Conversions
-Disclaimer: Hasbro owns all recognizable characters, most unrecognizable characters, and no, I'm not profiting off of this.
----
At six days since his departure, Spike was frustrated.

And his savings were down by a third.

Food was expensive, it turned out.

Though he'd never planned on living off of it indefinitely, he'd hoped it would hold out longer.

"I'm sorry." was a phrase he'd heard almost two dozen times over the last few days, followed by some variation of-

"You're just not qualified."

"We've actually already found somepony."

"We've just filled that position."

"You don't have the experience we're looking for."

"It doesn't seem like you'd be a good fit."

Each time he'd made it to the interview process for a job. It was disheartening in the extreme, feeding into the flames of his frustration before it would sputter out.

He'd seen what such mindless actions would do, the hurt is caused between friends. He hadn't really made any here yet, but he didn't need to ruin his chances of that before he got started.

He wasn't sure what his reputation here was, not quite yet, but "Violent little upstart" was not where he wanted it to be.

Spike pushed those thoughts back as he dejectedly walked away from his last attempt. Little Getty's delivery service was not going to be for him it seemed.

Sitting on a bench in front of a small shop called 'Lustrous Delectables', a bakery, he reviewed this morning's classified ad.

The majority of which was scribbled over and blotted out.

He leaned his head back dropped the paper on his face, dulling the glare of Celestia's Sun.

Maybe, if he looked hard enough, he could find something he missed. Or find what he was missing to make ponies want to hire him. Either would be fine with him.

His eyes were starting to go blurry trying to focus on something so close to him when he heard somepony cough. Politely.

It cannot be stated enough that Spike spent his formative years watching nobles. Listening to nobles. Experiencing nobles.

He removed the newspaper from his face, folding it in the process and looked at the individual demanding attention. A pony, a stallion and a unicorn. Off white coat and wearing a brown striped vest. Spike couldn't see his cutie mark.

"What can I do for you?" Best claw forward, always.

"You the dragon looking for work this side of the wall, yeah?" Spike nodded. The unicorn's voice was decidedly neutral. Quietly even but certain. Confident.

"That's me. My name's Spike!" He hopped down from his seat and held out his claw. He was mutely surprised when the stallion pushed a hoof against his palm and shook.

Hard.

"Well, come in then. I'm not going to have an interview out in the streets." The unicorn turned around and walked into the shop, allowing Spike a glance at his cutie mark.

A trio of cherries.

"You will refer to me as 'Mr.Lemon' while we're here, am I understood." It wasn't a question, but Spike nodded nonetheless. His brain caught up with the fact the he was being lead a step later.

"Yes, Mr.Lemon." They went around the counter in the empty storefront and up a set of stairs, passing a small bathroom and a pair of empty rooms before reaching the stallion's office.

"You've been turning quite a few heads since your arrival, Spike." The chair behind the desk in the center of the room moved with neither a sound or glow. This was a familiar action for the unicorn.

"There aren't many dragons who try to find jobs this side. Cultural difference, I suppose." Spike heard the slur unsaid.

A paper fired out of a nearby cabinet, stopping dead in front of the young dragon.

"Fill that out." It was a job application, standard form from any one of the countless business management books found in every library in the land.

"Yes, Mr.Lemon." Spike still had his own pen. It had barely dropped onto the paper before he was interrupted.

"What experience do you have in baking? Can you at least do the basics of baking bread?"

"For the last two years I was somepony's personal assistant. I was in charge of keeping her schedule, cooking her meals and performing basic upkeep in the house. She had a sweet tooth and I can't think of anything but fresh bread to go with some meals." Spike stared at the blank column where he was supposed to list his education.

How do you explain that you were tutored out of illiteracy and then left to your own devices and interests without sounding like some foolish bumpkin?

"And what meals were best paired with fresh bread?" The unicorn was much less harsh in tone. What part of Spike's last statement brought that about, he wasn't sure.

"Tomato soup was the most common request, though certain vinaigrette salads called for it and it was always better for most meals and sandwiches than presliced and bagged." References were pretty spotty as well. He didn't know any dragons who could vouch for him, nor did he really have any personal friends not shared with...

Her.

He needed to get himself over this. It was worse than trying to convince himself to give up on Rarity.

"Your cooking expertise is certainly surpassing my expectations. You mentioned your master having a sweet tooth. What sort of desserts did you make for them?" His breath hitched. His claw froze.

"Blue... Blueberry muffins, scones. She had a preference for dark chocolate in her pastries over milk, though it wasn't uncommon for me to bake a full service if her... If her friends were coming over." Spike didn't think about the rest of the job application form, he'd filled out well over a dozen variants of the same sheet over the past few days.

"Hmm..." Lemon pulled the paper out from under Spike's pen, a straight line pulling from it and held it in front of his face. "Well, everything looks to be in order. We open at eight, so be here at six tomorrow morning. If you pass my test, you'll have a job. Understood?"

Spike smiled and fired off a salute. Future Spike would deal with the internal turmoil and conflict when he was back in the hotel room and alone.

----

Shadows skittered away and leafs curled in silent cringe. Animals fled while inherited instincts screamed.

The grass quavered as a nightmare of fire crawled through them in a way too primal and alien for the trees to remember.

Empty iron did not rest.

A roar. Afraid but unwilling to back away.

A bear backed against a tree. The green of long rot walked inexorably.

It charged. Steel bent. Iron shattered. Green stained red.

Red slowly drained to green.

East.

Author's Notes:

I know where I'm going with this. I have no idea how I'm getting there, though.