“So, um, welcome to Ponyville!” Sweetie abruptly cried, her enthusiasm growing like her beaming smile.

Vincent leant into the doorway and tilted his head to the side as he studied the small ivory curiosity before him. He thought she was familiar in some way and of course it had to have been the one time he lost his mask. Strange, most children would have given him a miss if they knew him after the shattered illusion. Then again, most fillies and foals haven’t been raised into modern Equestrian adults; they were yet to cement the boundaries of “another species” and “monsters”.

It was just childish intrigue.

“Thank you.” He nodded his skewed head forward, voice lukewarm but appreciative. “It was nice of you to visit.” His formalities were automatic, his mind not-so fondly recalling his first day in Ponyville and the station. Weren’t there two others?

‘Little Miss Apple Bloom.’ Miss Applejack’s younger sibling! And then there was the tangerine filly, too.

“I’m sure Apple Bloom and Scootaloo would want to say hello too, but Apple Bloom’s not back from Zecora’s and Scootaloo’s behind on her homework,” the little unicorn continued, tilting her own head to keep in orientation with his. “You remember them?”

“Oh, I remember a lot from that day, don’t you worry about that.” Vincent’s head shifted back to its natural position and Miss Sweetie Belle copied. “It was lovely to meet you again, Miss Belle, but I have to-“

“Wait!” Sweetie interrupted as Vincent stepped back into his home. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Though she could express her confusion clearly, Vincent’s was completely hidden by the mask. “How else am I going to get to know you?”

“And why, pray tell, would you want to do that?” Ser Vincent inquired, looking through the half closed door.

“Isn’t that what you do when you welcome a pony?”

“Not necessarily,” he replied with a faintly-rustling shrug. “You could just say hello, as you would greet a passing friend in the street.”

She crinkled her muzzle at the notion, staring at him as if he had claimed the sky was blue because it was painted that way every morning. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem friendly.” She scratched behind her ear, glancing off up to a cloud. “I mean aren’t you suppose to tell me your name?” She refocused as he stepped back out, looming twice her size until he knelt down before her.

“Ser Vincent Costello, of the Solaris Knight’s, a pleasure,” he said with recited grace, extending an upturned palm.

She tried to peek into the eyes of the mask, finding something glistening like jade-stone in the dark. Immediately she place her small three-digited pony hand into his, the gloved appendage gently enveloping hers.

“Sweetie Belle,” she said with a raised snout and regal voice—she did want to be a lady like her big sister after all, “of, um, the Cutie Mark Crusaders.” She offered an anxious giggle as he briefly cocked his head again. He offered a nod before lightly shaking her hand. “Charmed.”

“Well, Miss Belle, I thank you for taking time out of your day to welcome me to my new home,” he replied as he rose back to full height. “Good day.” He barely turned before she reached out and gripped the skirt of his long coat. It stopped him dead.

“Soooo… can I come over?” she asked sweetly.

He reached back and carefully removed her hand from his coat before turning to face her. “You’re rather keen on this, aren’t you?” He leant down, mask slightly askew, hood still obscuring the rest of him as he stared her down. “Why?” His words were neither warm nor cold; he didn’t wish to frighten or intimidate the child, but at the same time, he wanted her to know he was starting to lose patience. He arched back when her hooves started to fidget nervously on her toe and she shied away from eye contact.

“Because…” She mumbled the rest, offering a shrug.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.

“Because you seemed…” Again, her words died with her volume.

“One more time,” he said softly. She was trying, no need to be too harsh. She then looked up to him with bright eyes.

“Because you seem lonely the last time I saw you.” She kicked the ground and offered a meek shrug, ears wilted. “You looked hurt and you sounded like you didn’t want anypony talking about you not being a pony. So I thought that with you just getting here you wouldn’t have that many friends and…”

He saw her determination, her resolve, dissipate as she gaze up to his stoic mask. Miss Belle’s tail hung limp, the weight of disappointment weighing it and her down as she sighed and lost her smile. “I’m sorry for bothering you like this, I shouldn’t stick my muzzle where it doesn’t belong.” She offered a meek curtsy, head hung low. “Pardon my rudeness. Bye.”

He watched her turn and leave. Unbeknownst to her, he brought a hand to his neck to try and massage away his sense of sudden discomfort, his head raised high. ‘She just wants to get to know her neighbour.’ He wasn’t lonely, or rather, he hasn’t felt lonely in years but he did feel as if not humouring this little filly would stain his pride in some way. A low growl escaped being muffled, soon silence by an exasperated sigh as he hung his shaking head. ‘Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile.’

He looked up to see her at the end of the path, his mind made up as soon as he saw her defeated form.

‘A knight first and foremost, in the field and out of it.’

“Excuse me, Miss Sweetie Belle?!” he called, earning her surprised attention. He stepped aside, opening the door. “I’m rather busy, but I may have time for a quick tour and a piece of pie.” It warmed him to see a smile erupt on her muzzle as she cantered back down the path. “Let’s be quick about this, though, I’d like some rest.”

“What kind of pie is it?” she asked, excitement spilling out of her voice.

“The supreme flavour of all, banoffee,” he replied with mirth as she crossed the threshold.

“Actually, I think you’ll find that cherry pie is the best flavour of pie,” she retorted as she cleaned her hooves on the entrance mat, giggling at the end from the slight ticklish sensation.

“I have to disagree; cherry pie is most certainly not the best flavour.”

“Uhuh.”

“Nuhuh.”

“Is so.”

“Is not…”

The alchemy lab door was too easy to open in his humble opinion. Though he was certified to handle any accident that could possibly occur whilst crafting with liquid magic, experimenting with new formulas could lead to any number of unexpected results. Explosive being on the bottom his worry list.

He stepped through and held the door open as his little guest followed, eyes peering here, there, and everywhere.

“You have your own laboratory?” she asked, mildly impressed.

“It’s not quite a complete clinical lab,” he replied with a shrug and a smirk to his voice, “Still waiting on the NMR machine and arcana infusing powderiser for Hearth’s Warming day.” He chuckled to himself, ignoring her confused glance back to him. With a shake of his head, he closed the door, briefly pondering what the electricity bill for such devices would amount to.

Sweetie Belle dismissed it and returned to scanning the room. It was different from Princess Twilight's. Before her were three walls lined with things of interests; to the left, glass cabinets and reinforced draws of ingredients and chemicals vials; in front of her, a worktop spanning the wall with sinks built in; to her right, wooden desks and intrinsic vials and beakers, and stranger devices, all freshly cleaned. A few unpacked crates sat close to the door, otherwise the floor was completely clear. She was drawn to all sides, peering at this strange artefact before peeking into that odd device.

“So are you some kind of super scientist?” she asked, migrating towards a few glistening knick-knacks by the supply side. She looked back as his heavy steps signalled his movements, Ser Vincent huffing in amusement.

“No, nothing of the sort, although I have had three alchemical journals published,” he remarked with pride. They were short pieces, and optional when he was earning his degrees, but having them under his belt made him irrefutable as he ascended the ranks to his knighthood. They were marks of respect in his specialised fields, and that left him more than content. “Found a few new plants too in my travels.”

“I bet it’s fun getting to travel across Equestria. Mom and Dad like going on vacation,” Sweetie replied, her eyes honing onto an assortment of filled vials on the counter.

“Usually it’s because something’s up to no good and I’m needed to give it a stern talking to.” Ha. He wished. He was infamous to most criminals, either feared or respected for not being an easy foe, that’s besides being a knight. A few give up the chase, and he was sure to treat them as gently as he could in apprehension.

Such notion tended to vanish when they tried to freeze him to the spot after several failed ice blasts.

“Alchemy… so you only make potions?” Sweetie Belle reached out for a wide, thin beaker, the label crudely depicting a dragon with a roaring flame. She heard him scoff as she held up the luminescent orange potion “What’s this one do?”

“It’s called dragon’s breath, care to guess what that means?” he retorted as he took hold of the corked beaker. Just makes potions? Sure it wasn’t as flashy as unicorn spells, but the practice, the science, nay, the artistry in making spells dormant and in a physical state until applied was something rarely achieved with mages and wizards. The closest things these sorcerers had to this was rune crafting, and to be honest, alchemists could do that too through alchemy as well.

“Does it make you breath fire?!” She practically squawked, tail lashing and bright eyed. “No way!”

Ser Vincent smiled smugly beneath the mask, his voice warming as he tilted his hooded head to inspect the potion in hand. Not the glass itself or its contents, but as if to contemplate the idea bubbling in his mind.

‘A quick test, then that’ll do. She can leave after this.’ He secured the potion in one of his belt pockets.

“All you do is take a little sip, breathe in, and blow out, like snuffing out candles on a birthday cake.” Though sounding simple, he put a lot of work into ensuring no moisture was lost in the lungs and throat, and that the mouth wouldn’t be singed black as the flame came roaring out. It wasn’t his formula but it was improved a touch, and that’s what he mostly did in his spare time: slightly improve recipes, in cost, preparation, or efficiency.

“Can I try?” Her innocent request was met with a quick shake of the head.

“Sorry, Miss Belle, too dangerous.” He moved along the cabinets, ignoring her pout for the moment. “Though you can play with this for a while.”

That perked her up. He began to rustle through numerous cabinets, muttering to himself in scorn after opening numerous draw. “Aha, there you are,” she heard him say as he removed a wooden box. He flipped the lid, and to her surprise, it separated into a three-tier platform chest, his gloved hands looting the small cubicles of odd looking gemstones.

“Hmmm, this will do,” he commented before take one out and holding it before her between the finger and thumb. It was a spherical citrine-gemstone, rather dark except for an odd mystical light in the centre. “Why don’t you wave it around a bit? Start slow then get faster and faster.”

So she did, at first taking the gem with hesitation, but soon after following the instructions, was partially awe-struck. At first she thought it was just a trail of yellow due the blurring of the gem as she moved it back and forth, but then she saw a spark. She quickened the pace and saw it: fiery trails of orange tailed by a magical yellow streak.

“Wow!”

“Try writing your name.” Ser Vincent suggested with an upturned palm before folding his arms and leaning onto the supply drawer counter. It wasn’t long before, in neat cursive, too, that the name ‘Sweetie Belle’ was floating in sun-gold letters. But just as quickly as it came, the magic dissipated in with a twinkle.

“That’s amazing! What is it?” she inquired with a broad smile, eyes glued to the impromptu writing instrument.

“It’s a wind light,” Ser Vincent started in a scholarly manner, moving to the door, “The gem itself is hollowed out and filled with a special dust that brightens in the presence of magic, whilst the outside of the gem is coated with a resin that reacts well with the air to give off magic. A tweak here and there, and what you have is a gem stone that glows when encountering wind resistance.”

Upon arriving he turned to find Sweetie Belle blinking owlishly at him. He was about to explain further until understanding struck her.

“Is that like when you’re running and the winds in your face and mane?”

“Why yes it is.”

She frowned in thought, regarding the gem with a curious look. “So it glows when you throw it? Why’s this useful?”

“Um, it’s a stone that glows when moving fast enough through the air,” he finished with a lame rub on the back of his hood. “Some units in the military have arrows tipped with these gems so that they can signal one and other across the land, or in a forest at night. They can also be made to glow brighter at slower or faster wind speeds, and can even last for hours lit up.”

“I think it’s pretty, can you get it other colours and shapes?” She asked as he opened the door, steadily moving towards Vincent as she held the gem towards him with a beaming smile. “I’m guessing the arrow ones are more arrow-like.”

“You can use any shape you want, and any colour too.” He declined the faintly glowing orb as she tried to return it, pushing it back to her before putting his hand on the back of her shoulder. “Keep it. I’ve got plenty more and they’re easy enough to make.”

“Really? Thanks!” She said before stepping out into the hall.

“Okay, so now that you’ve seen what I do are you satisfied?” Ser Vincent asked her. He pondered on what else there was to do as she looked to the ceiling in thought—she knew he was an alchemist, that he was a knight, what else was there to it? He certainly wasn’t going to show her his room; he doubted The Wall, as he dubbed the heavily tacked map of Equestria, would distract the filly from the mess in his room.

“You said there’d be pie.”

He managed to stop himself from attempting to rub his eyes through his mask, barely mind you.

With so much poise that even her big sister would be jealous, Sweetie Belle elegantly devoured her slice of banoffee pie, savouring its sweet flavour with every over-sized spoonful. She sat on the couch, her hooves merrily bouncing as she swung her legs between herself and the coffee table. When she wasn’t in eye-shut bliss she was glancing around the room, at the hung pictures, and the sun slipping through the closed blinds, before settling on the knight where he sat in the armchair by the fireplace with his arm folded.

“Aren’t you going to have a slice?” she asked after a mouthful. He waved her off.

“Not really hungry right now.” He could see where this was going: questions about how he eats with the mask on. The answer? He couldn’t – he simply didn’t like eating with others. It would be best to switch subjects before she finished with her next bite. “So is there anything else you’d like to ask? Anything your friends might want to know, that you can pass on… save the trouble of them visiting?”

At this, he noticed how Miss Belle shrunk with hesitation, her eyes slipping away from his general direction briefly. When they returned she set the spoon neatly beside her snack.

“If you don’t mind me asking, can I, uh, ask what you are?” She fidgeted in her seat, Vincent remaining silent and statuesque. “I mean, besides a knight, because Apple Bloom couldn’t quite remember what Applejack, her big sister, said you were, and now the whole school hasn’t settled on what to call you.”

Of course, three young fillies would obviously be attending school and thus news would spread to there. Children whisper amongst themselves and take these half-accurate stories home to their parents, and the cycle repeats amongst their peers. No wonder most of the town was wary of him.

“And what exactly do you all call me?” Ser Vincent inquired with mirth rising in his voice. He crossed his legs and rested his head on his gloves knuckle, elbow sinking slightly into the armrest. This should be amusing.

Sweetie fiddled with her thumbs for a moment. “Some of the colts said that their moms and dads saw you as a pink ogre, and Twist said you were a bald minotaur.” She then frowned at her next few words, “And Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon keep calling you a monster.”

‘Not too far off.’ He thought before speaking up. “And what do you and your friends call me, Miss Belle?”

“Well, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and me call you a humming.” She blinked in surprise when she was met with a warm chuckle.

“Hmmmmmmmm, and did I, or do I, hum? Hmmm?” She giggled a little at that, a good thing too. Sure he wanted to get this over and done with, but he didn’t need to be rude or intimidating, nor should he leave her feeling uncertain and scared. “I guess…”

He trailed off, reconsidering telling her what he was. Whatever he says will more than likely end up in the school, and once again, back to the adults of the town. Did he really need them all confirming that he was a human, not a pony under all this amour and fabric? Then again, what use was there going to be in supporting the broken illusion that he was still a pony? And what was a human to them anyhow? He was one of three on the planet, so the name itself had no shape to it. Wearing his attire still made him easier to approach, if anypony was going to anyhow.

And yet, so far, six mares had plus a little filly.

“I’m called a human,” he admitted, with the difficulty one would have when clearing their throat. He patted his chest, “Like ‘hue’ from humid and ‘man’ from mantra. Human.”

“It’s better than humming, that’s for sure.” She said with another giggle, to which he offered an amused huff. “So where are you from?”

“Canterlot, born and raised.” He gestured to her. A bit of back and forth seemed to loosen her up. “And yourself?”

“Oh, I live nearby, on Mulberry lane.” She picked up her plate, with her hands he noted, and dug her spoon into the pie. “You sound a bit like Pip Squeak though, only a little.”

“Is he from Trottingham?” He earned a nod from her. “Mum and dad say they come from a place like that, they didn’t lose the accent until recent years so I guess I picked it up.” And that story’s another dragon all on its own. He didn’t want to waste time on that. “Anything else you’d like me to clear up before you leave?” He straightened back up, leaning forward slightly.

She brought another tasty bite to her maw, chewing it in thought. She mustered some courage, her ears wilting as looked to him with hesitation.

“Um, are you a monster?” Well she managed to get it out without stuttering and without terror in her eyes—she seemed more curious but considerate towards his feelings. Not that this was anything new. “Like, minotaurs.”

‘Worse than a minotaur I’m afraid. Yet to be bested by one.’ He tilted his head, absentmindedly bring his hand the mask’s chin in thought. ‘Though I always wondered if being the child of dimension hopping aliens means anything to me… title wise anyhow.’

“I don’t like to think so, do you?”

She vigorously shook her head. “No way! You’re too nice to be a monster.”

“But you thought you would double check, right?” He chuckled again at her sheepish grin.

“I just want to tell Apple Bloom that-“ Abruptly she gasped, her eyes lighting up in a way he was oddly familiar with. He couldn’t quick put his finger (his actual human finger that is) on why it was so, but the way she beamed at him sent a reflexive chill down his spine. “You have to meet my friend Apple Bloom and-and Zecora!”

She looked ready to burst, like a shook up carbonated beverage, but quelled her excitement to politely set aside her now empty plate. She reached for the napkin he’d provided, which Miss Pi… Pinkie Pie had supplied, and quickly dabbed her maw for crumbs and cream. Then she jumped to her hooves.

“They make potions too!” She said whilst skipping towards him, “Well, Zecora’s a shaman, I think, and can make potions whilst Apple Blooms likes to watch and help out whenever she visits.” She came to stand beside him with a childish sweet smile that almost gave him a tooth ache. To soothe it, he rested the jaw of his mask in his palm, leaning away from the filly towering over the armrest. The forearm she placed her hands to support herself stiffened, the gloved hand tightly gripping the end of the rest.

“Would it be okay if I brought Apple Bloom over so you can talk about potions and stuff? She’s been trying to get into it but Zecora says all her potions are too difficult for her to try on her own. You can tell her where to start, right?” She seemed awfully enthusiastic about this and that left him a tad wary.

“Hold on, I’m a knight, not a teacher.” Vincent was stern, his arm twisting to loosen her support and make her back down off the armrest, in turn, him. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be here all the time, and besides, I shouldn’t be wasting my alchemy supplies on a young novice when they are crucially important to my work.”

She shirked away and the childish glee faded like a dying light. He folded his arms and looked to the front, rather than pointing the emotionless mask directly at her. “I’m sorry, Miss Belle, but I don’t have time to be pony-person, and sadly, that involved tutoring the charming Miss Apple Bloom.”

There was a silence for a while; words died at the throat beside him, the atmosphere thickening like a choking fog, and regret settling it ugly head beside his. ‘Was that too harsh?’ it would ask with a knowing grin, ‘because that seemed too harsh.’ He ended the awkwardness with a loud sigh.

“I apologise f-“

“You know, Zecora had trouble at first too,” Sweetie Belle started with an oddly mature voice for one of her age. Needless to say he turned his attention back to her, finding the little white unicorn staring at his gloved hand. “She hid herself because she was different, under a hood, and everypony was scared of her. Turns out, she wasn’t really scared but everypony else was because she was different.”

She looked back up to him, and he could swear, that her fresh jade eyes found his stone-green ones even through the mask.

“She was just as zebra,” she said with a shrug, “a really kind and smart and mysterious zebra that we got to know and welcome into town. She just wanted a few things for her home in the forest but we all hid away from her.” She smiled and stepped back, “She made a ton of friends too.”

“A zebra looks like a pony whilst I don’t.” He retorted coldly. “And, for whatever reason beyond my comprehension, I somehow didn’t give off the right impression when I protected this town.” Seriously, he fended off a band of marauding ogres as a knight should, what was the deal with this town?

“Well, Zecora always kept herself hidden under a hood so ponies were scared of her at first, and to be honest, your mask isn’t really helping.” She once again shrugged, not meeting him in the eye this time. “Just saying, it’s just silly now.”

‘Kid. Don’t go there.’

“I’m pretty persuasive with this get-up. And I’m happy for this Zecora, I…”

Hold on a moment. Zecora’s a shaman? Now that was something interesting. His tutor had trained with a shaman, and his time in Zebrica rewarded him with scores of formulas to try, all from shamans he’d gained the trust of.

“Hey, why don’t we head over to Zecora’s right now?” Sweetie’s squeaky burst derailed his trail of thought, her demeanour turning bubbly again. She tapped him on the arm. “She can tell you all about getting to know the town! She’ll be a big help and you can talk about potion stuff, like cauldrons and smelly goo and all kind of icky things.”

‘Ah. So this Zecora is a traditionalist.’

“I’d rather not be a bother, Miss Belle, and I’m rather busy.” With all the relaxing he was planning on doing from the stress of today he was fully booked.

“But she could tell you about all the magic plants that she makes her potions out of in the Everfree!” she whined, implanting another curious thought.

If the forest that everypony in town were so keen to avoid was fully of mystical herbs and magical agriculture then that would be a bonus. He could probably look after himself as he did a bit of scouting, plus days away from the town whilst off duty did seem enticing. Especially if he could replenish stock without paying for it and waiting days for supplies to arrive. The longer he pondered on the prospect of a forest so close by, and filled with magical flora, the more his trepidation to this trip ebbed away.

“Please give it a try,” she pleaded, an act that concerned him. Sweetie looked to him with light worry, a bright optimism subdued by a fear that Ser Vincent would decline again and again. She really didn’t want him to feel lonely here; he seemed nice when you get to know him.

“Fine,” he said with a wavering voice. He then immediately winced at her giddy cheer. With an excited skip she bound to the door, an eager grin on her muzzle. He simply turned his hooded head, unknowingly smiling a little under the mask.

“Let’s go, I know the way.”

“Pardon me but didn’t you say it’s dangerous in that forest.” He rose from the chair, popping his shoulder as he rolled it. He glanced to her too see Sweetie waving him off.

“It's fine if you know the way, trust me!”