I just had to use a Princess Bride reference!

†Another of my George Carlin specials here: I'm using the French [fort] here, which means strength, not the popular usage variant, [for-tay], which is Italian for "loud." Look up in Merriam-Webster of the Oxford English if you don't believe me. I'm pretty sure The Great Orator himself looked up in the best references of his day when he wrote Brain Droppings. (I have a copy of that book, by the way. An excellent read, I recommend it wholeheartedly; it's absolutely hilarious!)

‡Gealic for useless idiot.

I should note that IMHC, Steven is Irish/Scottish. His mothers family originates from Ireland (his father is second generation and still has a brogue) while his father's family comes from Northern Ireland via Scotland. Historically speaking, Texas was originally colonized by Scotsmen and Bavarians, so Steve's heritage is pretty keen to the historical demographics of his home state. Because his mother is a third gen Irish woman, he has some innate Irish slang in his speech, but he hasn't had a chance to use it much. From now on, it'll be creeping more and more into his lexicon. Just FYI.

From the Daily Journal of Steven Ambrose, Entry Number 30

Okay, this is herd life. Let me explain… No, wait, let me sum up: So, a few days ago, Applejack, who I never expected of having any inclinations to the like, has asked to join Fluttershy and I as a herdmate. Out of all the mares in the shortlist, the exception being Rainbow Dash, Ay Jay was the very least of all these to accept a position within our burgeoning herd. I could potentially see Pinkie Pie; she seems like the kind of mare who is up for anything. Applejack though? She reminds me, in an abstract sense, of those Ozark Mountain people who "keep it in the family." I've seen the way Apple Bloom turned out and it did make me wonder if there was "kissin' siblin's" going on. I haven't really seen any of the Apple Family Genealogy yet, so an assumption could be made for such an argument. Albeit, there an axiom that says that, "assumption is the mother of all fuck ups." I had it my mind that Applejack Apple would prefer to have a stallion all to herself and not share him with anypony. So her request kinda threw me for a loop. Another of my assumptions that gets tossed to the wayside… I'm oh-for-two in that regard.

Anyway, this has made for an interesting few days, for sure. I've had to arrange time to meet with both my current mare and Applejack. Thus far, in the few days I've gotten to know her (well, know her better than I had previously as my landlord), I have to say, we made an excellent choice. Applejack is very affable, has a hidden penchant for exhilarating conversation (in her own folksy manner), and is a remarkably good housekeeper. (She's a far sight better at logistics than I'll ever be, for sure!) She managed to find a pair of socks and some drawers I didn't know I had lost in my flat. The way she does laundry is about as well practiced as one might imagine from the stereotypical Korean dry cleaner, if not better. She also makes a mean apple pie. (Well, duh, she lives and works on an apple orchard!) Mind you, numbers, and math in general, are not her strong suite. Mathematics are not my forté†, either, so I don't blame her for this deficiency. According to Jackie, Big Mac runs all the books and finances at the orchard. Given what I know of the stallion, I can honestly see that. In spite of his simplistic vocabulary, he is without a doubt the most cunning dude I've ever met. He may not be in Twilight Sparkle's league of intelligence, but he's a damn close second!

Right now, I'm looking to establish a base of operations for my herd. (Oh, God, did I just say that?! My Herd! Knock me out with a photon particle…!) Anyway, Jackie and Flutters are considering consolidating my flat with Flutter's cottage. I don't even know how Jackie and them are going to move My Butterfly's treehouse cottage or the Menagerie, for that matter. By Jackie says that it can be done. According to her, my flat can be shoved somewhere within the Southfold Field, along the western border. That should be close enough to the Everfree so Fluttershy can still tend to the wild animals she treats. It's going to be a nightmare to get everything in place, but between Applejack's planning, Big Mac's mind and muscle, and Apple Bloom's engineering skill, I have no doubt it can be done.

The very last thing that comes to mind over the last few days is this Aether and Weave thing. I've come to some understanding about what the title Archmage means. It's not a complete understanding, but it'll do for now. What I've gathered over the last little while is that, as an Archmage (not sure if it's an office or a staff position within the Empire) I can see the way in which magic forms in the environment (The Aether) and pluck it's weave to do my bidding. I've did have to go to Twilight to confirm my suspicions and get a tutorial/primer in magic. She's a little suspicious about why I want to know these things, but she's more than eager to teach me. She was a little less knowledgeable about the weave but she did know quite a lot about the Aether. She explained that the Aether is a reservoir of mana that the Earth and Pegasi ponies tap into to power their ambient magic. Unicorns, and alicorns by proxy, have internal reservoirs of mana that they can tap into as well as specific loci, i.e.: their horns, and that's how they push magic. When she asked my why that was important to me, I told I wanted to know in case I get into a hack with a unicorn. The truth of the matter is, because I lack both an internal reservoir or a locus for my magic, I wanted to know if there were any limits that I might have to my powers. Twilight informed me that only the Diarchs know more on the subject, specifically Princess Luna. (Twilight looked a little put off admitting that last bit.) Now I wonder why that is…

I'm still suspended. It's not the worst thing to ever happen to me, but I'm running out of bits. I refuse to mooch off from Flutters or Jackie. Even though I'd rather not have to deal with her, I suspect the only pony in town to hire me part time for anything would be Princess Twilight. She did say that she needed some repairs done in and around Golden Oak; I just happen to be rather handy with a hammer. Not only can I earn some lucre while I'm there, I can ply Twilight's considerable intellect into an issue that Applejack raised earlier. She made mention that she would like to have a family some day, maybe have a foal or two of her own. Fluttershy is on the fence about having foals, but I kinda expect that of her. Her animal friends are enough of a family for her, at the moment. Applejack, though, would love to get in a family way. She has let it be known that her family expects some offspring to bolster the Apple Family name. If Big Mac doesn't sire some soon, it may be up to Jackie to do so.

So I now I march to Golden Oak, an assignment in hand and armed with an inquiry. I'm hoping I can accomplish both tasks with minimal difficulty. So here I am, standing at the door of Golden Oaks, knuckles inches from the door. I rap on the portal, and I should kill two birds with a stone. Here goes nothin'.

*Knock! Knock! Knock!*

I hear movement behind the door. There's somepony talking back there… I'm hearing two voices, but one of them is unfamiliar to me. I know it isn't Spike; Spike has a high tenor of a prepubescent boy. This voice is a deeper, more mature timbre, most likely a soprano or a contralto. Given the range of the voice, I'm leaning towards contralto. The speaker is haughty, like some of the Canterlot crowd I've heard come through the train station. I wonder what the hell she's doing here? Oh, wait, the door is opening-

"Yes? Can I help you?" speaks an unknown mare.

It's a weirdo from another planet. The mare's mane and tail are like a candle flame, brilliant yellow and crimson. Her coat is a shade brighter than Jackie's but with less red in it. Cyan eyes survey me with less than clinical interest. If it's not apparent, I don't know this pony.

"Hello?! Can. I. Help. You?" queries the unknown mare.

"I don't know," I reply, "I was looking for Twilight. I was sure she was in today."

"Princess Twilight is here," the mare tells me, "are you here for a book or are you turning one in? Hurry it up, I'd like to keep this door closed."

"Sunset?" says the alicorn in question, from upstairs, "Is there somepony at the door?"

"I don't know about 'somepony,'" says Sunset, "but there's some ape- thing, darkening the door."

"Ape?" Twilight says, descending the staircase from her bedroom, "Oh, Steven, you're here!"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I reply, "now if Miss Smarmy Pants let's me in, we can get down to business."

"Oh, of course, Twilight says, finally descending the last few stairs, "Sunset, let him pass."

Sunset does so, grudgingly.

"When did you get a maid, Twilight?" I ask, "seems a little too officious for a servant, if'n you ask me."

"I am not a maid," Sunset says, "I am an adjunct, on orders from Princess Celestia," then as an aside, "although if you ask me, this is a waste of my talents."

"Now, Shimmer," Twilight starts, "that's no way to make friends. I think Steve would prove a comfortable companion if you get to know him."

I plant a goofy smile on my face, "I'm kinda like a giant teddy bear in that respect."

"Oh, I bet," deadpans Sunset, "and maybe as about as smart as one."

"She's a delight, Twilight," I say, "wherever did you find her?"

"Steven," Twilight groans, "are you being facetious?"

"A fraction, I reply, "just enough to be amusing without being overly insulting."

Twilight smiles, although this causes Sunset to sneer, and then says, "Steven, let me introduce you to my adjunct. Steven, this is Sunset Shimmer. Sunset, this is Steven Ambrose of the Terran Empire."

"Wait," Sunset Shimmer says, incredulous, "you're from the Terran Empire?"

"Pretty much," I answer, "I've only recently been Returned. That was about, what, almost six months ago? I remember landing in the spring."

"That's right," Twilight says, "you were discovered shortly after Winter Wrap Up."

"Amazing," Sunset says, "a member of the Terran Empire."

"How do you know of the Empire, Shimmy?" I ask, "I'm given to understand that few to none of you Equestrians even knew the Empire existed."

"Shimmer," Sunset growls, "and for your information, before my- well, before, I scoured the Canterlot Archives for any information about The Precursors. Much of the data from that era has been scrubbed clean or otherwise redacted, but I did find mention of something called 'The Terran Empire' in pre-Unification texts."

"Pre-Unification? That must have been before Discord's Era."

Sunset nods, "According to the records I found, The Empire even predates The Olde Poni Empire. According to what I've researched, that ancient Precursor society existed almost around the same time as Queen Astraeus and King Eos."

"Wow," Twilight exclaims, "that is older than recorded Equestrian history!"

"Okay," I add, "so, uh, Twilight, what was this job you wanted me to do?"

"Oh, yes," Twilight starts, "there are some shelves in the Reading Room that have gotten loose. I could do the job myself, but I'm researching some of the things you asked of me last time."

"Oh, yeah, The Aether and The Weave." I declaim, "while we're on the subject of research, do you mind if I pick your brain about something else?"

"Sure, Steven, what is it?" Twilight says.

"Well, I wanted to know a few things about animal husbandry and genetics, if at all feasible."

"Huh," Shimmer balks, "the ape can talk and knows a thing or three about genetics."

"I'm no PhD in the subject," I retort, "but I knew enough to pass high school Biology."

"In that case, Steven," Twilight affirms, "what did you want to know?"

"How many chromosomal pairings are in pony DNA?" I ask, "with Applejack as a herdmate, I want to be prepared for the obvious grilling Granny Smith is going to give me about grandchildren."

"An interesting subject," Twilight begins, "well, it's known that ponies have thirty chromosomal pairings. There have been many studies done to compare Equestrian DNA with other species, namely Minotaur, Griffon, and Donkey; most have been found to be compatible, except for Donkey. Why do you ask?"

"I would like to say I'm satiating my curiosity," I reply, "but I'm certain that Granny Smith is gonna want to know when Applejack and I are gonna have some foals. Given that humans have but twenty-three pairings, I guess the answer is going to be never, unless I can master some Transfiguration spells and/or acquire some transformative potions or the like."

"Only twenty-three?" Twilight asks.

I nod, "Eyup. So if my Biology is correct, if I mated with an Equestrian mare of any race, there's a 100% chance that said mare would not be able to conceive offspring? The human genome lacks the necessary chromosomal variance."

"That's absolutely true," Twilight says, "though I wonder why you're taking this line of thought. Does it have something to do with your herd?"

I nod, "Applejack asked a few days ago if she could join. Flutters and I accepted her as a herdmate, though I'm sure Granny Smith would like a say in it all."

"The ape has a herd?!" Sunset declaimed.

I sneer, which visibly upsets the fiery mare, "Yes, I do. And if my understanding is correct, short of becoming a pony myself via magic or using a transformative potion to affect my spermatozoa to have more equine features, I won't be having any children for the time being."

"Huh," Shimmer infers, "an ape with a fundamental understanding of magic and genetics? You, sir, are everything that The Precursors were not."

"Care to clarify," I inquire, "Shimmy?"

Sunset audibly moans, then says, "The Precursors, or Terran Empire if you will, didn't have any understanding of magic. It is believed by many in the field of Anthropology that the Terran Empire consisted of hoomans that had no magic in them whatsoever."

What is with Equestrians and their inability to pronounce "human" correctly?

"Maybe they did," I add, "but the talent faded away, like unto a recessive gene."

"That doesn't sound right," Shimmer replies, "are you sure you're a Terran Imperial?"

"That's what Hand That Mourn says," I answer, "before she started calling me Archmage, she referred to me as 'Child of Ambrose.'"

"Wait," Twilight says, stopping her walk to the back of the library, "did you say, 'Archmage?'"

I nod, "Yeah, I did. It's been happening ever since the Trixie Incident but lately, I've been getting some voice in my head instructing me about 'seeing The Aether and manipulating The Weave.' I had no idea what that was before now. As of late, I've been seeing this- My best term for it is, an ethereal mesh of energy. I see it all around, but it's especially present when I need to it."

Twilight and Sunset query me simultaneously, "When did you see it last?!"

"Uh," I begin, "a few days ago. Fluttershy and I were out getting an order from the Post Office when we got confronted by some Earth pony hussy named Shimmer Star. By the way, Sunset, is that a relative of yours?"

"Neigh," Sunset answers proudly, "my family is purely unicorn!"

"Yeah," I retort, "that explains so much. Anyway, I saw the Weave as I was about to give that Shimmer Star a piece or two of my mind when Flutters went all 'saddle rager' on the filly. Craziest thing I've ever seen."

There was a silence that seemed to permeate the room, then Twilight says, "I need to write to Princess Luna about this."

"What?!" Sunset exclaims, "Why not Princess Celestia? She has more magical experience!"

"Luna is more adept with The Aether than any unicorn mage I know," Twilight rebuttals, "Celestia may have more magical prowess, but Luna has more knowledge and skill."

I hear the two mares arguing for a while before their voices are drowned out by the closing of a door. I gotta wonder if their heated debate might lead to sloppy lesbian sex. (Filly foolers, for the win!) Well, a man can dream, can't he. I should get started on those shelves…

Okay, so no on the hot and sweaty filly fooling. Twilight, which I am have confirmed to be heterosexual, did not go gay for Sunset Shimmer. I don't know enough about Sunset to say which team she plays for. Either way, I heard the heated discussion about which of the Diarchs was more magically powerful. In the end, a letter was still sent to The Goddess of the Night and the debate was never successfully concluded. I did get my question answered (Twilight also asked Lady Luna about Transfiguration as well as The Weave.) Both mares came downstairs in a huff, but Twilight brightened up to see the straightened and tightened shelving in the Reading Room. I got one hundred bits for the work, wherein Sunset complained that such manual labor was abundantly overpaid, and I left in better spirits than I want to.

The reason for that is the meeting I now have to undertake: meeting with my future in the Apple Family. At least I'll be meeting them at the orchard; Sweet Apple Acres is as good a place as any for family meeting. Or an engagement denouement. In any case, I'll be meeting Fluttershy later to prep and get things sorted. In the meantime, I need to stop by Carousel Boutique to pick up my penguin suit for the Triple Gee. Then I'll be back at my flat, which I have tentatively called The Wolf Den, and change over to a good suit. Rarity has made a few of these for me, but I haven't the opportunity to wear one yet. I have a rather severe looking black ensemble that may go over well with Granny Smith or may just endear her to pepper my back side with rock salt. (Shit, talking about rock salt, I just had a memory of Kill Bill, Vol. 2. That scene where The Bride gets a chest full of the stuff while trying to ninja into Budd's trailer. Damn, I hope that doesn't happen to me!) First stop, the Carousel. I just hope Rarity isn't in Supreme Bitch Mode or even worse, Excessive Melodramatic Diva Mode. Anything but those two paradigms…

Well, let's go bite the bullet… Figuratively speaking, of course.

"♪Good Afternoon!♫" sings the seamstress from the back of her shop, "Welcome to the Carousel Boutique! Where everything is unique, chic, and tres magnifique!"

I don't get time to answer, as Charity Sweetmint comes out to greet me.

"Hello, Steven," the apprentice seamstress says, "your suit is done. You won't believe the fight I put up to make sure Ms. Carousel didn't put in something horrifying. She's still upset about what happened to Ms. Dash and yourself."

"I can imagine," I tell her, "do you think I can speak with her before I take the suit? There's some things that need be said."

Charity takes a moment to consider, then she says, "Well, she has been in a better mood than she has had lately. You can try."

"I'll take it," I reply and allow Charity to escort me to the back room. The work room is littered with bolts of cloth, various spools of thread, needles of every size and gauge, and more than a few tape measures. Rarity herself, is sitting at a sewing machine, plugging away at a dress for somepony. She wears a look of utter concentration while wearing her work glasses. I wonder if those are purely decorative or if their some prescription lenses she wears. As Charity walks in, the fashionista looks up.

"Who was at the door, Charity?"

"It was Mr. Ambrose, Ms. Carousel," the apprentice answered, "he is here for his tuxedo."

All Rarity does is nod and point in the direction of the showroom. My tux, now a deep shade of navy and of properly cut and length, rests on a rack drafted from several ponyquin figures. I steal a quick look at Charity to let her know that I'll take over from here. Rather she intuited my meaning or she's seen such a look before and knows exactly what it means, but she leaves the room. Rarity and myself are the only livings things here. (Unless the fashionista's cat, Opal, is in the room, but I don't see her.)

"Hello, Rarity," I begin, though for all the effect it has, I may as well be speaking to a brick wall.

"So," I start again, "I'm having some trouble telling whether you're the Element of Generosity or Element of Loyalty. Because this Grrl Power thing you and Rainbow Dash have built is a pretty tall wall to circumvent."

All Rarity does is scowl as she continues to work. I've seen when she's "in the zone" and the look on her face is anything but "zoned."

"Anyway," I report, "I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day. I may not have have been in my best mind frame but that was no excuse to act the way I did. I'm certain there was a way of expressing my displeasure with your results with losing my temper or resorting to profanity. I sincerely hope we can move on from this. I will endeavor to express myself in more civil manner from now on."

"It's a start," Rarity says, "but you're still in trouble, Steven."

"Would you be so kind as to inform me of what you mean?" I ask.

Rarity retorts, "I mean, you really hurt Rainbow Dash the other day! She came to me in tears, Steven, tears! This is the same Rainbow Dash that has taken I don't know how many crash landings; she has never complained of any discomfort from her various injuries. But that night, while she lay inconsolable on my chaise lounge, I saw a broken Pegasus wearing an equally broken heart! What do you have to say for yourself?"

I let go of held breath, one I had started when Rarity began her diatribe, then explain, "There were some mitigating factors that- well, that negated any pretense of romance that night. Rainbow Dash wasn't the only one inconsolable that night."

"Oh, do tell!" the fashionista seethes.

"What do you know of Fluttershy's mother?" I query.

This stops the seamstress cold, as a contemplative look crosses her face, "I know that she died and her father remarried. Anything else, Fluttershy hasn't told me of."

"She probably wouldn't," I add, "you know how Flutters is; she's a very private mare. Anyway, her mother, Sky Shimmer, was killed during a freak dragon attack. For a while after, her father was given to imbibing on alcohol. He got- a little more touchy-feely with his daughter than society would typically allow."

"Wait," Rarity says, a dawning horror drawing its way into her features, "do you mean-?"

"No," I answer, "but it was close. It only stopped after Butterscotch remarried."

"Oh," Rarity says, relieved.

"That isn't the end of the story, though," I begin again, "her step-mother, Posey, is a local girl. Shortly after the two were wed, Butterscotch got- Well, do you know what marital rape is?"

"Well, no, I've never heard of such a thing-" then Rarity stops, horror struck, "NO! You mean her stepmother was-?!"

I nod, "Forced, yeah. According to Flutters, it happened quite often. That night that Rainbow Dash was with us, Fluttershy had a terrible flashback of the times she was witness to that. She left the bedroom in a crying fit. I don't know if Rainbow knows. She and Fluttershy are best of friends, so certainly she knows of some of the details. And of course, as Fluttershy's coltfriend, I couldn't leave her a sobbing wreck just to pleasure myself with another mare. You understand, right?"

Rarity is struck horrified but the point is definitely getting across, "I'm- I'm beginning to. Why did she never tell us?"

"Would you?" I question, "Would Pinkie Pie, Ay Jay, or Twilight confess? Everypony has their secrets yet some live with theirs because the alternative is be made a pariah or to reveal an humiliating personal truth. So, please, Rares, don't say a word of this Flutters. She misses you dearly and the thought that you could shut her out without hearing her side- Well, from what I could see, it's tearing her apart. If you can't forgive me, at least forgive her."

Tears start rolling down those alabaster cheeks and for the first time in my recent memory, I see a pony diving deep in sadness. Applejack was despondent that Lone Star broke up with her, but that emotion and the sadness I see on rarity's face are of two different leagues.

"Of- Of course, Steven, anything, anything for her. She is my dearest friend, I must say. As you are her stallion, of course I forgive you to. It was- foalish of me to think that you would do anything to harm anypony without a good reason."

"Thank you, Rarity," I reply, and then, with my hands on the tuxedo, "that is a good looking suit! This is a far cry better than the first one!"

"But of course, dahling!" Rarity beams, all sadness forgotten, "only the best for my friends!"

"Yer gonna be just fine, Steve," Applejack assures me, "jus' be yerself."

"Easier said than done," I reply, as I marched with my two mares towards Sweet Apple Acres, "I've only ever met Granny Smith once. If she's anything like the in-laws I've seen or read about before, I'm going home with my ass in a teakettle."

Fluttershy, who is walking alongside me, smiles at the vivid imagery. I can't remember a time I was more nervous, unless it was when I asked my mother if I could take a sign language course at the community college. The request must have been strange to her because none in our family are deaf. It was only later, after Cat and I started dating, that my mom got it. My dad, on the other hand, was less than thrilled. Then again, my father was a Blue Ribbon, Grade-A gammy mog‡. You don't wanna know. I guess he was ambivalent that my girlfriend wasn't an either Irish or Scottish. (Caitlin told me her family originates from The Ukraine.)

"Just remember, Stevie, Fluttershy said, "you won't be doing this alone. I'll be there and this Applejack's family, so she'll be there as well."

"Darn tootin'!" Jackie confirms.

"That'll help out, yeah," I say, pulling on the tie I ill advisedly decided to wear, "alright, let's do this."

The three of us walk the path through Sweet Apple Acres that leads to the Apple Family homestead. The combination house/barn is a sight to behold. The siding is painted in an apple red, the shingles are a deep leaf green, and the whole thing is almost big enough to hold a Boeing 777 comfortably. Awaiting us outside on stacks of haybales are Big Mac and Applebloom. Biggie is gnawing on a wheat stalk, passing time, while Applebloom is bounding between hay bales in a fit of youthful energy. The second she sees us, she makes a beeline towards us. Her first target is Applejack, wrapping the eldest Apple Daughter in a sweeping hug. She then turns to me and wraps to fuzzy forelegs over my left shin.

"Steve!" Bloom exclaims, "did Ah hear correctly? Yer gonna be my bigger brother?"

"That's the long and short of it, Bloomer," I reply, "if'n Applejack will have me, that is."

Said mare has a blooming blush over her freckled cheeks. The sweet smile on her face she would like this more anything else in the world.

"Well, Ah'm sure Applejack will have ya," Bloom says, "yer a better stallion than most!"

As if to prove the point, Applebloom shows off her new cutie mark.

"He sure is," Applejack confirms, "much b'tt'r th'n any stallion Ah've ever known."

"You girls are makin' me blush, now," I confess, "but let's hold off on the fireworks 'till Big Mac and Granny Smith have their say."

Applebloom nods and runs off towards her brother. The red-coated stallion lazes on the haybale he occupies, still whiling away on his wheat stalk.

"Where you at?" I greet.

"What it is," Biggie replies, "been waitin' on ya."

"Yeah," I say, "wanted to give the right impression. Figured it couldn't hurt to get spiffied up some."

Both the Apple stallion and myself take in the new suit I'm wearing. The warm gray pin stripes on black twill make for an interesting effect, making me taller than I really am. The darkness of the suit also make me appear slimmer, if somewhat warmer. The black silk tie I have on is helping in regards to my appearance but not my airflow. At least the loafers I'm waering are moderately comfortable.

"Ya ain't gotta worry 'bout me," Biggie says, "Ah figured ya was a good feller a while back. It's Granny Smith that's gonna weigh an' measure ya. She's the judge, jury an' excution'r 'round here."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," I say. I've only ever spoken with Granny Smith that night Applejack was dumped by Lone Star. Truth be told, I was doing more talking than listening, but Ms. Smith was interested in knowing the situation than interrogating me. Other than that, I've never even seen the Apple Family matriarch.

"Why don't we go on inside," Applejack says, "Ah don't 'bout ya'll, but I'm half past starvin' meself."

"I'm sort of hungry myself," Flutters says, "I'm sure anything your Granny Smith makes will be delicious!"

"Alright," I reply, "Big Mac, I know it's a bit cliché but, take us to your leader."

The Big Red Earth Stallion chuckled a bit and led us all into the Apple Homestead. I find it interesting that besides the stable door at the front of the house, there's also a screen door. (It's probably to keep out the flies during Spring and Summer. How ponies without and hands or fingers installed that is beyond me.) The two mares, the filly, the stallion and I walk into the place (Is that the beginning of a terrible joke or what?) and Big Mac winds his way through a sitting room. He takes a left, past a living room, and into a dining room/kitchen. The kitchen itself, form what I see, is too small for the number of visitors our party is today, but the dining room has an elongated oak table, perfect for receiving guests.

Seated at the head of this table is the aged matriarch of the family, Granny Smith. The venerable Earth mare has seen some times, not just by her sagging coat but also by her world-weary eyes. Those eyes are sizing me up, searching for any pretense or deception in me. For my part, I may be capable of deception or pretense, but on this day I come with neither. Aside from Granny Smith, there's a plethora of food laid out on the table. My mouth is watering, it all looks so good.

Biggie sets himself in the chair on Granny Smith's right, Applejack on her left. Applebloom sits down in the chair beside Ay Jay; Fluttershy and I sit down in the only chairs left, at the end of the table. Once we're all seated, Granny Smith looks around, a smile on her weathered face. She takes in the sight of her grandchildren, then her gaze lands on Flutters and I. The smile doesn't leave, but a shrewd glint appears in her eye.

"Howdy, younguns," the matriarch says," beaming at Biggie, Ay Jay, and Bloomer, "time fer us to have ourselves a family meetin'."

The three Apple Siblings nod there heads. I can't help but notice the smile on Bloomers face or the nervous grin on Ay Jay's. This is the moment of truth for all us.

"'Fore we begin with the vittles and such," Granny Smith orates, "we gonna say grace. Mister Steve, if'n ya be so kind."

I'm a little surprised by this, for I figured we get to eating before any major announcement were to be made, but I handle this. This used to happen all the time when I was visiting Members home for Family Home Evening or Home Teaching. I just gotta pull something out of my hat. (Now I'm wishing I had actually worn a hat. I could ask for Jackie's, but she took her's off the minute we were inside.)

"Whelp," I murmur, just loud enough for Flutters to hear, "Here goes- something."

"Our kind and Gracious Heavenly Father,

"We thank Thee this day for the wonderful company in which we find ourselves with this day,

"We thank Thee for the Princesses Celestia and Luna, whose blessing everypony can feel and freely partake in,

We thank Thee for the Apple Family, whose kindness, grace, and honesty are the hallmark of an excellent family,

We thank Thee for the food of which we are about to partake, may it be nourishing to body and soul and be pleasing to the taste;

"Heavenly Father, we ask that Ye bless this house wherein we meet,

"We ask that Thou grant ach prayer of this household and make them strong and prosperous,

"We also ask thee to bless this food, and the matriarch of this house who made it,

"We ask that The Princesses be equally blest, that their wisdom and charity we unrivaled in all this world,

"and We ask Thee that Thou should bless this nation, Equestria, that it's citizens know peace and harmony all the days of their lives;

"We say these things, Father, in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, Amen."

A round of "amens" follow my prayer. At first, though, nobody tucks in. I open my eyes and see everypony, even My Butterfly, looking at me with a high measure of interest. The whole thing makes me weirdly anxious. I wonder, did I something wrong?

"Everything alright?" I ask.

"Uh, yeah," Jackie says, "it's just, we ain't ever heard a grace like that afore."

"Where there something wrong with it?" I query further.

"No," Fluttershy says, "there was nothing wrong with it. It was just- different."

"Ah'll say," Granny Smith adds, "kinda long, too. It was purty, though. Mighty purty, that one was."

"Do hoomans say prayers like all th' time?" Big Mac asks.

"Not always," I answer, "some human prayers are rather simple. Things like, 'Good bread, good meat, thank God, let's eat.' Or stuff like, 'I lay me down to my head to sleep, I pray The Lord my soul to keep; if I should die before I wake, I pray The Lord my soul to take.' I'm a Latter-Day Saint; our prayers have a formal structure that few human religions practice."

"Just how many religions are there where yer from?" Applebloom asks.

"I'm not sure," I reply, "There's Roman Catholicism, Orthodox Catholicism, Russian Orthodox Catholicism, Protestantism, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Shintoism, and quote-unquote, Mormonism, which is what I practice. I'm not the best example of Latter-Day Sainthood, but I try my best."

"Woo-hee!" Granny Smith whistles, "that's nuff to make a pony's head spin!"

I nod in confirmation.

"Well, the food ain't gettin' any warmer," Granny Smith declares, "dig in!"

The matriarch's pronouncement causes a veritable flood of chaos to occur. Everypony at the table tucks in to the feast laid out on the table. If my mother were here, she would be appalled by the table manners on display, but the Hell with it, these are ponies. So, with a polite request to Fluttershy, I start on a heaping plate of apple fritters. And, ho dayum, are they good! I'll think I'll try the some of those apple dumplings, they look good…

Somewhere between the apple cobbler and the apple pie, Applejack stands up from the table (on her hind legs, no less) and clears her throat. Everypony at the table stops what they're doing to listen.

"Granny, Big Mac, Applebloom, I have somethin' 'portant to tell ya'll."

Applebloom waits with bated breath, Big Mac is already aware but keeps a stoic composure, but Granny Smith is the one taking a wide-eyed interest in what's about to happen.

"As ya may or may not know, Ah've asked Steve here if Ah can join his herd; as it turns out, Ah can! Now, Ah know there be a lot ya'll wanna ask, 'specially of me but more likely Steve here, so Ah'm gonna open th' table ta discussion."

Applebloom is the first to speak, "Does that mean I get a new sister?"

I grin, happy that Bloomer is approaching this with all her enthusiasm, "Yeah, it kinda does. Fluttershy is going to be your sister-in-law, technically. I'll be your brother-in-law, by the way."

Big Mac speaks next, "Does that mean that Ay Jay is gonna be away from the farm a lot?"

"No," Ay Jay says, and I continue, "I wouldn't tear a farmgirl from her beloved home, so Ay Jay is staying here on The Acres. If anything, I'll be moving The Wolf Den away towards the southwest portion of the orchard so Fluttershy can still access The Everfree Forest. Flutters and I have talked about this and she is willing to move; she's already spoken with all were woodland friends and they will make the trek as well. If anypony is wondering, the critters are gonna keep to The Menagerie, so there won't be any worries of critters messing with the apple harvest."

Granny Smith then says to Ay Jay, "Well, youngun, you sure took a fine stallion fer yerself. Loads better then that Lone Ster feller. I gotta ask, if'n ya get my blessin', when can I expect some foals?"

This is what I was afraid of answering, even though Applejack and I discussed this on the way up here, "Well, ma'am, there probably won't be any foals for the time being. Humans and ponies can't mix; it's like the mules back home, they're sterile. Albeit, the barrenness is something that will effect Fluttershy, too. Until I can have a transformative potion brewed or learn some Transfiguration magic, foals are gonna be something of a pipe dream. That's probably what you didn't wanna hear and I'll be the first to admit that the inability children is a blow to me, but I hope someday I can circumvent those obstacles."

"Wait a minute," Applebloom interjects, "ya can do magic?!"

I shrug, "A little bit; I'm something called an 'archmage'. I have some spells and charms that I've learned, but I'm nowhere in the league of Lady Twilight. I have some that I've used with some success, but I'm no master at it yet."

Granny Smith goes a wicked gleam in her eye and says, "Prove it."

Leviatus, says The Voice in My Head, lighter than air, stiff as cold steel.

"Leviatus," I call. The plates and cups at the table begin to float. I've used local impact spells (stuff like Alacrity) and area effect spells (my shield spell, Impediment) but I've never used a direct effect spell before. I begin to wonder if this spell has other, more practical applications.

"Now that is nifty," Granny Smith muses, "where'd ya learn stuff like that?"

I chuckle nervously before responding, "You wouldn't believe if I told ya."

Granny Smith lets the matter rest for the moment but Big Mac has another concern on his mind, "Can ya do apple buckin' with that stuff?"

"Not sure," I answer, "I do have a spell that I haven't tried yet that makes me almost as strong as an Earth pony. I do know that I'll need to avail myself of your orchard while I stay suspended from the Arcade. I sure as Hell am not gonna loaf around; I wanna earn my keep."

"Oh, I think we can get some chores fer ya t' do," Granny Smith comments, "don't know if we can pay ya…"

"As long as I roof over my head and my two best girls with me, I won't mind." I reply, "in fact, if i can get a little help from Applebloom, I might be able to make The Acres more profitable than it ever was."

"Howda ya mean?" Big Mac asks.

"I have some idea," I answer, "like a machine that will automatically make haybales and a new design for your cider press that will make twice the volume of apple cider than you usually produce."

"You ain't gonna go all Flim FLam Brothers, are ya?" Applebloom asks.

"Yeah," Granny Smith adds, "we ain't needin' any smoke an' mirrors 'round here."

"I know who these 'Flim-Flam Brothers' are," I retort, "but some of the Terran Imperial tech I've seen will make harvesting apples and making cider much more efficient. It's my understanding that you have traditional methods of doing your business and if you don't like my proposals, then I won't allow them to interfere. Like my grandpappy is fond of sayin', 'If'n it ain't banjanxed, done clem widdit.'"

An appraising look comes over both Granny Smith and Big Macintosh. After a short while, they gather in a huddle and start speaking in whispers. Applejack and her sister try to listen into the conversation but the Matriarch and The Head Stallion are speaking so softly that nopony is privy to what they're discussing. After a minute or two of private evaluation, the two break apart.

"Well, youngun," Granny Smith begins, "Ah'll be pleased as punch to let ya take my granddaughter as a bride. Big Mac an' Ah are in agreement on that. So it gives me great pleasure to say, welcome to the Apple Family!"

We all stand up, Fluttershy included, and meet in a family embrace. I don't know if it's the food, the welcome or the fact that this meeting is done and over with, but I'm brimming from ear to ear.

The last month has been a whirlwind of activity for me. Between sculptures and paintings I've made back at my loft and the time I've spent cavorting with Lady Cornelia, I don't think I've ever had a better time in all my lives. Cornelia is- well, she is something I think I've been missing. As First Confidante of House Genial, she is both an excellent listener and an objective problem solver. She provides insights into my life that I had not known were needed.

So it safe to say that I have been frequenting my friend Cassius' little discoteque for the last month or so. I may not be there for the dancing or the drinks. Hades, I am not even there for the music, though some of the acts have been mighty good. No, I spend much of my time at the Four Winds engaging in the most stimulating conversation with Lady Cornelia. I realize that House Genial has reputation as the home for concubines, consorts, escorts, and prostitutes, but in my dialogues with Lady Cornelia, I have found that the reputation is largely unwarranted. Yes, there are those professions tucked into House Genial, but many more of the Houses members are engaged in with the Humanities, such as psychiatry, physical therapy, and counseling.

Mind you, House Genial is one of the Lower Houses and unlike House Praetorian, it is subject to massive amounts of regulations regarding its members. For example, they are only permitted to operate in certain districts of Pivot. Much of their business can only occur in color coded districts, like Blue (dealing with male prostitution), Red (dealing primarily in female prostitution) , and Violet (dealing in business relating to entertainment or escort services). Lady Cornelia is akin to a psychiatrist, so her comings and goings are not as tightly bound as the rest of her house. She and I still get our fair share of curious looks, whenever we are out and about. The Higher Houses are permitted anywhere in the Empire, let alone Pivot, so to hear of such odious restrictions is rather unsettling for me. Still, it does give me incentive to remove myself from the Silver District that houses my loft. It is also excellent exercise to travel on foot from The Silver District to the Violet District.

On this night, The Four WInds is nearly at capacity. It may be early on a Saturday evening, five in the evening to be precise, but the floor is packed, anyway. I can see many of members of Higher Houses here. I can even see some members of House Proletariat. That makes me wonder why they are here; House Proletariat is known for indulging in wine tastings, symphonies, and other upper class fare. Why they would slum it up here is beyond me. Whatever the cause, there s still quite a crowd here and the main act hasn't even arrived yet.

Said act is a new talent, only just found a few weeks ago. Unlike many of the bands and artists that play this stage, this act actually one of the Equestrians. An unicorn mare, if I recall, who goes the stage name of MC Pon-3. I happen to know her personally, being a liaison for the Terran Empire to the Equestrians. Her proper name is Gramophone, and she hails from a place called Stalliongrad. She has a yellowish white coat, and a dark cobalt mane striped with moderate cyan. Outside of her trademark darkened spectacles, she is also known for her golden gramophone cutie mark. It will be the first time an Equestrian has appeared at an Imperial forum. I am looking forward to her performance.

As per my custom, I am lounging at the bar. Alcohol has no interest for me, so I sipping a rather enjoyable concoction called a soda. The carbonated beverage is something new to me; the little buzz I get from the caffeine infused in the drink is a pleasant experience. The rest of the crowd is imbibing on whiskey and scotch. Not my kind of poisons, but to each their own. The crowd is tuned up for the show, but that doesn't stop some from making their own entertainment.

"It is plentiful crowd for a Saturday," speaks Lady Cornelia, "one would think The Matron is in attendance."

"Who knows, she might," I reply, "she does like new and interesting things. A disc jockey from Equestria is certainly new."

Cornelia adds, "And novel. I have heard of these Equestrians before but I confess I know them not. Is it true that they are some manner of equine?"

"They are," I answer, "albeit, they are not like any equine I or anyone else has ever seen. Their muzzles are smaller, their eyes are larger as their crowns. They have the ability to speak and some, like the unicorns, have capacity for the magicks."

"That is mighty impressive," Cornelia says, "I have never seen magick before."

"I have," I reply, "when those thrice Goddess cursed dragyns emerged. The kind the Equestrians can use is benign, but some magick- Let us say that some magick is best not imagined."

We wait, watching the atmosphere of the place grow with anticipation. The crowd jostles to and fro, as new customers arrive, displacing older ones. At length, a trio of young turks, all from House Proletariat, trundle to the bar. By the smell of them, they are already wasted on powerful spirits. The bloodshots eyes and slurring speech are the best indication of how intoxicated they are. One of the trio, a rotund blonde youth with the first shadow of a beard on his face starts gawking at Lady Cornelia. His two comrades join suite in the ogling.

"Wow," the blonde one says, "pretty lady…"

"Hot momma," says his even more rotund but dark haired compatriot, "I bet you give great head."

Lady Cornelia refuses to acknowledge them.

"Hey, baby!" calls out the third young man, a rail thin teenaged freak with purposely dyed blue hair, "You wanna hook up?"

Lady Cornelia is patently refusing to answer their salacious inquiries but hat does not stop the three young men from continuing their harassment. At some point, they physically accost Lady Cornelia into going outside tith them. I believe they assume that her House Genial sigil is a sign that she is a whore. I step to ensure them that is not the case.

"Excuse me," I demand, "but you are violating the lady's personal space. If she is not responding to your cat calls, then mayhaps you should seek out a more accommodating female."

"And who're you," asks the bulbous blonde, "to get in our way? I'll have you know my father is head of The Triune Faction. One word and your life is over."

"And I," says the freakish third of the trio, "am the son of the Finance Minister. If I don't get what I want, my father will see to it that you will be destitute before weeks end."

"I would like to see him try," I respond, "for I am Primus Legate Ambrose, of House Praetorian. My position supercedes any of your fathers posts. Now, do I have to enquire after a cadre of peacekeepers or shall I have to educate you in the fine line between harassment and courtship?"

The trio back off, obviously now understanding that their efforts are futile. They parse through the crowd just as the stage begins to dim.

"Thank you," Lady Cornelia says, "none in my house have the kind of authority to refuse one from the Higher Houses."

"Verily welcome, you are," I reply, "it is the least I can do for such a lovely woman. A lady such as yourself should not have your honor tested or sullied."

Cornelia smiles at my words and just as MC Pon-3 takes the stage to massive applause, she sneaks a kiss on my cheek.