelf and placed it under his glass. His mother's expression softened and she continued as if nothing had happened.

“ –admitted that she had always been worried about him, since he was much too easygoing to settle for a steady job, but fortunately he did.”

Red Shirt only nodded politely, trying to keep the conversation as light as possible, while avoiding any further mistakes. One repressed childhood memory relived was more than enough for one day.

After breakfast, he was getting ready to leave – he had a busy schedule ahead of him – when his mother started to rattle through the full extend of her personal anguish.

“You go ahead and leave, dear,” she started. “An old mare like me can handle herself. I'm sure I won't have a problem unclogging the kitchen drain, and oiling the back door's squeaking hinges, and repairing the broken cupboard, and finally getting around to lift that heavy armchair up to the attic...”

He sighed and grabbed the toolbox from the storeroom. He wasn't off the hook just yet.

He went through the list as quickly as possible, the last item being putting up a new picture frame on the wall, as his mother watched from behind.

“So,” she said, “have you finally gotten a fillyfriend I can meet?”

He screamed loudly as hammer met hoof (which was quite an accomplishment, as he used his magic to handle the hammer). It was the only question Red Shirt had feared even more than the silent treatment. With tears in his eyes, he restrained himself from cursing, and tried to calmly explain to her that he did not have a fillyfriend right now and that he currently was under a lot of pressure from work, which allowed only little time to find one.

His mother chose not to listen and to just continue her own train of thought instead; in that regard she was pretty much like a certain subconscious.

“I don't understand,” she said. “You have a good job with a steady income, you look handsome enough, I brought you up with proper manners, taught you how to properly treat a lady, and still you're not even close to getting married. Where did I go wrong?”

He tried to reassure her that she did nothing wrong and that she has always been a wonderful mother. He tried to explain that his life did, could, and should not revolve around the pursuit of the mare of his dreams. If he found her, great. If he didn't, that would be okay too. But no matter how much he tried he couldn't force a thing like this.

“And that's where you're wrong,” his mother informed. “There are a lot of ways to accelerate the process. If you allow me to help you, we could get you a fillyfriend by tomorrow. Let me show you something.”

He expected the worst, the address of one of the neighbor's daughters, or a ticket for a speed dating event, and was very surprised when she only hooved him a pamphlet.

“It's called Dr. Cupid's love camp, and she guarantees that all participants leave as a couple or get their money back.”

The pamphlet was intriguing: Dr. Cupid (which he could only assume was an alias, and an honorary if not fake doctorate) painted the picture of a shelter in which ponies could find their true love, despite obviously being lonely, desperate, pathetic, and completely impossible to place, while staying as far away from any of these words as possible.

Red Shirt promised his mother to give the camp some thought, putting the pamphlet into his saddlebag, before they hugged each other goodbye. He had to hurry, as he still had an appointment to keep and still planned to visit his father, although he now had to cut the visit a little short. His father probably wouldn't mind. Probably wouldn't even notice.

Once he had reached his father's house, he knocked, and was promptly let in.

“Hey, son,” his father greeted. “Did you bring the fishing license?”

Red Shirt opened his saddlebag and handed him the form; this had pretty much been the first thing he had expected his father to say.

His father was a simple stallion with a simple stallion's dream: to sign every last legal form and document that floated around the convoluted apparatus that was Equestrian bureaucracy. It was a dream he cherished and valued above everything else. For instance, the only reason Red Shirt's parents divorced was his father's desire to sign the divorce papers – a move to which his ex-wife had responded with glares and silence. It was also a dream that was sure to lead to misery and tragedy, at the latest when he would finally have to sign his own death warrant.

Red Shirt and his father sat down at the kitchen to talk a little over a cup of tea.

“How's work going?” his father asked.

Red Shirt tried to explain the Equestrian Department of Transportation's newest plan in full detail, although he had to admit to knowing very little about it. In the end, his boss had only told him that he had an appointment to inspect somepony's house and workplace, which was kept up by a government grant and thus should be easy to purchase should they decide to do so. He had been given a sheet with detailed instructions on how to sound that pony out without her noticing, but he hadn't gotten around to read it, as the entire situation left him very uncomfortable.

His father only nodded indifferently. “That's good to hear,” he said. “Say, do you think you could help me with getting my arms certificate? I've already filled out all the necessary forms, but I figured you might help by greasing the old bureaucratic wheels a little, you know, to make things go a little faster for the sake of your old stallion.” He gave his son a nudge followed by a conspiratorial wink.

Red Shirt sighed and told his father he'd see what he could do, before putting the application for an arms certificate among the other papers in his saddlebag. He decided to cut the visit even shorter, and with a quick goodbye, went on his way towards the appointment.

With extra time to spare, he decided to take the scenic route towards his appointment, which was through a dried-out river bed close to the edge of the Everfree forest. It was close enough to give a panoramic view of the forest, while keeping enough distance to keep a passer-by safe from any predators that might be lunging out of the Everfree onto their unsuspecting prey; although he had never heard of any wild beasts lunging out of the Everfree anyway.

He tried to focus on the beautiful landscape around him, but all Red Shirt could focus on was his work. The Equestrian Department of Transportation recently had the idea to build a new railway to directly link Las Pegasus with Manehattan and the other cities on the east coast. His trusty work ethic had granted Red Shirt a seat in the planning committee, but because of his late addition nopony really knew where to put him. So basically everypony else just ended up dumping every thankless or annoying task on him, which had also granted him that little field trip to Ponyville.

In fact, this had pretty much been his entire life for the last couple of months: Somepony asking him to do something, while he silently obliged, which only ended up giving them incentive to ask more favors. He knew there was something significantly wrong with this vicious circle, but he just couldn't get himself to say no.

He was so lost in thought, he didn't notice the ferret that crossed his path out of nowhere, causing him to almost stumble. He stopped to check on the contents of his saddle bag. All the papers were still there. All the vexatious, aggravating papers he hated so much. They all reminded him of his current dilemma. His mother had coaxed him into looking into that silly love camp, his father had persuaded him to go about his arms certificate, and his boss had forced him to deal with this entire espionage mission. With all theses chores, he practically felt the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

Moments later, he felt the much more physical weight of a half-a-ton boulder on his shoulders, crushing him dead in an instant.

* * *

Red Shirt felt wonky when he got up, which soon turned to worried once he realized that he had already opened his eyes, but couldn't see a thing. He aimlessly staggered through the darkness, his arms extended in the hopes of grabbing something he could hold on to, to get a rough idea of his surroundings. He stumbled forward until he was engulfed in a bright light, which turned out to be the Sunday sun, shining on a beautiful meadow beneath, behind the end of a dried-out river bed.

All was so beautiful, so peaceful, so calming that he almost couldn't believe his eyes. He also couldn't believe his eyes had been blinded not even a second earlier.

He turned around, and suddenly it made perfect sense that he had been unable to see, for the simple reason that light simply doesn't shine inside a rock. The present question was, however, how he had been able to get inside the boulder in the first place.

He tried touching the rock, trying to get a feel for what's going on, but that was a feeling he definitely could have lived without. His hoof phased right through the rock, sending a tingling sensation through his whole body that felt uncanny, as if a hoof and a boulder were never intended to occupy the same space at the same time.

He took a step back to get away from that unpleasant feeling in his hoof, and this way managed to take a better look at the boulder as a whole. Below it, he noticed something which, in the context of the situation, might be referred to as his earthly remains.

That was the reason for his current confusion and discomfort. It was the fact that he was dead.

Well, not as much dead as bodiless, translucent, more undead really, in the form of a – he'd probably want to go with the word ghost. That seemed to fit the situation best.

Red Shirt realized that he had been screaming this whole time. He had only not noticed before, because his screams came out completely silent, his lungs seemingly unable to draw a breath. This ghastly discovery, unfortunately, only lead to more panic and more screaming.

After getting over the initial shock of seeing his dead body lying crushed beneath a boulder, by virtue of some amazingly effective breathing exercises (he didn't know if what he was doing was technically breathing, but that didn't matter as it got the job done), he was calm enough to try and assess the situation.

Yes, he was dead. Yes, he was a ghost. Yes, he would have preferred to be neither, but in life (and in death apparently) you can't always get what you want. All he could do was try to make the best of the situation and he wanted to start by figuring out what it really meant to be a ghost.

He had already established that he couldn't touch objects as he would just phase through them, except for the ground below, which he was thankful for, as he did not want to make the acquaintance of the earth's core, and decided not to question this any further. Speech was apparently a no-go, while his sight, smell, and hearing worked perfectly fine, even better than before.

He wanted to try to fly, or at least hover. To him, that seemed to be a thing ghosts should be able to do. He leapt upwards with all his force, but merely managed to get airborne for about a second before falling right down to earth again. He tried jumping a couple of times more, but always came up short. He figured that, as a ghost, he was still unable to fly. He also figured that, as a ghost, he was still able to feel pain whenever he fell flat on his nose.

Maybe flying was reserved to pegasi, those who were already able to do so in their lifetime. Maybe as a unicorn he'd get to use magic instead. He tried focusing on his horn, and then to pick off a daisy that sprouted on a small, isolated patch of grass with his magic. The daisy bent back and forth, but once he realized that was only due to a small breeze, he gave up. Magic was something else unavailable to him.

No magic, no flying, no touching – those seemed to be the ground rules. They weren't what he had expected, they weren't ideal, but they were something he was okay with. Once he'd get used to it, being a ghost might actually prove tolerable, or even enjoyable.

But there remained the questions when he would get used to it, and what he would do in the meantime.

The latter was indeed a vital question he would have to answer sooner or later. What was the purpose, what was the meaning of his existence as a ghost? What was he supposed to make of his new self?

The meaning of life was a mystery that had plagued ponykind for centuries, millennia even. While there was no conclusive answer, many great minds had dedicated their lifetimes to working on this subject and had published their thoughts in countless books. These books could always help and inspire whenever a pony was faced with the most existential questions of all, like: 'Where do we come from?', 'Where are we going?', and 'What would happen if one's planet was demolished to make space for an intergalactic railway, and one would find oneself traveling the universe with the president of the galaxy, one's best friend who turned out to be an alien, and a surprisingly large amount of towels?'.

Similarly, many great minds had worked on finding an answer to the great enigma of the afterlife. But as far as Red Shirt knew, there was no word written on the meaning of the afterlife, the purpose of one's existence once a pony had found its place in heaven, or hell, or on earth resurrected as a ghost, like in his case. No, this seemed to be completely new ground. He'd have to come up with something all on his own.

Or maybe not. Maybe there was already a solution in some book Red Shirt had read. After all, there were plenty of ghost stories, one of which was sure to provide him with at least an idea of what he was supposed to do.

So what was it the undead did in those ghost stories, he thought to himself. Many tended to feast on the flesh and brains of the living. But this would probably prove rather difficult, with him being unable to touch anything. Plus, there was the ethic issue of him not wanting to feast on the flesh of the living, as this might prove quite unpleasant and unwanted for the living in question. No, feasting on brains, he determined, should rather be left to ghouls and zombies.

Ghosts usually did something entirely different in such stories anyway. They tended to haunt places and scare away any pony that dared to enter. Maybe that's what he should do: Haunt the old family barn. But unfortunately his family did not have a family barn, and if he wanted to borrow somepony else's, he'd have to ask permission first, which would lead to the awkward question why a family would need a ghost to haunt their barn in the first place, which he would be unable to answer, as he did not have a voice to speak with. No, it was better to save himself the embarrassment and go with some other idea.

The only other popular depiction of ghosts he could think of, was that of specters aimlessly floating around with one of those restless-spirit-bound-to-this-earth-until-he-could-fulfill-one-last-deed-which-would-set-his-soul-free type of deals.

That could be it. There could actually be something which he was unable to do in his lifetime, something he had put off far too long or even completely forgotten about, something only he could complete. But what in Equestria could that be? Red Shirt didn't have a clue.

He decided to take a long walk to get his now only figurative blood flowing.

Lyra, H.P.I.

Just in Time for Tea and Waffles

Twilight frantically paced back and forth around the library, running from shelf to shelf, picking out various books, before tossing them around violently once she had deemed them useless. It seemed there wasn't a single book able to help with her conundrum. It seemed like there had never been a single writer to care about this. In her despair, Twilight went through the pile of already discarded books, hoping to have missed something.

Spike watched all this from the sidelines, grudgingly remembering that it would be him who would end up having to clean up this mess. And he couldn't even get started until Twilight would finally abandon her search once again, instead of continuing to add to this chaos any further.

“Come on, Twilight,” Spike said in an attempt to calm her down. “Don't you think it's time to give up?”

“Not this time, Spike,” Twilight countered. “This time I'm absolutely positive that I'm almost certainly at the verge of a possible discovery!”

“You keep saying that, yet you never seem to come even one iota closer.” Spike couldn't help rolling his eyes. “Did you ever think that, you know, all of this just isn't worth the effort?” A suggestion he had made time and time again, which never seemed to quite reach Twilight.

He'd have thought to get used to all this at some point, given that these fits of crazy occurred biweekly, but apparently they proceeded to be extremely upsetting, especially when these hysterics happened more frequent than usual. They didn't happen regularly by any means, they simply ended up occurring every other week on average. Still, they had one thing in common: They always took place on Fridays. There was one thing that made Fridays very different from any other day of the week: Friday was Waffle Day.

“Not worth the effort?” Twilight repeated, almost taking the question offensively. “Do you have any idea how many ponies eat waffles every day? And do you have any idea how much time they all waste waiting for their waffles to be cooked golden-brown? If I succeed, this could save thousands of hours of work. Just imagine what other great inventions a pony could come up with given that much time.”

She turned back to the shelves. “If you want to live in a world in which waffles take two minutes to cook, that's your business, but I won't have it!”

Twilight was truly sick of it. Sacrificing crispy waffle goodness for perfect geometrical shape and vice versa – it just wasn't natural. It was the same every Friday: She would prepare the batter and carefully pour it into the waffle iron, so that the waffles would turn out exactly circular, only for the batter to ooze out at all sides during the cooking process, forcing her to make a gooey mess everywhere when she tried to remove the excess batter.

The time had come for a more radical approach. From the pile of discarded books Twilight picked up a copy of 'Potentially Profitable Practices for Pressurized Plutonium' and started to read.

“Hmm, this could actually work,” she said to nopony in particular. “Pro: It would get the waffles done in approximately twenty-four seconds. Con: If it blows, the resulting nuclear fallout would render Ponyville uninhabitable for approximately the next twenty-four thousand years.”

This certainly couldn't be the ideal solution, but at least it had given her an idea for a similar approach, involving less radioactive and less explosive substances.

“Spike, prepare some more batter,” Twilight ordered. “There's a couple of waffle-related experiments I'll have to conduct.”

“Whatever you say, Twilight,” her assistant replied with the exasperation of somepony who had given up their hopes for change a long time ago.

Speeding up the waffle cooking process proved to be much more difficult than Twilight had initially expected when she had started her calculations for the first time. Exposing the batter to a lot of heat in little time wasn't a problem, if she cast the right spell. The real problem was stopping that heat fast enough for the waffles not to be burned to a crisp. The other major issue was the heat distribution. If only she could properly calculate the temperature gradient of her waffle iron correctly, she...

“Um, Twilight, you should come see this!” Spike shouted from the kitchen.

“Not now, Spike, I'm busy!” Twilight replied, scribbling a couple of formulas into the notebook in front of her.

“No, I mean you should really, really come see this!” Spike repeated.

Twilight looked up from her books and made towards the kitchen. She could tell that her assistant's cry for help had not been in vain; there was definitely something amiss. The room was filled with static charge, a restless kind of electricity resembling a powder keg, just waiting for a single spark, to go off. The air was gusting all around the library, mercilessly rocking hundreds of pages within the discarded books. Strange flickers of light appeared, disappeared, and reappeared with unappeased vigor. It smelled a lot like time travel.

The spark came in the form of one of the kitchen shelves losing its grip, and thus its place at the wall, clamorously crashing to the ground instead. As if on cue, the flickers of light rallied into an enormous ball, while the electricity discharged into magic flares, shooting off in all directions. With a massive bang, the sphere of light and magic exploded, deafening and blinding Spike and Twilight at the same time.

Once the commotion had died down and everything lay tranquil again, a time traveler had manifested herself in the Ponyville Library.

Twilight was anxious. From what the pony in front of her looked like, this future version of herself didn't seem to be a casual visitor trying to give her some helpful advice; this future version looked more like a fugitive from the epic pony war in the future she had dreaded a long time ago.

Whatever forces of evil she was fighting in the future (she herself was still fighting for the forces of good, right?), they must have done horrible things to her, grotesquely defacing her once beautiful coat and mane.

To blend in with the uniform pony population of the future, which the evil forces had most likely reeducated and recolored in horrifying internment camps, she had had to color her coat into the teal color that, indubitably, was the national color of the tyrant empire reigning future Equestria and probably even the moon.

The strain of a lifetime of rebellion had lightened her mane to a greyish white, while rains of fire dropped onto her head had transformed it into a frizzy mess, her beautiful highlights, now yellow for some reason, appearing to be more of a marking, a battle scar of some sort.

One of their strange slave driver equipments was still hanging around her neck. It was some sort of chrome harness the enemy used to control and oppress their subjects with, which Future Twilight had surely subdued and turned into a weapon against them.

But most horrendous was that these monsters, when they once managed to capture her at some point, had done something unspeakable to her horn. Whatever fowl, despicable method of torture they had used on her, the result was the complete loss of her horn, effectively making her look like a regular earth pony. It was truly a fearsome future Twilight was looking at.

Of course according to Ochamp's razor, it was much more likely this time traveler was simply somepony else.

The time traveler slowly got to her hooves and attempted to shake off the evident dizziness, before she glanced around at her surroundings.

Upon spotting Twilight and Spike standing in the doorway, she rushed over and began asking questions: “Where am I? What date is it? How many princesses are there?” Her distinctly raspy voice further supported the theory that this pony was, indeed, not Twilight Sparkle.

Twilight tried her best to assess the situation as calmly and prosaically as possible. She would not make the same mistake twice and cut off the time traveler's important message. She would be as hospitable as she could be, listen carefully to what the time traveler had to say, and answer any question as quickly and precisely as possible.

“You're in the Ponyville Library, today is Friday, and we have two Princesses, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, unless you want to count Princess Cadance, which most ponies don't, because although she is a princess, she has her own separate empire in the north, outside Equestria,” she stated.

Confronted with having to process such a wealth of information, the time traveler stared aimlessly into the distance, simultaneously verbalizing her every thought.

“That means this is after the return of Nightmare Moon, but still before the –“ She cut herself off. “I'm sorry! You're probably wondering how I just came crashing into your...” She looked around the room. “...what I think is a kitchen?”

Twilight nodded slightly. “You're a time traveler,” she answered for her guest.

“That's – right!” the time traveler said, struck by utter perplexity. She eyed Twilight all over. “You know I'm a time traveler and you don't seem to be one bit surprised. Would you tell me what's going on?”

“It's just that I already have experience with time travel,” Twilight explained honestly. “I once traveled a week back in time to... help myself with a certain issue.” She might have been honest, but she wasn't eager to reveal intimate, embarrassing details to a stranger.

The time traveler raised an eyebrow at Twilight. “You're supposed to be a time traveler? But how?” she asked, giving Twilight very little time to answer before she continued. “Sure, there are those hidden time travel spells I was told about, in the Star Swirl the bearded wing, but as far as I know, nopony has been in there in forever.”

Eying Twilight once again, she packed all her curiosity and sincerity into one question. “Just who are you?”

Twilight was pretty staggered by this question, but still replied politely: “I'm Twilight Sparkle, Ponyville's town librarian.”

The time traveler shot Twilight a peculiar look that was impossible to classify. She did something similar with Spike, before returning to Twilight.

Suddenly, the time traveler jumped up, changing her mien to a much more warm and friendly expression. “I'm sorry! I just realized I never introduced myself. The name's Haywire,” she said, offering her hoof in greeting.

“Pleased to meet you,” Twilight said, shaking her hoof.

The conversation seemed to start a little time travel of its own, to what both parties hoped was the near future, as its absence left only silence and an awkward feeling in Twilight as well as Haywire.

“So?” Twilight broke the silence after most of a minute had passed.

“So what?” Haywire asked in return.

“So what about the message?” Twilight pressed.

“What message?” Haywire asked, a hint of annoyance flaring up in her voice. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“You know: the message!” When Twilight noticed that this response didn't clear the confusion, she rephrased. “I mean the reason why you came all this way to my library in the first place. The message from the future I need to know before you disappear.”

Haywire caught on overnight. “Oh, that message!” She struck a pose to give points to her words. “Live long and prosper!” she said, releasing her pose.

“That's... it?” Twilight asked incredulously.

“Afraid so,” Haywire admitted bashfully.

Another moment of silence passed, in which neither pony had any idea what to do.

“Well, I'd better get going,” Haywire said, heading for the door.

“Wait!” Twilight shouted, already putting out a hoof to stop her. “Where are you going?”

“Out the door first of all,” Haywire replied truthfully.

“But aren't you running out of time?” Twilight asked. “Don't you have to go back to your own time?”

Haywire made a face as if Twilight had just suggested to eat a train car whole. “Why would I go back now? I just got here.”

“But the time travel spell!” Twilight insisted. “You only have a little bit of time before the spell ends, and you're zapped back into the future!”

Haywire realized what was going on. “Oh! Yeah! No! You see, that's only that time travel spell of Star Swirl the Bearded. In the future, our spells are a little more advanced. Basically, I can stay as long as I want and go back whenever I want to.”

“Oh!” Twilight let out, putting a hoof to her chin. “In that case: Would you mind if I asked you a couple of question?”

“Of course not! Shoot!” Haywire replied with a smile.

Twilight took a deep breath, before she started to go bananas.

“What time period did you come from? Where are you going now? What's the reason you came to the past? How does that time travel spell of yours work? And how were you able to use it, since you're an earth pony? What's that weird harness around your neck? Are there other ponies in the future who use time travel? What's the future like? Did the epic, distant future pony war ever happen?...”

Haywire ducked under this interrogation onslaught. Like a dam bursting open, revealing a limitless reservoir of curiosity, the questions kept flowing out in a never-ending stream, sweeping away everything in its path, including poor, little Haywire.

She tried to rescue herself, slowly backing off into the library's main room, but every step she made was immediately regained by the merciless question-machine in front of her. Inevitably, there was no more room behind her and she ran into a wall. With nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, she could only watch in awe as the waters of inquiry continued to rise, feeling like she was slowly drowning in this surge of questions, desperately trying to catch a breath and cling onto her sanity for dear life.

“Stop!” she yelled, with Twilight obeying immediately. “I'll answer any question you have, just, please, not... like this. Can't we, I don't know, sit down and talk over a nice cup of tea?”

“I suppose,” Twilight admitted, her cheeks turning to big puffs of cherry-red.

“Spike!” She turned and walked over to her assistant, who chose not to partake in this odd conversation, watching it tacitly, with venerating amusement instead. “I'm gonna make a cup of tea. Would you mind...” She thrust aside some of the remnants of the broken shelf with her hoof. “...cleaning up a bit in the meantime?”

Spike merely sighed. He knew this was another task that would inescapably be his. He accepted his fate with a nod, and picked up a cracked silver plate, previously uncracked when it was still resting on the kitchen shelf, before tossing it onto the shelf's remains. He reached for a broom leaning on the wall, only to notice that the handle had come off the brush.

* * *

Like with any decent cup of tea, its sheer presence, admittedly aided by its aroma and flavor, was enough to create a calm, relaxing, yet stimulating atmosphere. The tea was able to lower tempers to a minimum, where nothing could be in the slightest upsetting, while simultaneously elevating minds to a point, where any conversational topic would grow into a thorough and prolific analysis. There was certainly never a time when tea was incongruous, be it a debate among kings and diplomats, or a sunny, easy-going afternoon spent with friends.

In addition to all its other amazing features, the tea made Twilight and Haywire content with wordlessly sitting by each other's side, staring off into the distance, and occasionally taking a sip from their respective cups.

“This is some good tea,” Haywire said after taking another sip.

Twilight only nodded in approval, not bothering to look up from her tea.

“What tea is this?” Haywire asked.

“A jasmine blend,” Twilight said. Haywire answered with a nod.

“Got it from my friend Fluttershy. She likes it a lot,” Twilight said. Haywire nodded.

“She has good taste,” Haywire said. Twilight nodded.

“You know, you can't take a good cup of tea for granted,” Haywire said. “It took 'em quite some time to get that stuff about brewing right.”

Twilight nodded. Despite 'that stuff about brewing' being far from a specific term, she felt like she knew exactly what Haywire was talking about.

“So, about all those questions I had earlier...” Twilight mentioned out of the blue.

Haywire visibly tensed at the mention. She took a gulp from her cup, her hoof making a strange clacking sound as she reached for the cup. “Sure, go ahead. Just remember: Only one question at a time.”

“Alright,” Twilight agreed, taking only little time to deliberate. “First off, how did you come to the past using a time travel spell, since you're, you know, an earth pony?” She tried her best to make the question not sound offensive.

“That's easy! It's all thanks to this thing,” Haywire said, pointing to the harness around her neck. “You see, in the future we have all kinds of devices that can store magic and use it later on. That way pretty much anypony can use spells if they have the right device at hand. Of course to build and charge these devices actual unicorn magic is still needed.”

“So, time travel is a regular thing in the future?” Twilight followed up.

“Not at all. The more complex the spell it needs to perform, the more advanced and more expensive the device has to be. This thing is cutting-edge technology,” Haywire bragged.

“Then why do you have it?”

“There's a very good reason for that,” Haywire answered harshly.

“Which would be...” Twilight pressed.

Haywire didn't answer right away. Instead, she poured herself some more tea and started dangling her teaspoon between the walls of her cup. “Teaspoon!” she abruptly burst out.

“Teaspoon?”

“It's because I'm a member of T-SPOON.” Since this answer seemed unsatisfactory, Haywire elaborated further. “T-SPOON stands for time-travel secret pony organization... observing nuisances. As the name says, it's a secret time travel organization.”

Twilight looked at Haywire, a little baffled, before replying: “That's a very unusual name, isn't it?”

“No!” Haywire yelled defensively. “I mean, sure, it is in this time, but in the future it's not. In the future, it's all about acronyms. Like they say: 'If you can't spell it, you can't sell it!'”

Twilight had no idea how to respond to that. So instead, she just asked more questions. “What exactly is it your organization does?”

“Oh, whenever there's an anomaly in the time line, we travel back to set things right, resolve any paradoxes, and sometimes save the world and stuff,” Haywire answered. She dismissed any further questioning with a casual wave of her hoof. “That's why you have to understand that I can't just answer any question you have about the future. That could create all kinds of paradoxes, and it's against T-SPOON's code of conduct,” she said, suspiciously excited.

“How long have you been in this time travel business?” Twilight asked.

“Just a couple of–“ Haywire cut herself short. “–months, but I can't tell you any more. Code of Conduct.”

“And how many of you time travel ponies are there?”

“I can't tell you that either,” Haywire smugly replied. “As it's a secret organization, I have to protect their identity.”

Twilight still had hundreds of questions on her mind, but dreaded being denied a response over and over, and instead opted for a different plan. “I know you probably can't tell me about why exactly you came here and what you have to do, but there's one thing I have to ask you: Where are you going to stay while you're here?”

“I don't know,” Haywire admitted. “There's no real protocol for these kind of things. We just travel wherever we need to go, and then wing it.”

“So why don't you stay here for as long as you have to?” Twilight politely offered. “It'd be great if you stayed around until I figured out some questions you're actually allowed to answer.”

“What!?” Haywire made no effort to hide how ludicrous she thought this idea was. “No, I couldn't! It's really nice of you to offer, but have you thought this through? You don't know anything about me. For all you know, I could actually be a crazy axe murderer!”

“Well, are you a crazy axe murderer?” Twilight asked, a smug grin plastered on her face.

“No, I'm not. That was just an example to...”

“Then it's settled!” Twilight announced, giving her new guest no chance to finish her sentence. “You're going to stay here in the library until this mission of yours is over.”

“But, but, but...” Haywire caved in. There was only so much effort you could put into rejecting a favor, and she strongly suspected that Twilight would still fight her rejection if she quadrupled her efforts. “All right. I accept. But at least let me treat you to – What time is it? Lunch? I feel like I haven't eaten in forever.”

Twilight heard her own stomach grumble. “Sounds like a fair deal. As long as Spike can come with us.”

“That's your little dragon assistant?” Haywire asked. Twilight nodded. “Sure he can come! The more the merrier!”

Just in Time for Tea and Waffles

My Two Pieces of Eight

The sunrise announced the beginning of a new Saturday, and Cluckwork, Sweet Apple Acre's trusted rooster, applied to his duty of waking the Apple family. Apple Bloom didn't need a second notice; she was out of bed and ready for action as soon as she heard the cockcrow – after all it was a crusading day, and there was no time to waste.

She got into the shower to start her morning routine (always the first, as everypony else was busy preparing breakfast). She was extra careful to brush her teeth as diligently as possible. If she didn't and Applejack found out (and she would find out – she seemed to have a sixth sense regarding these things), she would only receive a stern rebuke and Applejack would force her to do it again, wasting valuable crusading time.

After coming out of the bathroom, she took some time to pick out a bow for the day, deciding on one of the red ones eventually (in fact most of them were red, except for a green one specifically for St. Palomino's day and a purple one Rarity had given her, claiming that it would look 'simply marvelous' on her). Of course that time might have been better spent crusading, but even Apple Bloom knew that some things simply needed their time.

She darted downstairs and took a seat at the breakfast table.

“Good morning Applejack, good morning Big Macintosh, and good morning Granny Smith!” she greeted, showing off her pearly-white teeth in a big grin.

“Morning Apple Bloom!” Applejack replied, as she placed Apple Bloom's breakfast in front of her: a bowl of hay flakes, a glass of apple juice, and two shiny red apples. The other members of the Apple family gave similarly reticent greetings.

After serving everypony else, Applejack took a seat herself. “Did you sleep well?” she asked Apple Bloom.

“Like a log,” Apple Bloom answered through her hay flakes.

“Good to know. I reckon you'll be needing a whole lotta energy today,” Applejack said, just starting her own breakfast.

“You betcha!” And with one big gulp the bowl was finished. The apples didn't hold out much longer, as they were reduced to little more than a stem with one bite each. Apple Bloom drank her juice and quickly placed her dishes into the kitchen sink, before she ran for the door.

“See ya!” she shouted, already a hoof out the door.

“And where do you think you're going?” came her sister's immediate response.

Apple Bloom turned around. “Why, crusading with Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which of course it was.

“Ain't you forgetting something?”

Apple Bloom thought about it. She had already put on her bow, and since the Crusaders hadn't made any plans on what to do today yet, she didn't have to bring any supplies. “I don't think so,” she said eventually.

“And what about them chores you promised to do?” Applejack reminded as she got up from her seat.

Apple Bloom had completely forgotten. She had indeed promised to help out on the farm some more during summer break, and Applejack had already listed all the things she would be responsible for, to which Apple Bloom had eagerly agreed. But back then, these tasks hadn't been in direct conflict with her hunt for her cutie mark. There had to be a way out of this.

“I'll be doing them tomorrow, I promise!” she offered.

“And tomorrow you'll be saying the same thing,” Applejack responded. “I ain't falling for that again.”

“But Applejack...” Apple Bloom immediately protested.

“No buts, Missy. I never heard of no Apple breaking her promise, and I ain't gonna let you be the first one. You made a commitment and you're gonna stick to it like applesauce to a cracker. And the first thing you're gonna do is walk Winona.” Applejack picked up the leash that lay carelessly by the door, and gave it to her sister. “And I don't wanna hear no more excuses or complaints.”

“Fine!” Apple Bloom shouted, throwing up her arms. She made an extra effort to stomp her hooves as loud as she could, while looking for Winona.

* * *

Hundreds of previous failed experiences made one thing very clear: Apple Bloom wasn't going to get her cutie mark in dog-walking, which made the entire exercise subordinate and in many ways a waste of time potentially better spent. As it was also a very mundane task that required no effort on her part at all (Winona could walk just fine on her own), Apple Bloom had found her own way to cope with the situation: Instead of holding her end of the leash, she simply wore it around her belly and let an eager Winona drag her along the ground, as Winona didn't seem to mind the extra weight attached to her. This solution always gave her some much needed time to think.

She needed a way to get out of her chores to get some crusading done – that much was obvious. Even if she had to admit that Applejack was technically right. Technically, she had promised to help out. But technically she had also expected to have earned her cutie mark a long time ago, before the summer break started, so technically there was no point to argue over technicalities. The only thing worth arguing about was a solution.

There was no point in asking her sister for the day off; Applejack had made it very clear that she wouldn't release Apple Bloom under any circumstances, and no amount of begging, crying, or persuading was going to change that.

An actually possible expedient would be to do her chores in the worst way she could. With a clever mix of sabotage and procrastination, she could prove to be such a great nuisance that her sister had no other choice but to send her away. The obvious downside to this plan was that until Apple Bloom had spent a significant time avoiding her duties, she would not be dismissed, effectively wasting the entire rest of the day. Therefore, this plan was immediately dropped.

The most promising idea would be a cunning scheme to fool Applejack into thinking she had something more important to do. If Apple Bloom could pull off such a thing, she would have the rest of the day to herself, which gave her more than enough motivation to come up with the greatest scheme ever.

As she was the Element of Honesty, it was no surprise that Applejack detested all forms of dishonesty. Hence, Applejack had forbidden Apple Bloom to get involved in any form of schemes, frauds, ploys, shams, scams, or flimflams, which in the past might not have stopped Apple Bloom as much as she would have hoped, but still always resulted in particularly harsh punishment and grounding whenever Apple Bloom did try any funny business.

Lucky for her, there were two loopholes Apple Bloom always was eager to exploit: A, her sister had never said anything about ruses, and B, if she was smart enough about it, Applejack wouldn't need to find out. All she had to do was make this ruse as ingenious as possible, and she would be safe from her sister's wrath.

But just how would she do that? Apple Bloom couldn't think of anything; it was like her mind had suddenly gone completely blank. In her distress, she sought inspiration from town square through which she was slowly dragged.

The first thing that caught Apple Bloom's eye, was the assortment of fruits and vegetables on display. The Apple family credo said that there isn't a single problem in Equestria that can't be solved by an apple, and maybe it would hold true to the situation at hoof. But all plans Apple Bloom could think of involved sending the entire farm into chaos, which would surely force her to help out more instead of less.

In the distance she could see her schoolhouse, which would remain deserted for the summer. That was unless there was extracurricular work Apple Bloom had to attend to, maybe another commitment she had entirely forgotten about. In her head, she already began forming a concrete plan.

She was trying to figure out a way to keep Miss Cheerilee away from the rest of her family, lest her cover would get blown (which could prove quite difficult, as Miss Cheerilee had been spending a suspiciously vast amount of time with Big Macintosh as of late), when something unexpected drew her attention: On a pole in the middle of town square hung a poster advertising something called 'Cutie Mark Extravaganza'. This exhibition promised to showcase the extraordinary cutie marks of various ponies throughout history. Pirates, princes, ninjas, and heroic knights – they all would be present. And it would be this weekend only. It all sounded way too good for any Cutie Mark Crusader to miss.

Apple Bloom tried to figure the details from the text at the bottom of the poster, when she realized that she was still being dragged away by Winona. She jumped up immediately, digging her hooves into the ground as best she could.

Winona didn't take too kindly to any of this. She thought her walk far from over and wouldn't tolerate any interruption. So began a vicious tug-of-war between dog and pony which stretched both parties, as well as the leash, to their absolute limits. After a minute it was the leash that gave in first by slipping off of Apple Bloom's rump and onto the street below, before bluntly dangling up and down behind Winona.

Apple Bloom looked back and forth between the advertisement on town square and the escaped dog. Ultimately it wasn't much of a choice. She gave chase to Winona, trying to make up for the head start the dog had gained from her hesitance.

Only a few minutes later, she had caught up. At the road's end, Apple Bloom could spot a ferret that had been scared away by Winona, at which the dog was still loudly barking from a distance. Once the ferret had vanished into the distance, Winona stopped her yapping and started to dig at a hole she found at the side of the road.

As Winona had stopped running, Apple Bloom allowed herself to slow down and catch her breath.

“Alright, Winona, you had your fun, but now it's time to go back to Sweet Apple Acres,” Apple Bloom declared.

She picked the leash off the ground and tried to lead Winona back the way they came, but the dog wouldn't budge. With all her power Winona struggled against being drawn away from her beloved hole. Once Apple Bloom temporarily stopped her pulling, Winona started digging again.

“Come on, Winona! Quit your fussing and come along like a good dog,” Apple Bloom ordered, which only fell on deaf ears.

She yanked the leash a couple of times more, but to no avail; the restive animal didn't move as much as an inch. Instead, Winona just kept digging and digging.

Apple Bloom gave up. She had neither the nerve nor the energy to put up a fight, so she decided to simply accept her fate. After all, getting back to the farm only meant she'd have to start tending to her other chores. She decided on sitting down at the side of the road, holding onto the leash, and waiting out whatever kind of agitation Winona was acting out.

“What's so special 'bout this hole anyway?” Apple Bloom asked after a few minutes, leaning over to see for herself. At that moment, Winona had found what she was looking for, and elatedly presented her discovery to her owner.

“Wow!” Apple Bloom exclaimed. “That's certainly something worth digging for.”

She picked up the two small objects. “Do you know what this means?” Apple Bloom asked, looking at Winona expectantly. Winona barked once in response. “That's right: This calls for an Urgent, Immediate, Can't-possibly-wait-until-tomorrow, Emergency Crusader Meeting!”

Apple Bloom ran off hastily, eager to fetch her fellow Crusaders, Winona cheerfully running alongside.

* * *

Apple Bloom refused to come out with anything before all three Crusaders were up in their clubhouse. Once Winona had entered behind them, Apple Bloom closed the door, ready to talk business.

“So, you're probably wondering why I gathered y'all here,” she started.

“Yeah!” Scootaloo added. “We haven't had an Urgent, Immediate, Can't-possibly-wait-until-tomorrow, Emergency Crusader Meeting in, like, two weeks.”

“What's this all about?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“It's about this!” Apple Bloom said, tossing each of her friends a small silver coin.

“Wow!” the other two Crusaders determined as they examined the coins.

“I don't follow,” Scootaloo admitted. “What are those?”

“Those are pieces of eight,” Apple Bloom explained.

“Ah!” the others exclaimed in unison.

“I still don't follow,” Scootaloo repeated.

Apple Bloom got up and walked up and down to give her explanation the attention it deserved. “A couple of hundred years ago, pieces of eight were a currency in Equestria. And if I paid proper attention in class...”

“Which would be a first,” Sweetie Belle whispered to Scootaloo.

“...those have been mainly used by pirates. Which means–“ Apple Bloom turned around to face her friends and point out the window. “ –there must've been pirates in Ponyville!”

“And where there are pirates, there's treasure!” Scootaloo caught on.

“Treasure we can dig up!” Sweetie Belle followed up.

“Exactly!” Apple Bloom agreed. “And not only will we have the chance to earn a treasure hunting cutie mark, but also a pirate cutie mark.”

“Or a pirate treasure hunter cutie mark,” Scootaloo added. “Just imagine how awesome that would be!”

All three Crusaders were as keen as mustard to go outside and immediately hunt for treasure and cutie marks. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo were already getting ready to start their trademark battle cry, announcing the official start of their expedition, when Apple Bloom stopped them.

“Hold up!” Apple Bloom warned. “Before we go out treasure hunting and all, we need to tackle something very important. Something every pirate needs.”

“A mighty vessel that gets us through even the most rapid streams?” Scootaloo suggested.

“No!”

“Some training in sword fighting or some other form of combat?” Sweetie Belle guessed.

“No!”

“A fierce crew that would follow us to Tartarus and back?”

“Basic navigational and map reading skills?”

“No, no, no!” Apple Bloom said. “Something much more obvious. The very first thing a pirate needs.”

The other Crusaders took a moment to deliberate what she was talking about.

“Do you mean eye-patches?”

“Or parrot companions?”

“Or peg legs?”

“No!” Apple Bloom yelled, declaring the guessing game over. “What every pirate needs is a blood-curling name that puts any foe to flight at the very mention of it. I mean, you can't exactly be a pirate with a silly name like, I don't know, Threep Wood or Guybrush.”

“Of course!” the others agreed.

Apple Bloom continued: “So I suggest each of us pick a name right now, and make it as piraty as possible.”

“Then I'll be Scurvy Belle, the pirate ridden with scurvy!” Sweetie Belle burst out. “That's mighty piraty, right?”

“Yeah, that's totally awesome!” Scootaloo said. “And I'll be Scurvyloo, the pirate ridden with even more scurvy!”

“You can't do that!” Sweetie Belle furiously protested.

“Do what?” Scootaloo asked wide-eyed.

“Steal my name!” Sweetie Belle explained. “I thought of scurvy first. You can't just take it and incorporate it into your own name!”

“Says who?”

“Says I!”

“Well, maybe I thought of it first and just wanted to wait my turn instead of blurting it out,” Scootaloo defended herself with similar ire.

“Oh yeah?” Sweetie Belle challenged. “Do you even know what scurvy is?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then what does it mean?”

“I don't feel like telling,” Scootaloo said indifferently.

“Well, then you can just...”

“Stop it, you guys!” Apple Bloom interfered. “I know we should be practicing fighting as much as we can, now being pirates and all, but this is just silly. I bet we can easily think of tons of cool pirate names.”

Both Crusaders looked at each other awkwardly, soon giving in to their urge to make up.

“I'm sorry, Sweetie Belle!” Scootaloo said, pawing at the ground uneasily. “You thought of it first; scurvy should be your thing.”

“No, you can have it,” Sweetie Belle offered, mimicking Scootaloo's pawing. “Scurvy fits you much better than me anyway. Since scurvy and Scootaloo both start with 'sc'. With your name it sounds much better.”

“You really think so?” Scootaloo asked jubilantly.

“I really do! So, forgive and forget?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Sure, forgive and forget,” Scootaloo agreed.

“I'm glad that's settled,” Apple Bloom said, placing a hoof on each of her friends' shoulders, “because we still have two more names to think of.”

“That's right!” Scootaloo said. “What about you, Apple Bloom? What's your name gonna be?”

“Easy! I'll be Apple Beard, the scourge of Sweet Apple Acres!“ As she finished, Apple Bloom struck a dramatic pose.

“I guess that leaves only me. Hmm...” Sweetie Belle scratched her head. “How about Salty Belle? Is that piraty enough?”

Her friends merely looked at her sheepishly, unwilling to say anything negative about their friend's idea. Sweetie Belle caught on nevertheless. “You're right, I can think of something better.”

She took another moment of consideration. “How about... No, that's no good!” Sweetie Belle let herself slip to the floor. “Why does this have to be so hard!” She covered her face in her hooves.

“Wait! What about Sweetie Bilge? Could that work?” Sweetie Belle asked, poking her head out again.

“That works!” Apple Bloom said.

“Totally!” Scootaloo agreed.

Now that all of them had selected a proper, blood-curling name, Apple Beard, Sweetie Bilge, and Scurvyloo gathered in a circle, ready to let out their trademark battle cry for real this time.

“Cutie Mark Crusader Treasure Hunters! Yeah!” they screamed at the top of their lungs.

“Now we're ready to go out and dig ourselves some treasure!” Apple Bloom declared.

“Except we don't really know where to find any,” Sweetie Belle noted.

Apple Bloom had to admit: that was indeed a major flaw in her plan. But it was a flaw that could easily be fixed.

“Not a problem!” she said. “All we need's a treasure map. And I have an idea where to get one.”

* * *

“What do you mean, no?” Apple Bloom asked, her voice filled with much disappointment.

“I mean, why in Equestria would I have a pirate treasure map in the library?” Twilight Sparkle replied.

“It doesn't necessarily have to be a pirate treasure map,” Scootaloo clarified. “Any treasure map will do. Although, if you do have a pirate map, we would prefer that one.”

“I don't think I have treasure maps of any sort,” Twilight said.

“Are you sure?” Sweetie Belle asked sweetly.

“How can I be sure?” Twilight answered honestly. “Even I haven't managed to read every book in this library, and I certainly didn't check each and every one of them for pirate treasure maps.”

“Or regular treasure maps,” Scootaloo reminded.

“Could you do us a favor and look for one?” Sweetie Belle requested. All three Crusaders reinforced the plea with puppy-eyed frowns.

“I'll see what I can do,” Twilight eventually agreed.

She let the Crusaders in. Inside, Spike and a stranger already awaited them, the former welcoming them with a cordial hello, the latter unwelcoming them with an icy stare.

“Cutie Mark Crusaders, this is Haywire. Haywire, meet the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” Twilight introduced. “Why don't you get yourselves acquainted, while I go searching for a map.” As soon as she had spoken those words, she teleported upstairs.

The icy stare left none of the Crusaders wanting to actually get acquainted with Twilight's mysterious visitor. In fact, the stare froze any desire to converse whatsoever, even with one another. Instead, the Crusaders shifted back and forth uncomfortably, eagerly awaiting Twilight's return.

After a couple of minutes, Twilight teleported back from the upper floor. “I'm sorry, girls,” she explained, “but I couldn't find anything. I looked under 'Pirate Stories', I looked under 'Miscellaneous Maps' – Frankly, if I had a treasure map, I'd have no idea were to put it. Finding one would just be a stroke of luck.”

The Crusaders hung their heads gloomily. It seemed like their treasure hunt had ended before it even begun.

However, Apple Bloom wasn't willing to give up hope just yet. “Don't you know a spell that could help us? Like a treasure finding spell or something?”

“Something just like my sister's gem-finding spell,” Sweetie Belle added, cheery from the sudden ray of hope.

“I guess I could infuse something with that spell,” Twilight happily mentioned. “Although the spell would be weak, it might be good enough for a treasure hunt.”

“Wait!” Scootaloo interposed. “If we use a gem-finding spell, it will lead us to all kind of natural gems buried in the earth! Plus, if a pirate treasure is entirely made of gold, we have no chance of finding it!”

“That's right!” Apple Bloom said. “Twilight, don't you know any sort of metal detecting spell?”

“Hmm...” The addressed unicorn walked over to a shelf, magically pulled a book titled 'Multiple Mesmerizing Methods for Manipulating Metals', and flipped it open. She began to read aloud: “The oldest and still widely used metal detecting spell is said to have been developed by Star Swirl the Bearded himself...”

Twilight continued with incomprehensible mumbling, only occasionally disrupted by pertinent remarks. “ …that shouldn't be too hard… I should have one of those in my nightstand drawer… this I should get by disassembling a toaster oven…”

After a few minutes, she had, with the help of a few doodads, turned an old, discarded broomstick into what would surely work as a metal detector.

“Now, for some metal to infuse the spell with...”

Twilight scanned the library until she laid eyes on a cracked silver plate leaning by the door. “This will do,” she declared, tearing at the crack until it was large enough to let the plate fit around the broomstick. Then, she put the enchantment on it and gave it to the Crusaders.

“There! This should do nicely,” she proclaimed.

All Crusaders immediately showered her with thanks. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! You don't know how much this means to us,” Apple Bloom said.

Twilight simply smiled at that. “Don't mention it. But remember to be careful. You shouldn't try to cause any trouble with such a delicate device.”

“We won't,” Apple Bloom replied, the other Crusaders and her already halfway out the door. “Bye, Twilight! Bye, Spike! And bye–“

They had all forgotten about Twilight's strange visitor. Apparently, the stranger had kept that icy stare on them the entire time, giving them yet another reason to leave as quickly as possible.

“–Twilight's friend!” Apple Bloom managed to finish.

“What was her deal?” Sweetie Belle asked once they were out the door.

“Who's? Twilight's?” Scootaloo asked.

“No, that other pony,” Sweetie Belle corrected. “What was her name again? Haywire?”

“I don't know and couldn't care less,” Apple Bloom said. “All that matters now is that we have this metal detector. Now, you guys ready for some treasure hunting?”

The response wasn't as enthusiastic as Apple Bloom had expected. In fact, it wasn't enthusiastic at all. Instead, both her friends started to awkwardly scratch their necks.

“Sorry, Apple Bloom, but I kind of promised Rarity I would help her out by modeling a couple of dresses for her,” Sweetie Belle confessed.

“And my parents are making me go to this boring stage play tonight,” Scootaloo admitted. “I could try to get out of it, but it probably wouldn't be worth the effort.”

Apple Bloom couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You mean you already made plans for today?”

“Yeah,” Sweetie Belle said. “When Applejack told us you'd be busy doing chores all day, we figured we wouldn't be crusading today anyway.”

A thousands thoughts were flashing through Apple Bloom's mind at once. She could have argued that they were pirates now, which meant they had other priorities than commitment. She could have argued about the cutie marks they would be getting, or the loot they would acquire, but in the end it was meaningless. She would have to be patient (no matter how much she hated that) and wait until tomorrow.

“Fine!” Apple Bloom said. “We'll postpone our crusading til tomorrow. We'll meet at the clubhouse at noon and start hunting right away. I don't wanna waste any more time!”