Slate found nothing interesting and several things depressing in the paper, but as smells began to emerge from the bakery, he found himself unwilling to leave. Every time he thought things couldn’t smell any better, they proceeded to improve yet again. Mr. and Ms. Cake were working hard now, and Pinkie was busy cleaning up the interior, removing day-old baked goods, sweeping the floor, and greeting the slow trickle of customers with a wave and a smile. While certainly not the sort of pony Slate was inclined to get along with, she was nonetheless reasonably friendly and he could see why the cakes found her so invaluable. She worked hard, was eager to please, and seemed to have an insatiable drive to make everyone around her happy. Also, she brewed a damn good cup of coffee, and while there were no donuts, muffins, croissants or Danishes ready yet, the biscottis were good. Slate liked the pistachio and chocolate ones especially.

    “So are you enjoying your breakfast?” said Pinkie, eagerly refilling Slate’s coffee cup for the third time. The caffeine was slowly helping him to be more awake and lightening his mood, and were he inclined to do so, he might even be up for a smile or two.

    “It’s all right,” said Slate. “Though I’m hoping to follow up these biscottis with something a bit more substantial. How are the muffins coming along?” Slate realized he shouldn’t have said that - after downing half a dozen biscottis, he should at least feign being full, let he be thought a pig. Choosing way to say was always so hard. Why couldn’t he just say what he felt, and not be judged for it? It’s not like he wanted to steal anything or beat anypony up. He just really liked Mr. and Ms. Cake’s cooking.

    “They’re coming along just perfect, like always!” said Pinkie, bouncing on her hooves and almost spilling the pot of coffee she was carrying.

    “I mean, how much longer will it be?” asked Slate, trying to disguise the grumbling of his stomach. How could he be so fat and yet still be hungry all the time?

    “Oh! Well, I don’t know! But not much longer!” said Pinkie. Slate sighed, and went back to fumbling with the paper. Maybe there was something that he’d missed, other than the sports page or the farm reports.

    “Uhm, excuse me,” said a voice. He looked out from his paper and recognized the pegasus mare from the night before - the one whose tail he’d stepped on. “I don’t want to bother, but if you’re not reading the farm reports, I’d really appreciate it if -”

    “Here,” said Slate, tossing them to her without so much as a thought. “I don’t invest in the Stalk Market anyway.” The pegasus seemed surprised. Was it really that odd to not invest in the Stalk Market in this day and age?

    “OH! Thank you! Usually I have to wait forever, especially when Rich gets the paper first,” said Fluttershy. “Oh, I uhm, don’t believe I got your name last night. My name is Fluttershy. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

    “I’m Slate.” He looked over the side of his paper and realized she was holding out a hoof. Slate shook it perfunctorily. Where WERE those darned donuts?

    “Oh, okay, I’ll just go now,” said Fluttershy, quietly sidling off to another table. Finally, somepony who understood what Slate wanted. Now if he could just get a few pastries and signatures, he’d be off, and that would be the end of it.

    After much more waiting, the pastries finally arrived. Seeing the rush of several dozen ponies all coming to the counter as the Cakes began to take orders, Slate decided to stay where he was. There would no doubt be enough for everyone, and by pushing, shoving and yelling his way to the front, all slate was likely to get was a headache. Besides, they wouldn’t let down someone who’d just saved them thousands, would they?

    As the crowd continued to jostle, though, Slate began to regret his decision. First, the chocolate-iced donuts sold out. Then the chocolate muffins. Then the blueberry ones. Clearly, he had massively underestimated the demand in light of the supply. Even as the cakes struggled to bring out more baked goods, it became painstakingly clear that, while he could get something, he couldn’t get what he wanted. Instead, that went to those who pushed, shoved and yelled their way to the front. He sighed again, setting down the paper and going to get into the queue. Help somepony out and all you’ll ever get is a “thank you,” if that. He might as well just grab a few plain donuts and head on out to the train station. He was fat anyway, and it’s not like he needed them.

    “Hold it right there, Slate!” said Pinkie, coming up next to him in the crowd. “What are you waiting in line for? I’ve got a special breakfast that I made just for you!” Turning around, Slate saw a most un-bakery like breakfast - chocolate chip pancakes, hash browns and orange juice. Slate blinked, startled.

    “Where...Where did this come from?” asked Slate, staring at it. It was all he could do to keep from digging in. The hash browns were neither soggy and undercooked nor stiff and burned. The pancakes had plenty of chocolate chips, but were not a soggy, wet mess of melted semi-sweet chocolate. Indeed, whoever made this seemed to have understood his preference for food that was not too fatty, not too sweet, and not too overdone - a rarity in this modern world of high-fructose corn syrup, inexpensive vegetable shortening and sugary soda drinks.

    “I made it myself, in the kitchen, after mixing up the twins’ formula!” said Pinkie. “I was totally watching you eat last night and I was like ‘I bet he’d like a real breakfast!’ So I made one! And it’s all happy! See the smiley-face I made with the ketchup?”

    “It’s very nice,” said Slate, digging in as slowly as he could. Had he found himself unobserved, he would have wolfed it down in minutes, loving every minute of it. Slowing down wasn’t so bad, but it took a level of self-control that he wasn’t quite used to. Or fond of. “Thank you, Pinkie. How much do I owe you?”

    “Are you crazy?” said Pinkie, ruffling his mane. Slate froze, nervous about being touched, but she quickly backed off and let him resume his meal. “You TOTALLY saved the Cakes like, thousands of bits per year! I should be cooking you breakfast like, thousands of times!”

    “You’re just an employee, though,” said Slate.

    “That doesn’t matter!” said Pinkie. “The point is, you helped somepony out, and so somepony should help you out! With a big super-awesome breakfast so you can have a really good day!”

    “All...Right,” said Slate, still not quite sure what was going on. “Well, thanks again.”

    “Aren’t you going to smile for me?” said Pinkie, putting on a fake pout. “Doesn’t this awesome breakfast and the way you so awesomely helped somepony out make you just feel good inside?”

    “Yes,” said Slate. He put on his best smile, but he could tell from the way Pinkie looked at him that this wasn’t enough.

    “That’s not a smile!” said Pinkie, putting on her biggest grin. Had she been any less cute, it would have been frightening. “This is a smile! C’mon, smile for me!”

    “I...Can’t,” said Slate, burying his face in his food. Smiling - indeed, any expression of happiness - had never been Slate’s “thing.” Every time he tried, it felt so disingenuous - so obviously fake.

    “What are you talking about?” said Pinkie. “Everypony knows how to smile! You just put your lips up like this!” Her smiling was so big, so overpowering, that it made Slate sick just to look at. How could anypony possibly be that happy?

    “I just can’t, ok?” said Slate, angrily turning away. “Just let me eat my breakfast in peace!” Slate expected Pinkie to press the point, but much to his surprise, she left him in peace, going back to tending tables, working the counter, and whatever else needed doing. Slate sighed a bit, feeling bad for telling Pinkie off. She was just trying to help, after all. And she’d made such a nice breakfast for him. Why was Slate always being mean to other ponies? It wasn’t as if he meant to. And yet, it just kept happening. It was just so frustrating.

***

    The crowd cleared out by ten, and as the bakery began to shift from the morning to the lunch schedule and layout, Slate finally managed to get the Cakes away from their ovens long enough to get the necessary signatures and hoof prints on the paperwork. Carefully sorted and organized, it was now ready to be processed. All he had to do was go home and hand it in.

    “I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped us,” said Ms. Cake.

    “Yes you can,” said Slate. “I processed your paperwork and helped you balance your booking more efficiently.” Ms. Cake stared a bit, and Slate realized that, once again, he’d taken a statement too literally. Sometimes he wondered if he should just try not to speak at all - seeing as speaking rarely seemed to work out in his favor.

    “Yes, well, thank you nonetheless,” said Ms. Cake, who proceeded into the back to help with the various day loaves and sandwich breads that she and Mr. Cake were preparing for the lunch and grocery crowd.

    “So do you have to go now?” said Pinkie. Slate blinked. Of course he had to go. He was finished, wasn’t he? “Because my friend Fluttershy could really use your help!”

    “Oh, he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” said Fluttershy. “I mean, he seems like a very busy pony, he probably needs to get back to Fillydelphia. Besides, you don’t want the Cakes’ trademark getting delayed, do you?”

    “Nonsense!” said Pinkie, waving a hoof in the air. “Fluttershy, every other week you’re running dozens of bits short, and every time you read the farm report, you cry more than Rarity does when she chips a hoof!” Fluttershy seemed to retreat into her own mane, blushing deep red with shyness. It was a clever trick - if he ever grew out his mane, he’d have to learn to make use of it.

    “Oh, it’s uhm, it’s nothing,” said Fluttershy. Slate sighed. Clearly, Pinkie wasn’t going to let up, Fluttershy wasn’t going to break down, and Slate wasn’t going to get anywhere. It was time for him to act.

    “Look, I’m not an accountant or anything,” said Slate. “But let’s go over your expenditures, maybe there’s something I can help you with.” Fluttershy suddenly brightened up, shyly beaming at him with appreciation. It was going to be a long day. Hopefully he could convince Pinkie to pay him with lunch, at least.

***

    Slate sighed, taking a long, slow drag on his cigarette and rubbing his forehead with his hoof. He’d been back and forth over Fluttershy’s expenditures and ledger, and there was simply nothing doing. He’d never seen a personal expense record - even his own - so meticulously recorded, categorized and optimized. An examination of her tax returns revealed that she was taking account of every deductible she could - and, unlike many ponies, none of the ones she shouldn’t - and was, in fact, investing her bits very wisely in the Stalk Market. The problem was that she simply did not have enough regular income to cover her expenditures which were, while very carefully managed, surprisingly large for a single pegasus. It wasn’t that Fluttershy had expensive tastes - far from it. Rather, she had expensive responsibilities. From taxes and upkeep on the extensive landholdings around her house to enormous expenditures on animal feed, Fluttershy had to spend thousands of bits per month just to keep everything working. And the fact that she kept lending money out to friends was certainly not helping - although it was clear that this expense could not be helped.

    “Uhm, if you don’t mind, and it’s not too much of a bother,” said Fluttershy.

    “Out with it!” demanded Slate, almost growling as he spoke. “I’m sick of your whimpering; just tell me what you want!” As Fluttershy shrunk back in fear of his words, Slate realized he’d let his anger get the best of him again. First Pinkie and now Fluttershy? Things were not going well today.

    “I’d really appreciate it if you stopped smoking,” said Fluttershy. Slate could barely hear what she was saying; it was so soft, and muffled by her mane. “It’s just that Angel Bunny doesn’t like the smell of cigarettes, and I know you don’t mean to, but the smoke is getting into my curtains.” Slate looked down to see a small, apparently angry rabbit wearing a gas mask. Where did you even get a gas mask for such a small animal?

    “Why didn’t you ask me earlier?” said Slate, confused. He knew most ponies hated his smoking, and generally, they told him to stop before he even got started - or, at the very least, asked him to go outside. “I must have burned through a pack and a half while I was working on your papers.”

    “Well, I tried to,” said Fluttershy. “But you were concentrating so hard, and I didn’t want to disturb you!” Slate stubbed out his cigarette on a saucer where he had been accumulating them. He realized, looking at the burn marks, that he had in fact ruined it. Even when he tried to help people, Slate made himself a nuisance.

    “Well, about that,” said Slate. “I honestly don’t know what there is to be done. I’ve never seen any pony keep such a good accounting of her finances. Even I’m not this meticulous. And I can’t figure out any way you could reduce costs either - not unless you agreed to get rid of some of your animals or stop giving so much money to your friends.” Fluttershy frowned, burying her face in her mane again. It would be cute if it wasn’t so frustrating.

    “Oh, well, I guess there’s nothing I can do, then,” said Fluttershy. Slate tilted his head a bit. Was she crying? Clearly, things were worse than he thought.

    “Look,” said Slate, not knowing what else to do. “What about getting a second job or something? I mean, taking care of the animals might be fulfilling, but it certainly isn’t financially rewarding.” Fluttershy began to cry in earnest now. He didn’t understand. What had he done wrong? He was just stating the truth again. “How about working with a local veterinarian or something?”

    “I just...I wouldn’t have the time,” said Fluttershy. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

    “So the problem is time?” said Slate. Fluttershy was still crying, but Slate was intrigued. “I imagine that animal washing and cleaning couldn’t be automated, but surely feeding and some of the other processes could be automated.”

    “Automated?” said Fluttershy. “What’s that?”

    “Well, if you’ll give me a minute, and access to your tool shed, I’ll see what I can come up with...”

***

    “Uhm, if you would, I mean, if it’s not any trouble...” Fluttershy flew this way and that, trying unsuccessfully to stay out of Slate’s way, and also to stop him from helping himself to everything that was at hand. “Uhm, please, that clock was an heirloom from my mother-”

    Slate, however, was paying no attention to her whatsoever. Deep within the fervor of his idea, everything that came to hoof was grist for the mill. Cabinets, clocks, appliances - they were nothing more than sources for parts. And what great parts they were! Fluttershy purchased such high quality goods, and kept them in such great maintenance. He usually had to deal with garbage and scrap when making prototype projects like this. But as it was, he barely had to fix anything at all after removing it from its source. He needed only to clean it and hook it up. Fluttershy even had an abundance of solder, and some basic welding gear. Clearly these items, along with the circular saw, were intended for building animal shelters, but they did just as good for constructing machinery. The circular saw was even a nice, high-end cordless one.

    “There he is!” said Fluttershy. She was in tears now, and accompanied by an astonished and frightened Pinkie. “You’re his friend, make him stop! He’s ruining my house!”

    At this, Slate finally turned around, looking over at the two mares. He couldn’t believe how big he was smiling. It was rare that he managed to find so much satisfaction in a project. It felt good to build something that was more practical than beautiful, and though it was certainly a rush job, it got the job done.

    “All right, mister!” said Pinkie. She was furious. Slate blanched. What had he done wrong? “Fluttershy says that you barged into her house and started breaking everything! Is that true?”

    “No,” said Slate, increasingly confused. “It’s just...I went over her numbers, and there was nothing she could really do to balance her budget...”

    “And what does THAT have to do with this...” Pinkie looked over Slate’s shoulder, and her jaw dropped. “What IS that thing?”

    “Isn’t it fantastic?” said Slate. He couldn’t help but be filled with pride whenever he looked at his contraption. “I call it the universal automatic feeding system. It tracks each animal by height, weight and girth and dispenses the correct amount of food on a regular feeding schedule. I knew that if Fluttershy just left food out for her animals, they’d fight over it or eat too much. So I thought about using a system of counter-weights, to enable animals to only have access by species, but I think this automated system is much better. From badgers to bears, chickens to cockatrices, it’ll feed any animal an amount calculated to be ideal for its metabolic needs - never too much, or too little. And it’s all solid state, so it should be phenomenally reliable!”

    Pinkie and Fluttershy just stared. Slate frowned. Had he not explained it properly? Did they not understand how it worked? Maybe they didn’t like the look of it. He hadn’t had time to paint it, and there were a lot of pieces and parts that he’d like to sand off, grind down, or simply place protective panels over. As it was, it looked too much like a bizarre pile of broken appliances with a series of small panels, levers and bars in front of them. Even if those pieces of equipment were carefully balanced, calibrated and installed.

    “Look, just lemme show you how it works, I know you’ll love it!” said Slate. Pinkie moved in to stop him, but Fluttershy, now seeming to understand what she was looking at, held her back - for now. Grabbing one of the nearby chickens from the coop, he carefully placed it on an appropriately chicken-sized panel. Gently, probes extended around the very confused hen, and when they retracted, a small quantity of high-quality grain (direct from Fluttershy’s extensive stocks) was delivered to a small tray. The hen pecked away at it happily, and then began tapping the machine for more. The machine refused to dispense more, until Slate replaced the just-fed chicken with another, who was likewise fed. “You’re still going to have the problems of re-stocking the machine, and keeping it in good maintenance,” said Slate. “Oh, and of getting the animals used to using it. But if you can solve those problems...”    

    “It’s magnificent!” said Fluttershy. “Usually feeding every animal takes hours, especially because I have to keep them from eating one another’s food!” She flew around the machine gently and slowly, examining it in great detail. “And these storage containers you dispense from appear to be air and water tight - so that shouldn’t be a big problem when dealing with the fact that the machine is largely out-of-doors.”

    “You should still see about building some sort of outdoor barn or shed to keep it shaded from the sun and properly protected from the weather,” said Slate. “But I can help you with -” before he could continue, he found himself being hugged by Fluttershy. Normally he began to panic when other ponies touched him - it instantly brought back terrible memories. But this felt different, somehow. It felt nice. He slowly, gently, put a hoof around her shoulder, and she didn’t yell, scream, or even stop hugging him. And that just felt so incredibly...Nice.

***

    “I’m sorry that he destroyed your house,” said Pinkie Pie. “But at least he left the broom, right?”

    “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” said Fluttershy, holding the dust pan for Pinkie and then emptying the contents in the garbage. “He didn’t mean any harm. I mean, just look at the contraption he built! Even Angel Bunny is using it!” She was right in that he’d used it once - and then demanded that Fluttershy make him an extra-special additional lunch as well. But at least he was willing, somewhat, to get with the program. And the other animals were quickly learning how to use the machine, and how long they’d have to wait before its gears, cranks and computing machines determined they were eligible for food again. “I just wish he hadn’t run off after I thanked him. There were a few more things I wanted to discuss.”

    “Like what he did to your dishwasher?” said Pinkie, pointing to the hole in the kitchen countertop where it once had been. “Or why none of the lights upstairs now work?”

    “Well, that, yes,” said Fluttershy. “But there’s more. Slate isn’t just weird, there’s something very wrong with him. Something...Broken.”

    “How do you mean?” said Pinkie.

    “Look at how afraid he is of other ponies,” said Fluttershy. “It’s one thing to be shy - and I know shy. But Slate isn’t shy.”

    “Yeah, no kidding,” said Pinkie. “I haven’t seen this big a mess since Pumpkin Cake decided to have a pillow-fight with sacks of flour.”

    “That’s right,” said Fluttershy as she disposed of what was left of her microwave, trying not to look at what she was throwing away. She’d always liked that microwave. It managed to heat things so evenly, not like the one she’d replaced. “I think Slate...well, he reminds me of a dog I took in once.”

    “In that he’s dark gray and fluffy?” said Pinkie, grinning a bit. Fluttershy smiled meekly. “Sorry, I guess I’m not on my game in terms of jokes today.”

    “More in that something terrible has happened to him, and now he’s afraid of everypony,” said Fluttershy. “The dog I took in, named Molly, she’d had a very bad series of experiences as a puppy. And even though she was very smart and loved me very much, she was always afraid of the ponies around her, and had trouble trusting ponies - even me.”

    “What pony couldn’t trust you?” said Pinkie. “You’re like, the most trustworthiest pony EVER!”

    “My point exactly,” said Fluttershy. “I’m just worried that Slate acts the way he does not because he’s weird or strange, but because he’s in a world he doesn’t understand, and he thinks everypony is out to hurt him.”

    “Who would want to hurt slate?” said Pinkie. Fluttershy lowered her eyelids a bit and pointed a hoof at the enormous mess that was her house, and at the huge, clattering, clanking, noise-making machine that now took up a large footprint in her back yard. “Oh, right.”

    “A lot of ponies wouldn’t be so nice to him if he made a mess like this and they didn’t know what it was for,” said Fluttershy. “Even I got just the teensiest bit mad when he smashed up my grandmother’s clock. And it wasn’t until I realized that he was making this huge machine - putting in so much time and effort - all for me that I realized he wasn’t just blindly destroying my house. He was trying to help me out in the only way he knew how.” Pinkie nodded, rubbing her chin with her hoof.

    “Now that I think about it, that’s what he was doing with the Cakes too,” said Pinkie. “Out of nowhere he just started looking at - and messing with - the books at Sugar Cube Corner. Ms. Cake doesn’t even let me touch those - and here’s this pony she doesn’t even know looking them over and writing in them!”

    “Exactly,” said Fluttershy. “He was just trying to help - but imagine how infuriated somepony might be if they didn’t understand. And Slate definitely doesn’t understand. Think how scary it must be for him. He thinks he’s helping ponies, and they lash out at him because he’s destroying their house, or invading their privacy.”

    “I never thought of it that way,” said Pinkie. “That’s...Really sad. But if there’s one pony who knows the cure for sad, it’s Pinkie Pie!” She grabbed Fluttershy, dragging him towards the door. “C’mon Fluttershy - there’s a pony out there who needs our help, and if he’s not on the train yet, then we’ve got work to do!”

***

    Slate had missed the last train of the day, but he didn’t care. All of the papers had been duly submitted via the post, and while there certainly was a benefit to his being present while they were reviewed, he had other, more pressing concerns. Helping Fluttershy with that machine had been a good start, but what he needed was something more impressive. Something awesome. Something that he could give to Rainbow Dash. She wouldn’t be interested in a mere accounting review or some gadget for her pets. He needed something better - something that would fill her with the wonder that she’d put into his eyes that night outside Applejack’s barn.

    It had taken hours, but he now had the germ of an idea, carefully sketched out on various bits of scratch paper he had strewn across the picnic table in front of him. Every pegasus could fly, but only a precious few could do so at speed - and the sort of speed Rainbow Dash exhibited was beyond exceptional. But he knew there was more - he just needed to get around the physical limitations inherent in any pegasus, even Rainbow Dash. It was a question of shape, not strength or ability.

    “Hiya Slate!” Slate jumped, only now realizing that Pinkie Pie was behind him. How did she manage to consistently sneak up on him like that? He’d always thought he was rather good at avoiding ponies, or at least hear their approach. “I just got back from helping Fluttershy clean up, and I have something very special for you!”

    “What is it?” Slate was confused. He was sure that Fluttershy had really liked her gift, and that Pinkie Pie’s anger had been mollified when she realized that Slate’s actions had been beneficial rather than harmful. “If it’s about the appliances, I can pay to replace them. Really, I can. Just give me time to make up an itemized list and head down to Barnyard Bargains. I meant to do it before I went home, I just got distracted.” Pinkie blanched for a moment, then smiled.

    “Well, that’s nice, but we can talk about appliances later,” said Pinkie. Seemingly out of nowhere, she brought forth a cake. A large, nice one, even - with chocolate icing and those little curled bits of shave chocolate that he always loved. “Now is the time for cake. And I made this one just for you!”

    “Well uhm, thanks,” said Slate, confused. Was this some sort of prank? No pony had ever given him a cake out of nowhere before. Pinkie was an unusual pony, to say the least, and it seemed she became more and more unusual as circumstances permitted. Slowly, tentatively, he took the proffered knife and cut himself a slice of cake. He tried not to pig out, but the smell was making his mouth water, and as he bit into the slice, it was all he could do to keep from moaning in ecstasy as he tasted the rich chocolate in his mouth. Pinkie grinned.

    “You really like chocolate cake, don’t you?” said Pinkie. Slate swallowed, staring at the floor. He wasn’t supposed to like such things - he was fat and ugly, and fat, ugly ponies weren’t supposed to have cake. They were supposed have boring, disgusting food in very small quantities, until they either got thin or learned to despise food. And Slate had achieved neither. “I knew it! I saw you at the party and I just KNEW you were a chocolate cake pony! Some ponies, they’re all for the yellow cakes with extra frosting, but the way you dug into the Mud Pie I made for the ‘celebrating the Cake’s balanced books’ party, I knew it’s chocolate all the way for you!” Slate chewed slowly, still confused.

    “So is this...For Fluttershy’s automated feeding apparatus?” said Slate, cautiously digging in to another slice. He wasn’t entirely sure everything was okay just yet. But the cake was certainly very, very good, and he couldn’t help but enjoy it.

    “Well, partly,” said Pinkie. “But I was talking to Fluttershy, and, well, she says that what you need right now is a friend! So here I am - hey there, best friend!”

    “That’s nice,” said Slate. “But I mean, I’m not ever going to see you again. I’m going to get on a train back to Fillydelphia and then that’s it. Why even bother to get to know my name?”

    “Because I like you, silly!” said Pinkie, ruffling his mane with her hoof. Slate still didn’t understand.

    “I thought you didn’t wanna sleep with me,” said Slate. Pinkie put her hoof to her face, sighing.

    “Slate, I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours,” said Pinkie. “But there’s more to life than sex and cake. There’s friends. And you really, really need one.”

    “That’s as may be,” said Slate. He didn’t entirely agree with Pinkie, but he’d long since learned that arguing about friendship was a surefire way to get ponies upset with him over nothing. “But the point is I’m going to hop on a train and head out and never see you again. So what’s the point of getting to know you?”

    “What’s the point?” said Pinkie, incredulous. “The point is that everypony needs some pony to be their friend! And I’m the friendliest friend who ever had a friend!” Just then, Fluttershy came up, blushing a bit and apologizing profusely.

    “I’m so, so sorry, Pinkie!” said Fluttershy, gently sitting down on the bench next to Slate. “Angel Bunny kept trying to outsmart the feeding machine, and when he couldn’t, well, let’s just say I think I need to help Angel Bunny learn how to share.” She smiled at Slate. She certainly had a beautiful smile, and with the careful way her mane draped around her face, it was delightful just to look at her. “So do you like the cake Pinkie made for you?”

    “Yes...” said Slate, his voice filled with suspicion.

    “Oh, I’m so glad!” said Fluttershy, smiling meekly. “I know it’s not much of a thank-you for all the hard work you did, but Pinkie said you liked chocolate, and I thought at the very least it would make you feel better.”

    “Feel better?” said Slate, his suspicion giving way to confusion. “I feel fine.”

    “Uhm, you know I don’t mean to correct you,” said Fluttershy. “But I know you don’t. Just look at those bags under your eyes - you have trouble sleeping, don’t you? And the way you almost panicked when I gave you a hug. You don’t like to be touched, do you?” Slate looked at Fluttershy, incredulous.

    “How...How do you know so much about me?” said Slate. “Have you been spying on me or something?”

    “Oh no, I’d never spy on anypony,” said Fluttershy. “I just pay really, really close attention to animals. And what are ponies but just a very special kind of animal? Not, um, that other animals aren’t special too.”

    “So...You’re giving me a cake because I have sleeping problems?” said Slate. What was up with these crazy mares? And what, exactly, were they planning on doing to him?

    “We gave you a cake because we’re your friends!” said Pinkie. Out of nowhere he felt himself embraced by her legs. Without thinking he began to panic, kicking and flailing his legs wildly, desperate to get out of Pinkie’s arms.

    “Now Pinkie, please,” said Fluttershy, gently prying Pinkie’s arms off of Slate. He stopped squirming. “Slate doesn’t like to be touched. Please don’t make this hard on him.” Fluttershy smiled at Slate, keeping her distance but making sure she held his eyes. He was unnerved - eye contact was disturbing to him, even when he could tell it was well intentioned. “Slate, we want to be your friends. Do you know what that means?” Slate looked nervously to the left and to the right, not wanting to admit that, in all honesty, he did not.

    “It means we’re gonna be your bestest pals!” said Pinkie. “We’ll throw parties and go on adventures and have so much FUN!”

    “Pinkie!” said Fluttershy, summoning what little ability to command she had. “Please try to control yourself around Slate. I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s very fragile. This is all very frightening and strange for him.” She looked into Slate’s eyes, and despite his initial fear, he felt himself melting in her gaze. “It is, isn’t it? You’ve never had a real friend, have you? And you don’t know what to do.”

    “That’s...That’s not true,” said Slate. He was terrible at lying, but what else could he do? Admit that Fluttershy was right? “I had lots of friends growing up!” Fluttershy just leaned in and gave him a light, gentle hug. To his surprise, he didn’t panic. Instead, he just felt himself wanting to cry. Fluttershy made him feel inexplicably safe. It was no wonder that the animals opened up to her so readily.

    “We’re your friends now,” said Fluttershy. “And friends help each other! So why don’t you tell me and Pinkie Pie what you’re drawing out here? Maybe we can help!”

    “Actually, maybe you can,” said Slate. He didn’t entirely feel safe yet, but it was clear that these mares weren’t out to hurt him. Whatever their intentions might be, they weren’t selfish, and they weren’t cruel. They probably wouldn’t even make fun of his idea. At least, he hoped they wouldn’t. “Do you know of a good library in the area?”

    “Oh, Twilight Sparkle has just the most AWESOMEST library with like, the coolest books!” said Pinkie. “Everything from Amazing Apples to Zelda the Zebra!”

    “Well, I’m more interested in some books on physics and aerodynamics,” said Slate. “But seeing as this library is operated by Princess Twilight Sparkle, I’m sure she’ll have what I need.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 4: Twilibrary Estimated time remaining: 60 Minutes