After a few hours of fitful sleep, Twilight dragged herself from the dust and obscurity of Applejack’s attic floor. All things considered, she felt pretty good. For a mare that has been kicked out of her home by an intruder, is being held in suspicion by her former friends, has had even her dragon taken from her, and is the target of a conspiracy designed to drive her out of her mind, she was in a good mood.

The lavender unicorn’s joints popped and unlocked as she stretched her forehooves across the grime, her rear legs straining and jerking out the cramps that had frozen into her legs. When the forests were burned, that would make things warmer.

With a magical push, she threw open the attic window, letting sunlight shine into the room and give warm kisses to the floorboards. A rare smile graced her face. A bright new day, perfect for espionage. Though, a dark night would probably be better. Even a light drizzle ...

A stomach rumble cut her off. First, she would have to survive breakfast with the Apples. She contemplated just sneaking out, but that wouldn’t help matters. Not if Twilight wanted to convince them she was herself. Or maybe they were all changelings, and it didn’t matter? Or maybe some of them were ...

Another rumble reminded her to get moving.

It sounded like they had already started without her from the smell of things. Sure enough, the farm ponies were all happily chattering and eating around a large oaken table just like a functional family. At least, they were until Twilight entered and silence dropped into the room, wings outspread and shadowy eyes seeking any trace of noise.

The farm ponies, even Granny Smith, stared cautiously at her as if she were an alien species. It was like every High School party she’d gone to. All one of them. Applejack pulled her hay bacon closer and Applebloom dropped hers, while syrup dribbled down Big Macintosh’s chin. Twilight took a step into the kitchen. Nothing happened, so she took another. No one burst into laughter and no buckets of blood descended from the ceiling, so it wasn’t like prom at all.

Grabbing the vacant seat at the end of the table, she managed to greet, “Um, good morning everypony.”

Apparently she’d passed. Now, with cheery air, Granny Smith said, “Morning, dearie! I hope ya slept well?”

You know just how I slept with your midnight intrusions, she thought, but polite conversation would be best. “Yeah, I slept, it was nice enough. Away from home and all, y’know.” And pillows, blankets or any soft surfaces.

“Eeyup.” The syrup hanging from Big Macintosh’s chin waved back and forth, obscene and dangling. Twilight quite liked the slow, hypnotic swing of the thick string.

She took the moment to gaze at the spread of food before her. Pancakes studded with chunks of sliced apples, glistening apple slices, apple-berry-nut muffins, eggs, hay bacon, apple toast with apple jam, and a bowl of Applejacks completed this balanced breakfast. Twilight helped herself to a fitting portion for an indulged mare that spent many days in bed reading, meaning three buttered pancakes and four eggs drowned in syrup.

Twilight smiled warmly as she held her fork in a traditional Italian grip. After a moment to register the space between her and Applejack, she began the conversation with a cautious line. “So this is quite the feast. I hope you didn’t go to all this trouble just for me.”

“What’re you talking about? This is a normal breakfast on the farm,” chimed Apple Bloom.

“You’d know that if you were the real Twilight,” Applejack’s response was a rapid derobement that left the proffered conversation spinning in place.

Twilight cringed, but attempted another riposte at friendliness. “Well I am the real me, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen this much food since the last Apple family reunion. Are you preparing for one?” She dropped the last question carefully, revealing herself as the real self and testing the Applejack at the same time. A master stroke.

“Twilight would know I ain’t allowed at the family reunions anymore,” said the orange mare, not falling for the line and retreating into a more guarded posture.

The scholar’s advance was not to be dissuaded, and she pressed. “Because of the mess you made of the last one?”

Applejack averted her eyes. “Nah, I, uh, I accidentally called one of my nieces a dickhead...” she admitted, “but don’t you go getting any funny ideas, I know how you get around them things!”

“I do not have a penis obsession!” Now Twilight was on her guard, she hadn’t expected such a feint from Applejack and the right of way had shifted.

“No one said ya did,” Granny Smith added as she tried to placate the inflamed discussion.

“But ya do,” glared Applejack.

“No, I--Hold on, that means you think I might be the real Twilight!” The amateur maître-sabreur nearly squealed with pleasure. Touche, the point was hers.

“It don’t mean nothing but that you’re obsessed with penis!” Applejack was just jealous she’d been beaten to the first point.

“Um, I don’t think this conversation should be happening at the breakfast table, with a little filly present,” said Applebloom in avertissement.

“Ah shoot, y’all haven’t had this talk with her yet?” exclaimed Granny Smith, frowning at Big Macintosh.

The only stallion present replied with a quiet, “Eenope,” as if to say, why are you staring disapprovingly at me instead of her sister?

The situation did not look as if it would get better from there and Twilight had things to do.

“Not a problem because, would you look at that, I’m already done with breakfast!” she said, dumping her eggs under the table and praying Winona would take care of it. “It was great, thanks. Anyway, I’m gonna have to get going now, big day ahead, lots of authentic Twilight stuff to do.” The unicorn pushed away from the table, quickly making for the front entrance.

“Ya ain’t the real Twilight!” she heard Applejacks salut over her shoulder as the door shut.

They might not think so now, but she’d prove it yet. Breakfast had been a bust so she’d really have to turn something up. It was time to start on Pinkie’s lead and dig up some dirt on Ponyville’s poshest and most captivating pony, for one lacking a penis. She was talking about Rarity.

“Ouch,” Twilight grunted as yet another thorn poked through her stealth suit.

Hiding in the bushes outside Carousel Boutique was not comfortable, but it was one of the many sacrifices stealth called for. Among her many talents, Twilight considered herself an aspiring amateur in the arts of espionage. She’d managed to fit the enormous Beginner’s Guide to Not Being Seen in the bushes, as well as several reference guides and a binder for taking organized notes. They mostly fit, with only a single corner of her desk jutting out into the sidewalk.

According to what she knew of the prim mare’s schedule, Rarity would be leaving for the spa visit in just over an hour, at which point Twilight would break into her friend’s home and go through her stuff to find proof of the conspiracy against her. Civil liberties should never stand in the way of friendship!

Pushing a branch from her face, Twilight was just getting to the chapter on subtlety when a voice interrupted her.

“Excuse me, Miss, but do you have any trash you’d like to discard?”

Twilight glanced up to see an elderly face peering down at her. After taking a moment to consider her options, including the ambient air temperature and the direction of the wind, she shrieked and leapt out of the bush. Adjusting her stealth unitard, Twilight kept a considerable distance between herself and the ravages of age.

The senior garbage pony just kinda stared at her glass-eyed, head weeble-wobbling to some unknown frequency.

“You can’t see me, go away!” Twilight hissed, then realized the absurdity of her statement. He couldn’t hear her either, so how could she communicate with him?

“I’m sorry,” the stallion finally warbled, “but I can’t leave until I collect the trash and I can’t lift the bin.” He pointed to Rarity’s overflowing trash container, filled to the brim with worn clothes and half-eaten food that could probably still feed a few orphans. “I need special assistance.”

Dropping her stealth, Twilight replied, “Look, I’m sorry but I am very busy practicing my Celestia-forbidden subterfuge skills.” She attempted to return to minding her bush, but was blocked by the grip of senility.

“Please, miss!” he pleaded, spraying spittle into her face, “I hurt my back recently and these old bones ain’t what they used to be, besides.”

“...If you can’t lift the trash cans, why are you a garbage pony?”

“Well I’ve got to feed my family and this is what my butt told me I did best. Ain’t my place to argue with that.” His voice was calm, as if speaking to a particularly stupid dog. “So can you spare some help?”

Twilight wanted to ask him why he wasn’t being provided for by one of Equestria’s ample public aid services, but it was not a debate the unicorn had time for. “Yeah,” she sighed. “I can help but it’s gotta be quick. I’m trying to spy here.”

She went over to the trashcan, senior citizen trailing far too close within her comfort zone, and proceeded to lift it over to his compost cart. Her head, which had been calm before, barked back bitterly at the task demanded of it. The can crashed loudly as it landed in the cart. Well, close enough the old pony didn’t seem too concerned.

“Say, Miss,” his abrasive voice rattled in her ear as she attempted to pick it back up. “I can’t help but ask, what’re you wearing? I might like to get one for the wife.”

Twilight dropped the bin and answered, “Oh, this is just my stealth unitard. I like it. It's a good blend, reliable..." She gave it a small squeeze. "Compassionate."

They chatted on about the merits of a wool verse polyester blend for a while before the elderly trash stallion had to return to his rounds. Twilight as well returned to her vigil in the bushes, keeping alert eyes on the area and carefully monitoring any activity. Not much was learned except that Mrs. Sassaflash down the road was getting a divorce.

Finally, after a very long time that Twilight’s watch told her was only ten minutes, Rarity exited the Boutique humming a merry tune and wearing a Ronettes-style beehive. This was an important find. Shaking off woes and dandruff, Twilight Sparkle pulled out her notebook and wrote down ‘Rarity is exactly on schedule.’

The conspiratorially curious, yet inconspicuous, unicorn waited until Rarity had pranced out of sight before departing from the bushes. Standing to the side of the Boutique, she focused on the image of Rarity’s living room, but her efforts only brought her a sudden backlash as her powers failed her.

They must be interfering with her magic. Yet another ruse, but they’d underestimated her. She’d come prepared. Searching her stealth fanny pack, Twilight pulled out her Junior Eye-Spy Grappling Hook™, made of the finest plastic $12.99 could buy. The label had read “Warning! Not to be used in any way that might test product’s integrity,” but Twilight disregarded that. She would be fine, she read books.

Swinging it around overhead, Twilight let loose and watched the grapple sail through air to the building’s top. And completely miss to land with a dull thud on the grass beside her. This would take practice as well as having read books.

It only took nine tries before the hook finally latched onto roof. Checking that it was securely fastened, Twilight began to pull herself up because rope climbing is possible with hooves.

After completing her climb, with plenty of time to curse her extra-healthy weight, Twilight reached the roof. As her gym teacher had always said, that was what counted. No matter it took twice the time of her peers. Twilight awarded herself a gold star from the one’s she kept in her stealth pouch, just in case.

As hard as coming up had been, coming down should be easier. Twilight approached the chimney hesitantly. The sweat she’d worked up during her climb should serve to lubricate her passage, but it was still a foreboding passage.

“Just think of it like an enormous penis,” she whispered to herself. Strong and firm, waiting to envelop her entire body in its urethra. Yes. That was a comforting image. Being devoured by the urethra of an enormous, rigid erection. Very comforting.

It was not. After a few moments of squeezing through the tightly packed space, the unicorn realized just how difficult a job certain, holiday themed individuals have. She completed her manual labor in a reckless push. She tumbled out in a rough sprawl of limbs and the Bit Tree purchases that constituted her equipment. It was precisely the moment one doesn’t want interrupted, and it was precisely the moment that Twilight found herself confronted with a small white filly.

“Are you Santa Claus? Why are you wearing a zentai? Are these presents?” The pink maned filly picked up an exploding pen in her hooves. This was perfectly safe, as the pen didn’t have explosives but instead leaked ink furiously due to a damaged press bar.

“It isn’t a zentai,” Twilight explained with the air of one who reads books, “a zentai covers the face, this is obviously a unitard.”

“Okay, why are you wearing a unitard, Santa Claus?”

“Because I am SPYING!” she screamed the last word, causing a few potted plants to subtly shuffle away.

“Are you trying to see if I’ve been naughty,” Sweetie Belle leaned in close and whispered in Twilight’s ear, “because I haven’t been. But I know where Rarity’s been naughty.”

This was a trap. Of some kind. This was definitely a regrettable thing to pursue, at least. And yet, what other choice is there for a unicorn wearing a unitard while she snuck into the home of the changeling that had stolen the life of her friend in order to prove that there was a conspiracy against her and ...

In a rare moment of outrospection, Twilight saw herself from the outside. Saw the room as if looking at a portrait. It would be titled, “Asylum Escapee #16,” and she’d have hairs growing around her muzzle as she loomed over this little filly. The colors would be strange and stretched, as out of tone as she was out of place, except for Sweetie Belle who’d be all polite whites and innocence. It’d be a controversial piece, laden with the guilty symbolism of a pony with things on her mind.

“I’m,” Twilight had to say something, the world was venturing out of her control, but say what, “sorry?”

“I know what you’re looking for,” Sweetie Belle repeated with a cunning grin uniquely shared among children and the very stupid. Without waiting for a response, the filly darted ahead as the older mare followed her.

They found themselves in Rarity’s room. Against one wall was a long table adorned with wigs, which should have attracted Twilight’s attention if it weren’t for the filly leading her toward a desk.

“Shouldn’t you be with your parents?”

“What parents?” Sweetie Belle asked, still bearing that unbreakable layer of innocence. “I live with Rarity, she’s my sister, and this is where she’s naughty,” the filly proclaimed as she pulled a drawer from the desk.

Several papers fell out, papers that Twilight quickly realized she had an unfortunate familiarity with. Months ago, in a moment of folly, Twilight had tried to form a literary circle with her friends. The results had been interesting to say the least, and if these were anything like Rarity’s usual contributions ...

But what better place to hide her secret plans than in her writings? The unicorn certainly spent a lot of time on them, and nopony would question it, if there was a pony to question anything. She picked up one of the pieces of paper and started to read ...

Rarity knelt down in front of Fluttershy, prying apart the lips of Fluttershy’s marehood with Rarity’s hooves. The walls of Fluttershy’s flesh creaked like an old door hinge as a puff of dust filled Rarity’s eyes. The smell that assaulted Rarity’s nostrils was like fish and something else that smells.
Rarity thrust her hoof down Rarity’s throat and vomited into Fluttershy’s cavernous orifice, filling it to the brim with digestive fluids.
“Oh, Rarity, keep vomiting into Flutter’s butter vagina,” moaned Fluttershy as Rarity continued to vomit into Fluttershy’s vagina.
“This is almost as much fun as arbitrarily wedging quotations into daily conversation,” screamed Rarity as she continued vomiting into Fluttershy’s vomit-stained shame orifice. Rarity’s vomit flowed like vomit and also more vomit and blood.
Rarity’s rape vomit dripped down to Rarity’s clitoris and Rarity moaned angrily as Rarity’s asshole was penetrated by Big Macintosh’s tennis racket shaped penis. Big Macintosh pounded away at Rarity’s anus, penetrating Rarity’s cervix and causing Rarity to start lactating from Rarity’s Rarity nipples ...

“Wait a second, something isn’t right about this homemade pornography,” Twilight paused, lowering the document.

“Her understanding of female anatomy is atrocious and who enjoys reading their name that much,” agreed the unicorn filly. Sweetie Belle had become bored with the story part way through and was rolling the pen back and forth on the floor, watching the ink ruin the floor.

“You’re an underage minor. You’re not of a legal age to be reading this sort of thing, let alone be critiquing it.”

“It’s okay I have an adult.”

The unicorn would have stopped to debate whether that made it better or worse, but this was not the time. She needed to go see Fluttershy, and she needed to do so at once.

Author's Note

It is a given fact that any weeble, though he may wobble, may not fall down.