Despite having been accused of doing it for half his life, Sea Scroll was confident that he did not obsess. Overthinking was a term that mentally impaired ponies used to describe those who thought twice about a situation before forgetting about it entirely, much like a goldfish bumping into the glass wall of its bowl over and over again.

The less a pony thought—or ‘obsessed’ as so many called it—the less they could be separated from the beasts. The term overthinking only had a right to exist if such separation was undesired.

The train of thought brought a familiar female voice to his mind. ‘Sweetie, allow me to put it this way. . .’ ‘Sweetie.’An insipid nickname that only his mother dared call him. ‘When you dip a cookie in milk for the first time, it’s delicious and brings out flavors you may not have noticed before. But if you dip it too many times, it becomes so soggy that you really can’t taste it at all.’  

Even during his colthood, the analogy felt overwhelmingly idiotic. To compare something so complex as life itself to a cookie was far more concerning than spending too much time thinking.

In his opinion—which did have a habit of being correct—life was more like a piece of modern art. Confusing, ugly, and seemingly meaningless until you took a good long look at it and decided the meaning for yourself. If everyone else planned on taking a glance and passing by, he didn’t mind as long as they weren’t dragging him along with them.

Maybe Florian and the others had left Saturday’s party behind them, but that wasn’t going to stop him from reliving every detail of every moment on a loop. . . whether he liked to or not.

I loathe to be the pony who failed to mention I would be sharing a living space with one of my co-workers, Sea Scroll brooded as he strolled into town hall, And one who hates my guts, at that. That kind of proximity shatters the professionalism we’re supposed to be maintaining . . . blasted party. 

Brooding had always been an effective strategy to make long walks seem shorter. Rather than holding up the journey by stopping and smelling the roses, it was simply more efficient to note how the roses were the wrong shade of red as he passed by. With that in mind, he reached the main office in no time.

His arrival was not greeted enthusiastically. Raven, sitting behind the front desk, immediately pretended to be absorbed in paperwork as soon as she caught sight of him. Despite Sea Scroll’s hopes of her being in her office, Florian stood at the coffee table with an apathetic look on her face. I wouldn’t be surprised if she spilled a biased version of Saturday’s events to the entire building.

“Morning, Curly.” Florian said with all the warmth of a freezer. She had such a way of making a pony feel like he did something wrong. Sea Scroll liked to think he was practically immune to guilt, for he never did anything that he didn’t intend to do, and yet there was something so sickeningly manipulative about her voice that almost made him feel obliged to be guilty.

“Morning.” Sea Scroll started towards his office, but froze upon registering the shaggy colt leaning against the nearest lounge chair. Jet!

He inclined his head in a lazy sort of nod. “Yo.”

“What in the name of Tartarus are you doing here?” And how did I not see him on the way? His eyes fell to Jet’s wings . . . Damn lazy pegasus forgot what walking is.

“Business, duh,” Jet laughed, pointing a hoof to the overflowing stacks of papers  in his saddlebags, “What are you doing here?”

Florian had no qualms about butting in before Sea Scroll could reply, “Jet’s here to speak with the publisher about the release of his latest novel. In case you didn’t know, authors don’t just staple their stories together and pass out copies by the side of the road.”  

With the tripe ponies publish these days, they might as well.

“I did that once.” Jet remarked, but Florian hushed him.

I swear, my life is missing a corny laugh track . . . “Who in their right mind—” Sea Scroll scoffed, “—no, who with a moral compass lets that sugar-coated dog waste get sent to stores and sold to the poor, unassuming public?”

Florian rolled her eyes. “Save the sour grapes for your diary. The ‘poor, unassuming public’ is quite happy with Jet’s books . . . and so is his publisher.”

“I’d like to meet this individual.”

“Oh, Fine Ink?” Jet shrugged, “He’s my dad.”

Why you low-down little . . . Now it all made sense, and his faith in the future of literature could be partially restored . . . for the time being. “Jet, I’d like to say I thought you were above that, but in all honesty, I didn’t think that highly of you in the first place.”

The kid’s ears lowered. “So what if my publisher just happens to be my dad?” Jet snapped a little defensively.

“So his sentimental bias toward you is going to affect his ability to see flaws in your work.”

A few seconds passed as the pegasus visibly processed Sea Scroll’s remark. Then, returning to his usual exaggeratedly casual demeanor, he continued. “Bro, the stallion knows what he’s doing. He writes books too, ya know. The talent is kinda hereditary.”

You believe in this bull too? Sea Scroll had lost count of how many times he had to correct ponies on this matter. It was a lovely fantasy that just because your parentage had worked hard to hone their skills, you would automatically be bestowed the same gifts upon birth. However, that was the very definition of ‘embellishing reality,’ as Florian had so  firmly expressed her distaste for. “Talent is acquired, not born.”

“If you say so,” Jet snorted, “I guess I just went and picked up my skills as the five-and-dime one day.”

Thankfully Florian didn’t burst into peals of laughter as if Jet were some sort of comedian. Raven’s sugary giggle however, caused him to raise his hackles.

“Save your giggling for when somepony actually says something clever, Miss Raven,” he scolded, causing her to cower. “You don’t exist to subtly stroke Jet’s ego in the background.” Snapping at the fragile filly almost felt like kicking a puppy, but she really needed it in the end.

“So now you regulate laughter as well as fun?” Florian said, shoving a lid onto her coffee cup, “What’s next, are you gonna give us tickets when we breathe too loudly for your taste?”

‘Regulate fun.’ That didn’t sit right with him at all. “I don’t regulate fun, I challenge weak opinions,” Sea Scroll said, trying his utmost to sound more exasperated than offended. “So terribly sorry that you don’t like it when I question the object of your fangirlism. You ponies value enjoyment over truth. A shining example of why today’s society is going to pot.”

It wasn’t as though he had expected Florian to apologize and become submissive, but her unfazed expression never ceased to astound him. “And you’re a shining example of a grumpy old stallion in a twenty-year-old’s body.”

“Twenty four,” he corrected stiffly. “I’m older and most likely more experienced than all of you.” A vast deal of knowledge could be attained in the short span of four years.

Just as he had dreaded, all three of them dismissed this and laughed. Not that their opinions genuinely mattered to him, but everypony in his life had a habit of only laughing at him when he never intended to be humorous. He groaned, averting his gaze from the group.

“Well, if the rest of you aren’t morally outraged, I’m gonna head upstairs and get this bad boy on the shelves!” Jet laughed, shaking his head before trotting out of the office at a dangerously fast speed. Sadly, he didn’t trip or stumble.

“You say that with such confidence.” Sea Scroll grumbled, only giving Jet an excuse to mockingly stick his tongue out at him. Despicable!

“Ugh. This is what happens when you’re born into privilege; you forget what it means to actually earn something . . . to actually be unsure of whether you’ll achieve your goals or not.”

Did goals even matter if success continued to present itself on a silver platter whenever the need arose?  Could it even be considered success if there was no chance of failure to overcome?

Florian gave him a look of utter apathy. “You’re the one to talk. I’m sure it took years of grueling work to get the job where you get paid to talk shit about things without actually producing content.”

Sarcasm? Was she . . . oh hell, no. She was not belittling four years of intense study and enduring living with the biggest pricks in all of Equestria! He didn’t come this far to be ridiculed by the likes of her. “Yes it did, for your information. You obviously fail to grasp my purpose as a critic and what the occupation means.”

Without one pony in every town discerning the wheat from the chaff, standards would be nonexistent. To his surprise and irritation, the ponies here had placed little value on him since he came to Saddlewood.

“Hm,” she sniffed, flicking her tail irritably, “I was under the impression that it was you who lacked understanding of what it means to be a critic.”

This went beyond simple impertinence, way beyond. The sheer quantity of determination and stubbornness to start an argument and hold it astounded him. That trait he had only ever known in one other pony—that pony being himself. This pride could only be tamed if one’s adversary swallowed their own. Of course, the absence of her petty fight-picking was not worth sacrificing his dignity.

“So you insult the importance of my occupation, question my competence, and dare to imply that you know better despite having no background of studying art or literature?”

She sipped her coffee with an unnatural level of serenity, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I’m pretty audacious, aren’t I?”

‘Shameless’ is more like it. Had such gumption not been put to use at his expense, then it almost would have been admirable.

A tangible tension had filled the room, leaving them in a kind of stalemate, knowing that the first words spoken would break the floodwall of civility.

Luckily Florian broke it, though in a none too graceful fashion. “Oh, look at the time, I better be in my office soon,” she proclaimed, looking up at a ‘clock’ that Sea Scroll couldn’t find anywhere. “Not that your theatrical grousing hasn’t been lovely, but you’ve proven quite enough, and Dewdrop will be here soon.”

“. . . Dewdrop? Is that your client?”

Though it was easy to miss, her face noticeably softened like a pony who had just had a weight lifted of their back. “Yep. She’s a good filly. . . just has a lot on her mind to deal with.”

The idea of Florian dealing with a sensitive filly brought nothing to mind but her telling the poor foal to get over herself and suck it up. Those who dominated and held petty grudges were generally not thought of as caretakers.

“What, no rude remarks?” She said asked smugly.

More than you’ll ever know, but I practice restraint. “I just find it hard to envision you dealing with children, Miss Blossom, considering all the apathetic sass you tend to treat everypony with.”

She snapped back with alarming immediacy, “I practically raised my sisters, you’d think I’d know a thing or two about dealing with children!”

Sea Scroll instinctively took a step back, ears lowering submissively. He had intended to offend her, but not to that degree. “I . . . I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Apparently not.”  Florian turned on her hoof and all but stomped out of the room, leaving him alone with a rather wide-eyed Raven.

How did it happen that he always managed to find the right words for every situation until somepony’s emotional well-being was at stake? He became keenly aware of the mare gaping at him like he belonged in a cage. Likely she imagined him no better than a monster.  “What are you staring at?”

“N-nothing!” The diminutive unicorn stuttered.

Sea Scroll nodded, craning his neck to see if Florian had gone far enough down the hallway. Satisfied his progress would be uninterrupted by the clarion call of her bitching, he started off.  Focus, just focus. Don’t get yourself worked up. Give it a few hours to resolve itself. After all he had done the right thing, hadn’t he?

Everypony desired a sense of importance and belonging to some degree. In fact, with their constantly evolving, impossibly complex society it bordered on a necessity. Everyone and everything had a place and function, some more respected than others, but all wove togethering into a delicate yet beautiful system. Quite like how natural law functioned, but far less savage.

While not a collected stallion by nature, Sea Scroll felt grateful for his occupation and the place he had found for himself in this ‘network.’ He could have just as easily ended up with another run-of-the-mill job; sitting behind a desk, filtering through mountains of repetitive paperwork, or running some middle-of-nowhere town that nopony knew about. But he had taken the extra step to be more than just another rodent in the rat race. He was a preserver of culture.

In a time where just about anything scribbled onto a piece of parchment could be considered a work of inspired art, critics were desperately needed. Today’s offender —a skimpy collection of ‘poetry’— had not been much of a challenge for him to take down, though the same could be said for most of the books he had encountered in the past.

The Earth Beneath Your Hooves had been his first choice actually, but he felt obliged to prove himself by producing a review as soon as possible. That long-winded novel would take far too long to read, assess, and write an article on in less than two days. His reasoning related completely to timing and not because he had taken a fancy to the book or anything of the sort.

Needless to say the review had not been positive. The part of Sea Scroll concerned with self preservation shuddered at the thought of Phineus’ reaction. Phineus would have to learn to cope with unimpressed reviews, though . . . as long as there was a way to avoid the stallion for a couple of days.

With a deep sigh, he slung his saddlebags across his back and started towards the main office. Sea Scroll glanced at the office doors, all closed for the day. Lazy small town ponies, quitting before they even accomplished anything. Then again . . .

Sea Scroll eyed the diminutive paper sticking out of his saddlebag. An entire day at work and a three page review had been all he had to show for it. Of course he knew the effort and dedication it took, but he doubted any of the hicks around town would see it that way. Best to avoid the peanut gallery if at all possible.

Walking into the main office, he noted Raven had already left. Seriously? It’s not that late! Just as he started forward to place the paper on her desk, he noted Florian standing by the water station. Great, just great.

He found himself staring at the oblivious pegasus, surprised at her almost thoughtful expression. At least she didn’t appear hostile. Maybe a more sociable approach will pull this stick out of the mud. Sighing softly, he stepped towards her. “How was Dewdrop?”

Florian twitched, wheeling around to face him with that perpetually unamused expression of hers. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just asking how your client is doing, not stepping over your honor. Loosen up.”

“Since when do you care, Curly?” she sneered.

I have a name, you know. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not a heartless monster who finds enjoyment in the hardships of others . . . Blondie.”

“Mmmhmm . . .”

Sea Scroll felt his patience withering the longer he focused on her. “Was the damn filly okay or not?” You’re impossible to start a conversation with!

Florian glared intently into his eyes, raising an eyebrow. “That ‘damn filly’ is legally entitled to her privacy. I’m not allowed to tell you about our appointments.”

“Fair enough.”

Florian scooped up her briefcase, making to leave.

“Do you—”

She regarded him with a perfectly fed-up expression. Then, after an awkward silence, pressed, “Do I?”

He scoffed, “Nevermind.”

“Alright then.” With a flick of her tail, she left out the door.

That was a complete waste of my time! I suppose she’s graduated from exploding at the slightest disturbance to rudely ignoring those who talk to her . . .  somewhat of an improvement. After slamming the paper on Raven’s desk, he took off at a brisk trot. Best to ignore her in turn and focus his attention elsewhere, like familiarizing himself with the town. That at least shouldn’t leave him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

True to the small town stereotype, the streets of Saddlewood had an almost eerie dearth of ponies out and about. That was a good thing, of course, but a little unsettling after growing accustomed to practically swimming through citizens in the streets of Canterlot. All that the town lacked was a lone tumbleweed drifting by and an eagle screeching in the distance.

Even more bizarre than the sensation of strolling through an abandoned forest village was having a completely empty schedule. Nothing to study, no errands to run, not even a small task to be completed. It made him feel like a child. What did ponies do when they had nothing on their schedule, engage in idle gossip? He had to respectfully disagree with the stallion who said ‘leisure is the basis of civilization’ for, if a mind wasn’t constantly occupied, it might as well rot.

A nearby building caught his attention, though ‘building’ might have been embellishing just a tad. It resembled a pile of logs stacked on top of each other and pasted together, assuming Saddlewood could afford paste. A large cedar tree loomed over its roof, providing a respectable amount of shade and likely increasing the chance of it getting destroyed should a storm hit.

The tantalizing scent of freshly baked bread wafted from an uninspired hole-in-the-ground, ‘The Midtown Hashhouse’ according to the petrified wood sign hanging above the door. He snorted. At least the owner of this ‘hash house’ had been and honest enough to admit that his rinky dink establishment couldn’t be considered a restaurant, even by hick-ville standards. Still, the smell of food reminded him of just how little he had eaten today.

Sea Scroll peeked through the window to see that all the missing ponies out in town were surely crammed into this one tiny diner for a sort of ‘test your claustrophobia’ convention. Waiters and waitresses had to practically crawl over customers without dropping any platters, and the sound of many indistinct conversations could be heard from outside. I wonder if this is where Beulah works?

As if any sane pony wants to have dinner with half the village. Hungry or not, it did not look like a satisfactory experience. Moving on.

As he passed by a patch of blue forget-me-nots, he almost stopped to stare at them like an absent-minded little filly.  Though he would never admit it to a soul, flowers tended to have that effect on him. They were so fragile and full of life, unlike the coarse sand of Horseshoe Bay, and it wasn’t often that he saw them growing wild in the cobblestone city of Canterlot.

Flowers, huh? He could have sworn the flowers were fresh in his memory. Maybe his hunger was playing tricks on him, but he was unable to shake the feeling. Probably because it was just unusual to see any form of plant life that wasn’t a cedar tree around in the Celestia-forsaken hamlet. That had to be it.

It wasn’t until he continued on his not-so-merry way to nowhere in particular that it came back to him. Of course. Florian always had one of the little blue flowers in her mane, despite putting on airs about not being frivolous. Why mares put something so easily perishable as plants in their mane was beyond his reasoning, but honestly, what wasn’t these days? Just another parade of frivolity.

Frivolity and pettiness just about summed up the majority of mares he knew, Florian being the crown jewel. ‘I practically raised my sisters, you’d think I know a thing or two about raising children!’ Maybe that didn’t mean anything after all. Anyone with younger siblings could have complained of practically raising them, children were so . . . clingy.

Florian already had a reputation of stretching the truth from time to time, even if he had only been here for for four days. I should be grateful I was an only child, Sea Scroll reflected before clearing the whole thing from his mind. Perhaps this was a one-time exception where dwelling on something might not have been the best option.

Just as he started back towards the lodge, Sea Scroll noted an all too familiar mare a few paces ahead of him. Speak of the devil . . . She continued to strut down the street with all the air of an empress surveying her domain. So it’s not just an office thing.

Curiosity got the better of him as she turned down a side street and out of site. As inconspicuously as his burly frame would allow, he followed suit. Let’s see where our resident noblemare takes her rounds, shall we?

After a dizzying series of side streets, alleyways, and hoof paths through the woods, Florian finally reached the river. Sea Scroll had seen a lot of rivers in his time, but the sheer volume of the rushing water made his stomach churn. Any pony unfortunate enough to fall into the raging waters could be counted as lost.

Rather than a shoreline, the river was bordered on either side with a sheer dropoff. After about ten feet, the cliff met the river, water surging and slapping against the exposed bones of the earth. Lining the cliff were hundreds of oddly sized rocks and trees clinging to the edge for dear life.

The spot she headed towards consisted of several —there was no other word for them—boulders. The smooth stones formed a kind of tiered tower atop which Coppertone, River Ripple, and Heartbreaker were lounging. Upon seeing them, she broke into an eager trot.

Sea Scroll crept through the cedar trees, choosing a well-concealed spot close enough he could overhear their little powwow. They greeted each other like a bunch of kids gathering in a secret clubhouse. Tight knit community my hoof. Everypony in this town belongs to a posse of three or four, segregated into little cliques. What is this, a giant high school? He leaned forward, turning his ears to listen in. Let’s just see what meaningless tripe is on the menu today . . .

“You wouldn’t believe what I went through at work! Me and the guys had to fix another giant radiator, and the whole thing fell apart halfway through! I blame Corbel, he never screws down anything tight enough.” Coppertone’s words would have been marginally pitiable if not for the childish gesticulations he accented them with.

Florian however, seemed to find it quite amusing, bursting out into an uncharacteristically feminine laugh.

It’s like she’s a whole different pony when she’s laughing genuinely instead of at somepony’s expense . . . Sea Scroll looked away, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. I don’t see anything particularly hilarious about a broken radiator.

Heartbreaker’s grating voice broke his reverie, “Did Jet get his book published today?”

“I don’t know . . .” There was a distinct note of worry in Florian’s voice now. “He’s still talking it over with Fine Ink. Sea Scroll wasn’t too thrilled to see him there.”

“Really?” Coppertone interjected.

Heart pounding irritatingly fast, Sea Scroll moved a little closer. Talk trash about the new kid behind his back. How terribly mature of you.

River Ripple’s gaze suddenly turned in his direction, making him take cover behind the nearest tree. After a few moments, he took a cautious step forward, still concealed by the trunk.

“Oh yeah, he was obnoxious today right from the get-go,” Florian drawled. “Luckily our jobs stay separate from each other’s, but man does he suck the casual atmosphere from the break room.”

Coppertone raised his hoof diplomatically. “Maybe he’s just stressed. I know I would be if I just moved to a new town with a new job.”

I don’t need your backup, colt-scout. Sea Scroll glowered at the instigator. It was impertinent when she insulted me for no reason, but complaining like a whiny filly is just cowardly. He made to advance, but thought better of it. Traipsing out of the forest now was as good as some busybody housewife giving the neighbors a piece of her mind after spying on them. No, he’d stay put. Let the kids whine, he wouldn’t sully his hooves with their petty nonsense.

“Since when did stress become a valid excuse for rude behavior?” Florian huffed before turning towards the river. “But, if that’s the way you think . . .”

Coppertone chuckled sheepishly. “Well, I wasn’t there so I wouldn’t know . . .”

Have an opinion for once, you spineless jellyfish!

Heartbreaker flicked a pebble into the river, scowling. “Since Mayor Phineus is the reason he’s here in the first place, I think destroying a casual atmosphere could be just his intention. A ploy by Phineus to get everypony to be more focused on work than schmoozing around.”

Seriously? He suppressed an indignant snort. Since when did the floozy become a philosopher, eh? Imbecile didn’t even consider that I might have my own ideals I can apply to the workplace without being commissioned by some obtuse politician.

The peanut gallery’s eyes bulged. “You—you’re implying that he’s Phineus’ pawn? But when I met him on Friday—”

“I don’t think Sea Scroll would allow that to happen . . . he’s too prideful to serve as a pawn. I’d say his reason for descending upon us is more of a ‘personal crusade’ if you will,” Florian stated piously.

“It’s healthy to have something that you stand for, but if his er, ‘thing’ is getting in the way of your positive work experience, then don’t engage.”

So I’m the antagonist now? Sea Scroll stamped his hoof. New guy shows up and disrupts the sacred status quo, and all Tartarus breaks loose.”

Florian smirked, “Why don’t you tell him not to engage?”

“I—”  

“So it’s the mare’s fault for not walking away from the situation? That’s so misogynistic, Coppertone,” Heartbreaker snapped, pinning her ears.

“What? No, my intention wasn’t—”

“Guys!” The group’s attention turned to River Ripple. “Can we just talk about something else? I hate it when we fight . . .”

“Ye-yeah,” Coppertone stammered, “Good call. It’s not nice to talk about somepony behind their back anyway.”

Florian gave a theatrical sigh, “Fine.”

Sea Scroll’s vision clouded over as the blood rushed to his ears. “It’s all well and good to talk about somepony behind their back until it starts causing disagreement. Good gracious, we can’t have conflict! Conflict doesn’t exist in our happy little clique.” Self-righteous hypocrites, the lot of them.

Why am I even bothering with them? Sea scroll settled down on the damp earth, drawing out his notebook and a quill. I have much better uses for my time. He stroked the familiar book almost lovingly. No matter what shit life threw at him, he would always have his writing to fall back on. Levitating his quill, he began to scrall . . .

‘Danger was imminent if the precarious heap of boulders positioned on the edge of the mountain were any indication. Calculating the situation, Forte gasped in horror. The rocks were too heavy to lift with unicorn magic and threatened to crush the majority of the village at the slightest breeze.

There was no time to stop the potential landslide, only enough time to evacuate everypony from town. That was, if the village idiots would listen to him for once.

“Everypony needs to evacuate!” Forté shouted.

A few citizens simply looked dazed and confused, but obeyed his demand none the less. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the majority of the villagers.

A small group of ponies sat on the hill closest to the mountain, talking amongst themselves as if nothing was the matter, blissfully unaware of the boulders above.

Forté cringed as the strength of the wind increased. “You four over there! There’s an incoming landslide! Get the hell out of here!”

They merely ignored him.

“Trust me on this one, just run!”

It was too late. The sound of thousands of tumbling rocks could be heard, causing Forté to instinctively teleport away from the danger with one last cry of “Run!” When the dust cleared, all that was left of the village was a mound of boulders.’

Sea scroll smirked down at the page. Note to self: irritation can make one rather prolific. He glanced over at the group, now chatting happily amongst themselves. To a certain degree anyway . . .

With a sigh, he returned the notebook to his saddlebags and got to his hooves. I suppose now is as good a time as any to head home. Sea Scroll plodded down the path, forcing himself to focus on the trail and not at the fast fading voices. Rest. Yes, that was exactly what he needed now. Rest and relaxation. He didn’t need a posse for that.

“A shanty old house is a mansion when filled with friends.”

The popular expression, though used repeatedly by his father, never ceased to irritate Sea Scroll. The superfluous words might as well have been the punchline of a cheaply-bought greeting card for all the stock Sea Scroll put in them. In fact, seeing the lodge without its usual ruckus cemented his belief in quite the contrary.

The interior reminded him a great deal of the Canterlot Museum of Natural History, with its high ceiling, antiquated furniture, and—most important of all—its silent ambience. The faint sound of his hoofsteps against the hardwood floor almost felt like a violation of a pact of silence with the old structure.  

A shanty house void of any unnecessary company is superior to a mansion any day, he thought to himself, contemplating whether to include that in his next letter home. Well . . . he supposed Saddlewood had become his place of residence, so Horseshoe Bay could no longer be considered ‘home.’

An obvious fact, a simple change in terminology, nothing to worry about surely . . . And yet, it would take time to get used to. Sentimental ponies liked to say that home was where the heart was, and if that statement had any truth to it, then home was technically wherever he went as long as blood was pumping through his veins. Perhaps that mindset bore more practicality than he gave it credit for . . .

Thanks to the silence, he might actually be able to relax in the spacious lounge. Just as he started walking towards a suitable spot, a voice startled him.

“You’re back early.”

Sea Scroll whipped his head over to see none other than Beulah, leaning against the staircase railing as if he had been waiting for him this whole time.

The kid’s always clinging to things like a stripper pole, wasn’t he ever taught proper posture? He scuffed his hoof across the ground in annoyance. “How funny you should say that, Beulah, I could say the same to you.”

His young housemate leaned further onto the railing until he was all but lying on the stairs. “I didn’t go to work today, actually.”

“Really.”

“Mm-hm. Woke up this morning and felt crummy.”

Typical teenage logic. It’s all about how you feel and what you want, isn’t it? “It’s Monday. Don’t we all feel crummy?”

Beulah tossed out another weak excuse from his inventory, “Not everyone has to walk around in a crowded diner all day serving food to cranky ponies.”

The diner wasn’t an ideal environment to be stuck in all day, he’d give him that much. But it’s still your own fault that you’re not in school like you should be. “True, but not everyone has to deal with intolerable co-workers who hate their guts, and yet I dragged my flank out of bed and did my duty.”

“It’s not my ‘duty’ to serve food!”

“Perhaps not, but it is your duty to pay rent, and trust me kid, not having a place to stay will redefine ‘crummy’ for you.”

How could Beulah not go insanely stir crazy just stewing in the lodge all day and letting his brain turn to mush? Had he cared more, he would have offered to give the lazy rag a project to keep himself occupied, but then again, doing that would practically be the same as condoning this kind of faineance.

Beulah stood up a little straighter and raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever been homeless before?”

“No, but—”

“Well then. You should speak of things you know so little about.”

He could have given him the whole spiel on how a lack of firsthand experience was not necessarily the equivalent of ignorance, but getting an adolescent to listen with both his ears and mind was hoping for a miracle. Choose your battles, Sea Scroll. “. . .  As you wish.” Uttering such submissive words felt like swallowing a decently-sized pill.

Like a flip had been switched, Beulah returned to his slovenly posture as if nothing had happened. “Good. So how was your day at work?”

What’s it to you? There were few things more irking than being asked unnecessary  personal questions, but acting like he had something to hide would surely only lead to further inquiry. He sighed. “. . .Would it be wrong to say ‘the usual’ when today was only only the second day I’ve been working here? I can already see a routine beginning to form.”

“Huh. Details, please.”

What is this, an interrogation? Beulah was as prying as an elderly mare searching for juicy gossip. “Why? We’re not an old married couple, I don’t have to give you details about everything that went wrong at work.”

“I get bored. . .and I like to hear about other ponies’ misfortunes. Makes me feel like maybe my job isn’t so bad.” He gave a sly smile without the slightest hint of remorse.

“Your honesty is both refreshing and infuriating. . .”

“I get that a lot.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Sea Scroll grumbled, wracking his brain for relatively neutral information to feed to his captor, “ . . Well. . .I discovered the unfortunate truth of how Jet goes about publishing his novels. . .there’s something.”

Whether Beulah had any idea about this or not, he did not know, but if the  kid had been in the dark about this the whole time, then he would take great pleasure in revealing the scandal. Though it wasn’t like Jet saw it that way. He probably wouldn’t care who knew who his publisher was as long as he could keep producing books. Beulah simply nodded as if waiting for more.

Kid, you’re starting to make me very uncomfortable. He stood there for a moment before responding to the blank stare. “I. . .read some subpar  poetry. . .and Miss Blossom got her tail in a twist over something I said. That is all.”

“It’s all subpar, but whatever.” Beulah remarked with little effort, yawning, “So. Are you starting to reconsider what I said yesterday? About not messing with her?”

Good grief, this again! The social justice shtick was starting to get old. If a mare constantly bossed and griped at ponies, she was apparently worthy of respect. If a stallion such as himself so much as tried to participate in a conversation, he was treated with quite the opposite of respect. No logic existed in this situation whatsoever. “Wha-- quite the contrary, actually! It’s amusing seeing just how far she’ll go into a tizzy over the most trivial of matters.”

“What did she even say?”

That confirmed it. Beulah was psychic, and he could see into his mind to find the exact last thing that he wanted to hear in every situation. “Nothing of consequence.”

“That bad, huh?”

That smug air of knowingness was the farthest thing from unfamiliar to him, but it didn’t work well Beulah. He was neither sophisticated nor old enough to pull it off. “Are you even listening to a word I say?”

“Yes, and then some.”

. . . .That head injury really must’ve done something to you. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less about her triggers and buttons. I brought up my doubts on her ability to deal with children, and she yelled something about raising her sisters.”

“Fascinating.”

A few moments of silence indicated that he was not going to expand upon his commentary beyond the occasional one or two word sentence.  “Yes, and. . . ?”

“Just fascinating. That’s all I said.”

Always so cryptic! Must be a local trait.  “But. . .what do you suppose she means by that?”

Beulah shrugged and looked the other way. “Does there always have to be a double meaning? She probably meant exactly what she told you.”

“She could have been exaggerating. Everypony exaggerates.”

“Maybe so. Why don’t you go ask her yourself?”

 “Because-- ” Sea Scroll opened his mouth to answer, but found that he did not have one immediately in mind. Not an answer that was suitable to say aloud. “. . .because, like I said, I couldn’t care less.” And without giving Beulah an opportunity to make further commentary, he trotted upstairs.