“Uh,” Rainbow Dash leads, gawking at the second strangest excuse for a doctor she’s met. At least this one she’s more or less comfortable letting him get his hooves on her; she wouldn’t be surprised if a back-alley run in with the other left her with a steel wing. Even so, she doesn’t look forward to this stallion talking. “This was supposed to be some sort of check-up, right?”

“An’ make sure we’re all hunky-dory,” Applejack adds, embellishing her accent a smidge.

Dr. Horse takes one cursory glance across each of the mares and just as quickly returns to the thaumic resonator. His words are barely even directed at them. “You look fine to me.”

“This is the doc we’ve been waiting for?” Rainbow Dash exclaims, waving a hoof at Dr. Horse. “I’d call him a quack, but Fluttershy might make me apologize to the ducks.”

Dr. Horse raises his head to shoot Rainbow Dash a toothy smile before going back to studiously ignoring them.

Doug, for his part, can’t seem to take his eyes off of Dr. Whorlson’s face, even when Rarity elbows him in the side.

“Perhaps,” Dr. Whorlson says placatingly, drawing some of the focus off his colleague, “it would help to get to know each other a little better.”

“But I already know them,” Dr. Horse interrupts with a petulant whine. “I even read their case files and everything!”

Dr. Whorlson treats the unsolicited comment with the cold disdain that it deserves. “I’m Dr. Whorlson, and the cantankerous colt over there is Dr. Horse.” The colt in question gives a friendly wave and smile so forced it’s disturbing. “Did you have anything to ask before we begin?” He goes from pony to pony before resting on Doug. He nods knowingly, hiding his wearied eye roll but unable to keep it from his voice. “You have something?”

“Uh, it’s more of a comment,” Doug says, his gaze finally breaking away. He rubs at Applejack’s face, specifically the three freckles just beside her eyes. “You’re one of the few ponies I’ve seen with any sort of distinguishing feature besides cutie mark, mane style, and mane and coat color.” He scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’d take a whorl at a joke, but I keep coming up with mole puns.”

“Derpy’s got those eyes,” Rainbow Dash adds. She waves her hoof in the air as she thinks of the word.

“Strabismus,” Dr. Sharps supplies.

Rainbow Dash nods. “Yeah, that. She started getting it as a filly, and-”

“She didn’t ‘get’ Strabismus as a filly,” Dr. Horse interjects. “Her muscular degeneration is congenital.”

“Well,” Rainbow Dash huffs, “that’s when it started showing up.”

“Manifesting,” Dr. Horse corrects, “and I imagine it got progressively worse, as opposed to, say, showing up and leaving like an unwanted guest.”

“You know what a ‘guest’ is?” Applejack mutters under her breath.

“Are you always this pedantic?” Doug asks loudly, covering for his lead mare.

Dr. Horse’s laser focus turns on Doug, making the human a little uneasy. “Yes,” he carefully enunciates without a hint of shame. “And that precision might make the difference between an accurate diagnosis of your foals and faffing about for years without any progress.”

“We certainly don’t want that happening,” Dr. Whorlson breaks in, moving between Doug and Dr. Horse, ostensibly to get to the resonator. “So, let’s get started with the scans, yes?”

“No.” Dr. Horse points to the ultrasound, guarding the resonator with a limb. “That one first.”

Dr. Whorlson stares down his colleague. “You want to run the new one.”

“Did you really expect anything different?” Dr. Horse grins at getting his way as Dr. Whorlson sighs and turns around. “Besides, we should start with what we know.”

“Which is?” Dr. Whorlson asks as he gets the ultrasound ready.

“That they’re healthy.” Dr. Horse’s horn grabs a clipboard with a single sheet of paper, jotting down a line of notes. As soon as he finishes a sentence the words disappear, and occasionally new ones appear on the paper that last until he taps them.

“Ah sure hope they are,” Applejack says, trepidation staining her words. She cuddles next to Doug, his hands comforting her and Rarity by scratching at their necks.

“Is that going on our bellies?” Rainbow Dash asks as Dr. Whorlson puts a dollop of gel on the probe.

“Afraid not,” Dr. Whorlson apologizes. He glances between the three mares with a contrite smile. “Who’s first?”

“Ah suppose Ah’ll go,” Applejack volunteers, Rainbow Dash quickly replacing her next to Doug. She stands with her back to the wall, head turned to watch the screen. Her hind legs bend slightly, a low grunt as the probe enters her. “Kinda cold.”

Dr. Whorlson nods absently, his attention on getting the image on the screen to display the contents of Applejack’s belly. His hoof squirms back and forth, Applejack stoically bearing the unpleasant feeling.

“The reason we wait until ten weeks,” Dr. Horse explains as the black and white image rests on a clearly foal shaped being, “is that it takes that long for most of the major systems to have started developing.”

His horn lights blue, and so does the ultrasound, including the line leading into Applejack. The black and white image projects out from the screen. Different areas zoom closer, highlighting in high definition wherever he is talking about. It certainly wows the three mares and Doug, and even the other two nurses and doctor look impressed.

Rarity in particular steps forward, fascinated at the spellwork. Her eyes shine white to observe the magical components, whispering questions to Dr. Horse as to how exactly he is performing the spell. He’s more than happy to strut his stuff, explaining in quick bursts between his statements to the rest of the group.

“Let’s start from the top,” Dr. Horse says, though he pauses to look Applejack in the eye. “Do you have a name picked out yet?”

“Uh, not really,” Applejack says, shaking her head.

“‘The filly’ it is,” Dr. Horse says, taking a deep breath.

“It’s a filly?” Applejack exclaims, excitedly beaming at her herdmates. They return encouraging smiles, Rainbow Dash rubbing her head against Doug’s belly.

“Yes,” Dr. Horse says, showing none of her enthusiasm. He raises an eyebrow. “Would you have reacted differently if I said it was a colt?”

“Nnope,” Applejack responds, his uncaring attitude unable to put a damper on hers. “Ah’d’a been unhappy if’n ya said it was neither.”

“Right,” Dr. Horse says, turning back to the image he is projecting.

“But we’d’a still loved her just the same if’n that was the case,” Applejack continues, not minding at all that it grates on Dr. Horse’s nerves.

“Right,” the doctor tries again. The filly’s skull lights up again. Little numbers pop up next to the image, and on the paper at his hoof, showing the circumference, bone thickness, and the age, estimated at twelve weeks, zero days. A filter seems to flash as torrents of red and blue course through the skull, this time showing oxygenation and flow rates. “You’re sure on the date?”

“Absolutely,” Applejack says firmly, more notes appearing on his paper. She asks worriedly, “This ain’t hurtin’ her, is it?”

Dr. Horse sighs to himself. “Is it hurting you?” he asks pointedly.

“Ah’m a mite uncomfortable, but no,” Applejack admits.

“Then she’s fine, too.” Dr. Horse waits for another interruption, the following silence music to his ears. “Moving on. Cranium is hardening, brain seems normal. Heart function is normal. Lungs, ribs, uterus. Still waiting on mammaries, but that’s expected. Tail, four legs, four hooves. If I didn’t know any better,” he waits, a distinct pause that says ‘I know the truth is otherwise’, “I’d say this is a perfectly healthy foal.”

“There aren’t any abnormal characteristics?” Doug asks. He’s still a bit stunned at the images, showing in three dimensions the various organs of - he can scarcely form the words, conceptualize the thought - his foal.

“Bones are thicker than normal, muscles a bit more developed,” Dr. Whorlson replies, minute adjustments of the probe helping focus the image on a few more areas of interest. “I’ll keep the speculation as to why until we’ve seen everything.” The probe slips out of Applejack with a soft plop, and he levitates her a damp wipe as he cleans the probe off. He holds up the slick white member. “Who would like to be next?”

It seems the mares have decided on herd order, and Rarity steps up. She barely flinches as the probe enters her, instead focusing on Dr. Horse’s horn as it lights up. They go through the same process, except they linger a little longer on her filly’s head and, consequently, her horn.

“It seems shorter than normal,” Dr. Horse remarks.

“Rigorous testing shows no correlation between horn length and performance,” Dr. Whorlson retorts. Applejack and Rainbow Dash snicker to each other. He offers a well-practiced apologetic smile to Rarity.

“Yes,” Rarity agrees. “Girth is a much more desirable characteristic.” She winks at her stallion, drawing a quickly stifled guffaw from Rainbow Dash.

“Can we please keep our heads in the right place?” Dr. Horse says irritably. “It’s hard enough to focus already, and I’d like to be in and out as soon as I can.”

It’s becoming difficult for the other four mares to keep a straight face. “Yes, I’m sure you do,” Rarity says knowingly. “Some of us are in much more of a hurry than others.”

“Exactly.” Dr. Horse nods along, either oblivious or ignoring the smirks trading around him. His scans of Rarity’s filly continue without further incident, again getting a clean bill of health while showing a more robust musculature than normal.

Rainbow Dash is up next, and Dr. Horse stops on her filly’s wings.

“They seem small,” Rainbow Dash says, curiously inspecting the image. She nearly takes a step forward, stopped only by Dr. Whorlson’s hoof. She scrunches up a little, giving him a small smile, and goes back to looking at her filly. She almost can’t believe the words. Her filly.

“That’s because they are small,” Dr. Horse replies with a rare bit of sympathy. “Forty percent smaller than average, even after accounting for the larger muscles.”

“Oh.” Rainbow Dash sinks down a little. She looks up with a speck of hope. “Bulk Biceps has small wings, and he’s a… he can fly.”

“Bulk Biceps trains his body four hours a day,” Dr. Horse replies almost immediately, “in addition to his normal flying.”

Rainbow Dash cocks her head, genuinely surprised the doctor knows that. “How do you know that?”

Dr. Horse sighs. “Because I helped him come up with the regimen.”

“Is there anything you don’t know?” Rainbow Dash asks flippantly.

“What it takes to get you to be quiet?” Dr. Horse immediately replies.

“Good luck with that,” Doug says, earning a glare from the mare. Rainbow Dash flicks a hoof from one side of her muzzle to the other and tosses away the imaginary key, going back to forlornly staring at the image.

“The muscles of her wings do seem a bit sturdier,” Dr. Whorlson adds, trying to stay positive. “She’ll probably have great endurance.”

“Yeah,” Rainbow Dash concedes. “But it’s also more mass you’re moving with every beat. Maybe it evens out.” Her smile returns, but not completely. “Maybe.”

The rest of the exam passes with a muted atmosphere in the room, none of the banter from before. The only consolation is that the filly’s body, like that of her sisters, is slated to be tougher than normal.

“Well, that concludes the ‘fun’ portion of our little diagnostic session,” Dr. Horse says as Rainbow Dash wipes herself off. “Now, we get to talk about magic.”

Next Chapter: Ch. 86 - Flamesight Estimated time remaining: 4 Hours, 11 Minutes