Conversions
-Disclaimer: Hasbro owns all recognizable characters, most unrecognizable characters, and no, I'm not profiting off of this.
----

"You look like something walked on out of Tartarus and crawled up your backside, Dragon." Mr.Lemon wasn't pulling his punches today, just like he didn't the last workday.

Or the day before that one.

Or any of them.

"It did. You. And ponies like you. You monsters made it. You and your math." Spike was squinting, his eyes were puffy and he was walking with a shuffle more akin to a zombie than any member of the living.

"Old Inkblot mentioned he'd had his first serious Dragon customer over the weekend. Can't say I'm surprised it was you though." An apron dropped over Spike before another wrapped itself around the unicorn.

"What's the difference between serious customers and not serious customers?" Spike held his claws under running water as he waited for the tap to heat up. For the bread it needed to be hot, but not scalding or it would kill the yeast.

Although he'd been told they'd be making a lot of flat breads next week when a bunch of Namby Pamby Prance Ponies started showing up for some convention.

"Inkblot tends to sell either smut or graphic novels when Dragons deign to come out of that over grown cave and patronize him." Mr.Lemon had... Strong opinions. About everything. And he was the right mix of cranky and old that he didn't care who heard him. "They like the blood-dark garbage that shows off a lot of, eh, scale if you follow my sayin' so."

"Wait. Do you mean in the smut or in the comic books?" Spike was tentatively familiar with adult literature. Purple prose, he'd heard the term once, and too much of it in the few books he'd tried reading. He'd stick to adventure and fantasy, thank you.

"Both. Neither. I don't know. Inky mentioned it and not a one of us wanted to ask. The lousy pervert can shut up the business association in a jot just talkin' about what ponies come in to buy. You think dragons are into some twisted reading though, you won't believe what minotaurs buy." Spike did a good job, holding in his curiosity. He'd almost finished mixing the first batch of dough when he asked.

"What do minotaurs get?" The unicorns eyes gleamed. His grin was dark. His very expression radiated a foul humor akin to the likes of Discord.

"Self help books."

----

Smoke trailed from Spike's nostrils as he repressed another burp.

He hadn't actually planned this far ahead.

Pawning off his hoard to fund an adventure to discover who Spike was?

Check.

Making sure his replacements knew the basics of their jobs?

Also check.

Knowing how to find a job?

Not check.

Discovering his focused upbringing hadn't prepared him for finding a job?

Also not check.

Having some plan for telling the head of their nation that he'd up and walked off from the job she gave him?

Very not check.

He nearly gagged at the feeling of ashes coating the back of his throat.

He picked up a pencil in claw during the momentary reprieve of another failed sending and squinted at the page in front of him.

Science wasn't as bad as math. It really just boiled to saying 'This works because not magic. Here's how!'.

Like how wood burned when metal melted. He knew that it happened. He made associations, which were part of this scientific progress or something, like thinking that this or that were kinds of metal, so they should melt. Or like trees were plants, so plants were like trees, so plants burned except when they smoked and smoldered.

Because they were full of water locked in these blocks called cells and cells were-

Spike turned his head to the side and stuffed his face into a metal bucket while he choked down another burp.

He paid for these books. He refused to destroy them if he could avoid it.

Pencil again met paper as the drake mentally shoved aside the discomfort behind his eyes and behind his tongue.

----

Twilight Sparkle, alicorn, purple and... Frustrated was currently the best approximation of her mood.

Twilight Sparkle paced a steady beat in her library.

She had good reason to be, after all. Her friend and assistant had disappeared from his home two, almost three weeks ago. Judging by the letter she'd found wedged in her inbox underneath an ad for anti-wrinkle cream and above a letter from some Neighgerian princeling claiming some ridiculous relation, he'd resigned.

He'd cited his main grievance as being a lack of personal development as well as a few minor notes about regretting being unable to keep up with the growing workload around the castle.

She'd noticed, of course, the way dust had collected on some of the books on the higher shelves in the library. That the variety in her diet had reduced to foods that didn't need to be particularly cold or hot if she was taking her meals outside the dining room.

That Spike had been spending less and less time with Rarity while trying to keep up with the castle.

She didn't particularly enjoy watching him work his claws to the bone, as a point of fact she was planning on expanding the staff of the castle.

She just wanted to talk to him about it first. A conversation she'd intended to have this morning.

Instead she had, as politely as a grumpy, sleep deprived alicorn could at any rate, terminated the temporary contracts Spike had written in her absence. The three ponies were informed they could reapply with everypony else if she was intending to hire.

They'd been good sports about it, all things considered. Pumpkin Spice had been teary eyed, upset, but she hadn't made a scene.

A month spent trying to find Changelings while parading about on a 'Royal Tour'. They found changelings. They befriended changelings. Cake had been involved in there somewhere.

The pony, actually. Missus specifically. Though with Pinky Pie about the pastry was definitely involved as well.

So Twilight Sparkle was tired. Twilight Sparkle was hungry. Twilight Sparkle was worried, and upset, and frustrated because she couldn't tell if Spike was getting any of her letters or if he couldn't answer or if she was even doing the spell right!

So Twilight Sparkle paced.

Author's Notes:

I've sent a message to a fella on Deviantart about using something they drew for coverart.

I'm this bad at writing. Do you really wanna see how bad my art is?