You never really know what you have until it’s gone. Regardless of the amount of effort that goes into appreciating the little things, somewhere along the line a few neglected gems will slip away unnoticed and unappreciated, leaving only an odd stinging sensation to remember them by. In the case of burned-off fingertips, however, it’s a much more distinct and painful stinging sensation.

“Ow Ow Ow!”

Even after a few days, my fingerprints were still just… gone, replaced by an angry red layer of skin that I was fairly certain wasn’t meant to be exposed to the elements. Hashing through the problem with Twilight hadn’t done much to clear up the confusion, other than identifying the nature of the abnormalities my body seemed to be experiencing. In pony physiology, there’s a sort of emergency shutoff function that stops all consumption of mana from leylines if too much energy is accumulated, allowing the warding spell to effectively clog the flow and activate the shutoff for however long the warding remained intact. The flaw in her plan was unforeseeable: my complete lack of a shutoff, a condition she’d never heard of in any mana-sensitive lifeform. The alternative options we came up with was to either get a safe distance away before removing the glasses, allowing the mana to dissipate naturally, or the alternative; ‘completing the circuit,’ so to speak with another mana-sensitive organism. Since neither of us had any idea what the side effects of said action could be, Twilight made the not-so-helpful observation that it was probably best if I avoided the latter option.

After that conversation came the point where I curled up somewhere isolated with a bucket of chocolate ice cream courtesy of Twilight’s freezer and proceeded to eat my feelings. The need to retrieve a second bucket served as evidence that, deny as I might, I had a lot of feelings. Somewhat unsurprisingly, I was interrupted before I could finish masticating my emotions. For a moment, the dragon looked more confused than irritated.

“Wha- Why are you in my room?” Spike demanded.

“… I was hungry?”

“Okay… just- no.” He shook his head. “Why are you eating in my room with the lights turned off?”

Because you have a curtain.

“Because I thought you might like some company.” I gave him as innocent of a look I could manage between bites. Somehow grumpy dragon had seemed preferable to the small army of pegasi tapping to on the balcony door of the guest room.

“Sweet mustache” Spike snickered, and I found myself stiffening in horror mid-spoonful.

Oh, by the way Kate, I forgot to mention holding in mana might stimulate growth of facial hair, my bad.

The sudden urge to strangle a certain purple unicorn diminished as my fingers came away from my upper lip sticky, and I subsequently calmed down after realizing the nature of the offending substance. Grabbing a napkin, I cleared the residue from my face and looked back to the dragon with a scowl.

“Not cool.”

“Aw, it was a little funny.” The dragon took a seat across from me and rubbed his claws together greedily. “I was going to take a nap but… I guess you can stay since you brought me a spoon.” The extra utensil in question was a result of forgetting the first spoon upstairs and grabbing another for the sake of continued consumption in transit, though I decided that was information best kept to myself. Holding my tongue was difficult as the draconic invasion of my comfort food proved brutally thorough.

“So, why are you really here? Fluttershy riding you raw?”

Note to self: It’s entirely possible to choke on ice cream.

My coughing fit was only slightly aided by the dragon’s panicked slapping of my back.

“Want to… rephrase that?” I wheezed. Crisis averted, Spike returned to his previous seat, looking at me with an unexpectedly discerning eye.

“I didn’t mean anything by it- I just figured you were in the doghouse, that she was mad at you or something. Twilight does the same thing when she’s upset.” Having ravaged a good chunk of the remaining ice cream, he leaned back on his claws. “Holy cow you should have seen how many buckets she went through last week.” He smirked at the memory. “Anyway, it’s obvious something’s bothering you.”

Ignoring the question, I looked away, wanting nothing more than to sink into the wall, lost in thought as I finished off the bucket.

‘Everything’s fine!-NOM-I found out the pony I might have slept with is actually in love with somepony else!-NOM-Which is great because I’m in no way attracted to her either!- Yessiree It’s all working out for the best.’ Dark chocolate had never tasted so bitter.

“Geez, and I thought I had it bad.”

Crap.

“I just said all that out loud, didn’t I?” I slowly put the spoon down. He nodded, prompting me to mentally kick myself. “No need to bother Twilight with petty gossip, right?” The dragon’s raised eyebrow sent the message he wasn’t buying it. “Spike, the only thing she’s worried about is Fluttershy getting hurt. I’ll tell her the truth eventually, just let me do it on my terms.” The dragon’s face scrunched up, as if he was deciding whether or not to say something. After a moment, whatever it was seemed to pass unspoken.

“Fine. Think you could do me a favor, though?”

I was beginning to see Rarity as Ponyville’s slightly less bitchy version of Miranda Priestly; very devil-wears-nada. On the surface, it was an innocent proposition. She had ‘just so happened’ to mention in passing that Sweetie Belle had been bragging about her heroine nonstop, resulting in an official invitation extended for me to meet with the local schoolteacher in order to discuss the possibility of acting as a guest speaker. I'd really enjoyed working as an afterschool tutor in the past, so the idea instantly appealed to me. Only, the little traitor had ‘neglected’ to name the meeting place, claiming ignorance.

“I forgot what it’s called, that con-…confectionary shop right across the market from the carrot stand,” he had said, suddenly uncomfortable with making eye contact. Hindsight really is 20/20; I’d been so excited by the prospect of doing something useful (and something to take my mind off a certain pegasus) that I’d completely missed the blatantly obvious tell. Somepony had coached him to pitch it that way. Because, you know, ‘pink pastry shop’ probably would have spooked me.

One does not simply walk into Sugarcube Corner.

Her singing resurfaced in my subconscious, a cacophonous warning cry to turn back or face insanity. I could remember every lyric perfectly. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I peered into the shop, the music from our previous encounter playing on loop in my head. I’d left the library early, maybe I could still catch Cheerilee before our designated meeting time in the mouth of hell. My nervousness took over and I began to hum some indistinct tune, if only to take my mind off the urge to move any direction that qualified as ‘away.’

“What a lovely lovely voice!” I caught a glimpse of her in the reflection of the store window a split second before I heard her, but that did nothing to lessen the jolt of terror invoked the moment her sing-song speech reached my ears.

Come on Kate, She’s a pink pony, half your height, and if it wasn’t for her you’d have spent your last moments bleeding out as a post-unicorn shish kebab. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.

“If I remember correctly, you’ve already heard me sing.” Feeling more than a little vulnerable after the sneak attack, I tried squash the rising panic, crossing my arms and keeping my voice even. Maybe I was blowing things out of proportion. She was practically bouncing back and forth on her front forehoofs like an overexcited puppy at my visit, smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh yeah! But that was us singing together! Voices are like cupcakes: you don’t get the full effect unless you take your time with one all by itself. That’s the only way to savor every… last… crumb.” She looked past me into the store, salivating at her own analogy.

Note to self: Definitely not making a mountain out of a molehill.

She broke the hypnotic gaze with the pastries just as I started to inch away, her already-wide eyes dilating in sudden epiphany as they locked on me, forelegs linking around my arms.

“Waitohmygoshareyouheretovisitme?” I tried to detach her hoofs, slightly panicked.

“Oh, no I was just meeting-“

“Cheerilee in half an hour! But you’re early, like super duper early. You wanted to spend time with me! Oh goodness this will be so much fun.” I was practically yanked into the pastry shop, the ring of the entrance bell sunnily signaling my imminent doom.

The fact that I was seated at a strangely quaint table, rather than strapped to a repurposed dentist’s chair was my first indicator that I might have been blowing things out of proportion. Pinkie by herself was terrifying. Pinkie with the Cakes was… different. My tour was abruptly ended when Mr. Cake whispered into Pinkie’s ear, and her entire countenance changed; her typical happy (creepy) smile was replaced by a more subtle smile of focused determination. Apron, hat, and pot holders seemed to appear out of thin air. I tried not to gawk as she took the apparent influx of orders in stride, sailing from ingredient to ingredient, managing several different batches of pastries at once. Her movements were akin to a demented ballerina in a fever dream, complete with a pirouette that relocated three trays at once, balancing the flourish effortlessly on a single rear hoof. Even Mr. Cake was unable to match the pink demon’s pace, relegated instead to bringing me a cup of coffee while I waited.

“Sorry she wasn’t able to give you a tour, Ma’am.” He blinked at me apologetically. “The missus woke up under the weather, and that was right before we got a huge invoice order from a bakery in Canterlot.” I shrugged it off amiably, looking back to the whirlwind in the kitchen. As much as she resembled some sort of natural disaster in motion, I began to realize that within the chaos every movement was measured and deliberate: The breaking eggs, application of flour, mixing of various concoctions. After several minutes of study it became clear that even her seemingly superfluous spins were purposeful, eyes lingering on the various timers as she pivoted, mentally logging their progress. Mr. Cake watched alongside me, carefully staying out of her way.

“Is she always like this?” I whispered with a begrudging sense of awe.

“No. Usually it’s the opposite. The kitchen’s her playground; she’s always trying new things, experimenting.” He indicated the pink mare, who couldn’t have been more oblivious to the fact she was being talked about. “She’s only like this when we need her to be.” Rubbing his neck, he smiled sheepishly. “It’s a good thing she’s not always like this too- if she was, there’d be no work left for me and the missus.”

“I bet.” Something about the whole thing was bothering me, like a puzzle with a few missing pieces. “How did she come to live here, just out of curiosity?”

“She likes to bake and is good with foals. We’re a bakery and we have two beautiful little foals. Guess it was just destiny.” There was something disingenuous in the way he shirked off the question.

Ponies are terrible liars.

Pinkie stopped, tray in hoof, the sudden ceasing of motion almost startling. Her body seemed to spasm, tail twitching to the right, left rear hoof tapping the ground three times, rounding the combination off with a full body wobble. Muttering something to herself, she tilted her head up as if calculating something. Recognition flashed across her eyes as she set the tray down in order to grab a box of tissues off the counter and walked to the stairway, tossing them carefully to the top.

“Special delivery for Mrs. Cake!”

A disheveled, very grumpy looking cyan earth pony with a pink mane walked into view at the top of the stairs, definitely still under the weather, her mingle mark in clear view.

“Thank you Pinkie, though I’m not so sick that I can’t walk down a flight of stairs-“

“Mff umf muf umf muf muf!” Closing an oven door with a hoof and stirring a batch by mouth while trying to talk at the same time proved rather fruitless. She released the egg beater, taking a deep breath.

“But if you walked downstairs, you’d want to help and if you helped your nose would start to itch and if your nose itched you might sneeze on a batch of cupcakes and if you sneezed on a batch of cupcakes we’d have to redo them and if we had to redo them we’d be fifteen minutes late for the freight chariot from Canterlot!” With a slightly offended glare, Mrs. Cake walked away unhappily, sneezing once out of sight. Mr. Cake looked rather embarrassed, but it was Pinkie who quickly came to her defense.

“When she’s sick, she gets a little mad sometimes.” The Cheshire grin flashed across the room. “We all get a little mad sometimes.” Don’t get me wrong, there was still a large part of my psyche that still wanted nothing more than to jump through the front window of Sugarcube Corner to escape that smile. Yet somehow, it was a slightly more affectionate feeling of terror than the former.

“Oh looky, your mare’s here!” My head shot around as the doorbell jingled, a little too excited at the prospect of an impromptu encounter with a certain pegasus. I did my best to conceal my disappointment at the realization it was the purple earth pony I’d set out to meet in the first place.

It didn’t take long to establish the fact that Cheerilee was an excellent teacher. She displayed an uncommon amount of caution, treating me in a reserved and almost suspicious manner, one that wasn’t present in a single conversation with anypony else in Ponyville. I wouldn’t have had it any other way; in my experience cautious teachers were the ones who cared most about their students. It took her a while to warm up to me, but we shared a lot of interests and quickly developed rapport. Once satisfied I wasn’t going to terrorize her classroom, she seemed openly impressed by the amount of Equestrian knowledge I’d managed to absorb in a short period of time, inviting me to come for a meet and greet with the students the following day.

I went out for a run early the next morning, partially out of habit, though mostly so I could take off the glasses, ensuring the smallest chance of mana overflow as possible. While it was true that the previous accident had occurred after more than two days of nonstop wear, I wasn’t taking any chances considering where I was headed. Taking off the glasses, I lay back in the field, closing my eyes and relaxing as a seemingly endless amount of pressure was relieved from entire skull, a heavy weight lifting off various pressure points in my forehead as well as my sinuses. The sound of wind rustling through the tall grass and the warmth of the sun on my face combined with the sudden lack of discomfort was hypnotic, lulling me dangerously close to unconsciousness.

…Do you want to practice?

It was a deus ex machina enacted by a flying pastry bag that saved me, the impact on the side of my head jarring me out of the untimely slumber. I sat up with a start, adrenaline pumping. The source of the projectile was nowhere in sight, despite a clear vantage for miles. I read the inscription on the side of the bag, vision still a bit hazy.
‘Yooooooou’re late! For a very important date!’
‘P.S. Your sleepy face is even cuter in the daylight!’

Nowhere is safe. Begrudgingly grateful for the wakeup call despite a small surge of self-pity, I replaced the glasses, taking off in a brusque jog back towards Ponyville. While there was barely enough time for personal hygiene, the nap had sapped me of any interval with which to pack myself a lunch. In a rush to leave, I grabbed the paper bag, deciding I would have to settle for eating whatever manner of pastry Pinkie had picked out to peg me with. I noticed with no small displeasure that the bandages on my fingertips were stained and dirty from my nap in the field.
I’ll change them at the school.

Running cold water over tender raw skin really should have struck me as a bad idea.

“MOTHER HUMPING- GAH- SWEET CELESTIA ON A TRICYCLE-” As tears welled up from the stinging, the only thing that kept my self-censorship intact was the alternative: single-handedly introducing the f-bomb to Ponyville’s middleschool, more specifically, the small audience of impressionable fillies that were peering through the crack of the school’s bathroom door.

“Motherbucker? Where’d yall hear somethin’ like that Sweetie Belle?”

“Kate said it! Actually though you’re saying it wrong-”

The possibility of creating miniature ponies who talked like late night HBO made the torrent of profanity significantly easier to stave off, even if it did come at the cost of biting my lip until it bled. Think of the children Kate. I hissed, each finger burning like fire as I re-bandaged. You’d think the after effects from an apparently beneficial mana exchange would be positive for both parties, not leave the ‘caster’ with burn wounds and a vague feeling she’d stuck a fork in Palpatine’s personal electrical socket… with her teeth.

“KATE!” The war cry alone would have been enough to startle me. In conjunction with the blur of a small alabaster form and the telltale glint of her horn, I spun aside so fast I probably left an after-image. Amazing what the threat of a second horn wound (and resulting exposure to pony morphine) will do for your reflexes.

“You DODGED me!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed incredulously, looking more than a little hurt.

“You tried to tackle me!” I reached down to pat the glaring filly, caught slightly off guard when she latched onto my arm possessively. It took a moment before I caught on to the source of her clinginess; her classmates gathered around. While they were cautious at first, there was a growing sense of awe. 'My friend is an alien.' No matter what dimension your middle school happens to be in, it’s still all about bragging rights. Instead of shaking her off, I picked her up playfully, legitimizing her claims and eliciting gasps from her peers as I airlifted my favorite assailant to the classroom.

“What’s it like walking on two legs, don’t they get tired?”

“Is it true you’re married to Fluttershy?”

“Yeah, let us see your cutie mark!”

“How old are you?”

“Does Princess Celestia really ride a tricycle?”

I fielded the onslaught of questions to the best of my ability, answering the ones I found appropriate and deflecting the ones I didn’t. Most of the awkward questions came from ponies identifiable as the school plastics, fronted by the aptly named Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon. Snips and Snails seemed dead set on identifying what I looked for in a stallion, questions I was all too happy to skip over. The cutie mark crusaders offered the only semblance of ‘normal’ queries, and frustratingly enough even those weren’t questions I could give particularly educational answers to. At the very least, the near-hour-long exercise had given me the chance to speak to and learn the names of the vast majority of the class… save one. Cheerilee’s voice broke the silence.

“Dinky, you’ve not said a word all period. Is there anything you’d like to ask Ms. Kate?” I’d previously taken the grey unicorn with a blonde mane in the corner to be the class recluse, as she’d spent most of the session apathetically staring out the window.

“If you don’t have princesses, how does your government work?” As I had just spent the last five minutes explaining the concept of cereal, the question was like a breath of fresh air.

Challenge of the week: explain congress to a first grader.

I leaned on Cheerilee’s desk at the end of the day as a small crowd of fillies amassed at the front, talking amongst themselves and directing some last minute questions to me, but mostly offering simple words of appreciation before leaving, departing in a mob of excitable energy. When the last pony left I turned to face the school teacher apologetically.

“This was great, but I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.” She glanced over her papers in open amusement.

“On the contrary, how would you feel about coming on as a part time teaching assistant?” The offer came completely out of left field.

“I- I’m not sure I’m qualified.”

“Please.” All hints of suspicion from the purple pony were now gone, replaced with a tone of respect. “You handled everything they threw at you extremely well, I’m not sure I saw you flustered once and you kept their attention almost the entire time. Not to mention, you have no idea how much help it was to have an extra pair of eyes double checking their math homework.” Freeloading had gotten old even before the hospital, which Twilight had to cover the bills for. Working off the debt was a necessity: working with kids at the same time? It was almost too good to be true.

“When do I start?”

The scenario hit a little too close to home. All the other kids were gone, either already picked up by parents or living close enough to walk home. Dinky Doo sat alone on the bench at the front of the school, not quite managing to hide a growing sense of anxiety. Her golden eyes searched the sky endlessly, faith diminishing with each passing moment. I was tired, starving, and exhausted… all of which abruptly didn’t really matter.

“Mind if I keep you company?”

“You might be here for a while,” the unicorn muttered grumpily.

“I’m not really in a hurry.” I sat down beside her, weighing my next words carefully. “Mom or Dad?”

“Mom. Never around when I need her.” The resigned acceptance in her voice was more than a little familiar.

“I could walk you home, if that’s the problem.”

“’That’s okay,” Dinky shook her head, “the last time I went home on my own she panicked and stayed out all night looking for me. She gets lost easily.”

“It sounds like she cares about you though.”

“Maybe. But if she really cares, why does it never get better?” The conflict in her eyes was heartbreaking. I couldn’t answer that question for myself, much less for somepony else. “It wasn’t always like this-“ her stomach growled angrily in agreement.

“Not enough for lunch?”

“She always forgets to pack it.” Dinky rolled her eyes. “I’m lucky if she remembers to feed Algernon.”

“Algernon?

“Our kitty.”

The talk of food, combined with my own hunger reminded me I wasn’t completely empty-handed in the nutrient department. I removed the pastry bag from my satchel and tossed it to a now excited looking Dinky Doo.

“Care for a cupcake?”

“I love Sugarcube corner!” She telekinetically removed the white frosted pastries from the bag. One was marked with a red K, the other plain. “I’m guessing this one is yours,” she said in an almost giddy tone, floating the marked one my way. Normally, I’d have thought twice about eating the pink demon put in front of me. Maybe my opinion of her was changing, or maybe I was just too hungry to care. Dinky held her prize daintily with both hoove, nibbling on it like a squirrel, making it last. I took an unrestrained bite out of mine. The batter itself was delicious, but there was something… weird… about the flavor. It held hints of bubblegum or possibly some sort of strawberry taffy. There was something else too it though. Maybe it was some exotic Equestrian taste I wasn’t familiar with.

“What flavor is that?” I asked.

“Plain old vanilla- at least, mine is.” She shrugged. There was no way Dinky and I were eating the same cupcake. I rolled it around on my tongue some more, trying to get a better reading. I was more certain of the bubblegum and strawberry flavor, but the third continued to be an enigma. Strangely enough it seemed to be some sort of salty taste, almost pungent-

“Maybe that’s the mystery ingredient?”

“What?” I turned to her slowly.

“On the note here.” Dinky floated the bag over to me, pointing to a spot below the P.S. note. Sure enough, there was a much smaller message written beneath it that I had apparently missed.

“P.P.S. I put a TON of my secret ingredient drops on your cupcake. I haven’t tried it myself since that would just be weird, but if you like it there’s PLENTY more where that came from!”

URK.

It didn’t matter if I was right, wrong or simply jumping to conclusions. The connection had already been made in my head, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to eat another cupcake again. Tossing the half that remained into the bag I leaned my head against the wall with a groan, fairly certain that somewhere in Ponyville, a pink demon was giggling maniacally.

“So what was the secret ingredient?” Dinky asked, more than a little confused.

“…Laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.”

AN: Sorry to split another chapter in two. There’s a lot of maneuvering going on behind the scenes in this chapter to set up some… interesting… developments. I sent out multiple pms to those who volunteered proof-reading on the blog, and got multiple messages back this morning (far more than I expected.) If you offered and I didn't send you a message please don't take it personally, in all honesty at that point I couldn't even see straight. (I think I sent somepony like three messages with the link accidentally too.)

A special thanks to:

The Equestrian Gentlecolt (If you've not read Perfect for Me, you're missing out)

Meeester (Great proof reader with an even better avatar )

MisterMoniker (Author of the only FiM Reno 911 spoof I know of, as well as some poignant brooding Woona stuff if that's up your alley)

Axel Nyan (Friendly neighborhood proof-reader with great favorites)