Can a man who isn't wholly in-the-know on Cozy Glow put her in a story? Yes.

Should a man who isn't wholly in-the-know on Cozy Glow put her in a story?

Well now, that's the question, isn't it?

In a very unexpected and unlikely sequence of events, Cozy Glow - recently revealed backstabber extraordinaire - had escaped. Who would have thunk it?

Certainly, none who’d been marching her off to Tartarus. Even after all she’d done there was still that tiniest sliver of misjudging, of underestimating. After all, while a prodigious planner of schemes (and plans) she was only little, and what could a little filly do while under guard?

Slip away the instant attention dropped for a split-second, that’s what.

Luna had been her main concern, obviously. Almost Cozy’s sole concern, in fact, with the guards a mere afterthought, so much set-dressing.

The guards always left something to be desired, really. If Cozy had been in charge - and, one day, she probably would be, all things going as they should - she was going to have a look over the entry requirements.

Or instate some, probably.

But yes, Luna. The main obstacle to escape. Considerable, not insurmountable.

For all her power and experience she wasn’t infallible, and all it took was a glance away at just the right time, and the wherewithal to exploit it. After that, not so difficult. Not for Cozy!

Because, really, nothing was ever truly difficult. Some things were just complicated, and all complicated things were made up of simple steps. Lay them out, and nothing was that hard. Maybe that was just her, though. Thinking on it, yes, probably just her. Who else could have done any of the things she’d done? Who?!

No-one!

Still, all that being said the escape hadn’t been exactly smooth. Flawless in the planning, perhaps a touch rushed in the execution. It had been sloppy, basically. But it had worked, so there was that.

More through luck than judgement, agreeably, judgement having run pretty thin once things had really started picking up steam and once she’d started moving faster than she’d planned for. Thinking ahead? Second to none. Thinking on her hooves? Not a whole lot of experience.

Worked though. Idiots!

Far away now, out of all their clutches. Slithering down culverts and scooching under hedges and hiding in branches and behind bushes and all the while slipping further and further away. Get some distance, get some breathing room, start planning on how to come back from all of this.

It wasn’t over! Nothing was over. You don’t just turn it off.

Anything you could walk away from wasn’t the end, and there was always a way back. Just had to find one. There was always at least one. Didn’t matter if it was small, didn’t matter how much work it would take. She’d find it, and she’d make it work!

Soon though, soon.

Things were still mostly unsettled. Always looking over her shoulder. Even with the natty all-concealing, wing-and-ringlet-hiding cloak she’d managed to cobble together in the brief time she’d had available she was still jumpy, just in case someone looked that bit too closely.

Keeping on the move, keeping to the smaller outlying villages and hamlets. Smaller was better. More remote, quieter, less connected. Lesser chance of recognition. Still a chance, but lesser.

Venturing into them was what you might call a calculated risk, but she had to. She’d proven rather inept at foraging in the wilderness, so finding food was something of a constant and pressing concern.

And it was while on the prowl for unattended snacks through some podunk, dot-on-the-map village that something caught her eye, something she hadn’t seen before, certainly nothing she recognised or had even ever heard about.

A thing. Something.

Lanky, bearded, not really shaped like anything she could immediately bring to mind. And tall, too. Tall even sitting down, as this one was, perched on a stool behind a high worktop and visible through the glass front of what looked to be a shop, fiddling with something metal.

Despite the danger in lingering or, worse, making her presence known, Cozy felt it was at least worth a look. Could be something useful, after all, and at this point anything useful would be good. Could be the time to start pushing back, to stop running!

And so, checking that nopony was watching, she slunk across the dirt road and slunk through the door, which was still open. A bell rang which did make her flinch, but she pushed through it.

The thing - whatever it was - did not look up, concentration instead remaining on the partially dismantled object he was fiddling with. Some sort of mechanical object. Looked like a toy more than anything else, really, at least from where Cozy was standing.

“I am closed, come back tomorrow,” he said, waving something at her. Not a hoof. Not sharp enough for a claw. She vaguely recalled monkeys having hands. Looked about right.

“Whatcha doin’?” Cozy asked, going for bright, always a good start. Everyone - adults particularly - always softened up at that. Though she also did make sure to hang near the door, just in case the thing did happen to recognise her.

“I open in the morning,” he said again, but as it rapidly became clear that she wasn’t going to get the message and leave he sighed, grumbled, rolled his shoulders and said: “Fixing.”

“Ooh,” she said obligingly, giving a wide-eyed look around.

The whole room was lined with the things in rows along shelves. Some were more pony-shaped, others more like him. Broadly similar, none were quite alike. Impressive visually if nothing else.

“Did you make all these?” She asked, returning her attention to him. Stupid question, really, but an ingratiating one, and that had been the idea. Opening for a bit of a self-pat on the back, good opener.

“Yes,” he said, bluntly.

Nothing further. She tried a small array of cute looks but none of them got a response but he still wasn’t looking at her. Aggravating.

Time to be direct. Time to be bold!

Taking a breath she stepped into the shop proper and let the door swing closed. If she did need to run quick, it wouldn’t be too hard, but still. A risk.

“What are you? If you don’t mind me asking. I’ve never seen anything like you,” she asked.

And he sighed again, this time like someone who’d been asked this question more than he might have liked.

“I am a human, I am not from around here, I arrived via a workplace mishap. My name is Paul. No, I will not eat you. Hello.”

This sounded like a practised statement and came out a lot more fluidly than anything else he’d said up to this point, albeit more slowly and carefully, too.

“Pall?” Cozy said, the name sounding odd and even feeling odd in her mouth.

“No. Paul,” he said.

When he’d spoken more slowly and with greater deliberation his diction had been far more clear, but he also plainly resented the extra effort involved, so he’d almost immediately reverted back smaller snippets.

“Pall? Bearer?”

Kind of a stab in the dark there from Cozy, but she really couldn’t think of anything else.

“Just Paul. Understand? Maybe I am not clear. Your language is difficult. I learn, but slow. Not talk much anyway, not many talk to me.”

“Oh gosh, you don’t speak Mareain?”

He was doing a pretty good job of butchering it, she had to admit. Still, at least he seemed to understand it well enough, shaking his head at her question and briefly muttering something she absolutely did not understand at all.

“Hmph. Little. Not much. English, not this. This I try to learn, learn enough. To get by,” he then said.

And then he eyed her, looking at her properly from the first time she entered. She froze, but not obviously enough to give anything away she hoped, and whatever spike of panic she felt stayed entirely on the inside.

Thankfully, no immediate look of recognition or blind hatred crossed his features, so that was a positive sign. Instead he mostly looked curious.

“Most children here I have seen already, you are new. Who are you?” He asked.

Seems Cozy was perhaps more off her game than she might have initially thought because she hadn’t actually thought far enough ahead to have a fake name ready and prepared. Mostly lately she’d just been avoiding all attention from anypony, so it hadn’t come up.

Now though she felt like a prize fool, and rather than making a rushed, bad choice that she might have swift cause to regret she just decided to gloss over it completely.

Could work in a pinch.

“Whatcha say you were doing again? Fixing something?” She asked, all chirpy.

She nodded to the thing he had in front of him that he had been working on and he spared her a second longer before glancing down.

“Yes. Broken,” he said.

“What are they? I mean, they look like super-cool toys but they look...different.”

Seemed a good way of steering the conversation the way she wanted to and also away from her in general.

“Hmph,” Paul said, making some sort of forceful adjustment that made the thing go suddenly rigid, after which he set it upright on the workbench. Cozy had a proper, close-up look.

It was perhaps the length of one of her legs, perhaps just a touch shorter, and was one of the ones shaped much like he was, though rounded and made of metal as seen, all jointed and articulated. There was a quiet ticking sounded that was more obvious now he’d taken his hand away.

“I make them. Toys, yes? Little horses, little men. Clockwork and magic, you see? Work together, makes them move. Tell them to do something, they do it. Jump,” he said, directing the last word right at the thing.

The little toy jumped obligingly and then went limp and fell over, leading to another small burst of muttering from Paul who again set about with his screwdriver before starting to really get to work on the insides with something that let off little trails of smoke anytime he touched it into the innards, the toy twitching in the most unsettling fashion with every jab he made.

Cozy moved in closer, straining on her hindlegs to peer up and over the worksurface. No bad thing, looking tiny and helpless. Most tended to dismiss you the more it looked like you were struggling. Or, better, they’d do things for you! Paul, however, offered no help at all and didn’t appear to care how tiny and helpless she looked, to her mild chagrin.

Still, worse things had happened.

“They’ll do anything you tell them?” She asked.

“There are limits. Toys, yes? For children. Not do anything dangerous. Bad for children. No sharp edges, either. I make sure.”

Now he mentioned it they did look very kid-friendly. Almost bulbous in places. The toy’s leg gave a particularly violent twitch as Paul stuck one of his tools deep inside, triggering a crackling, hissing sound and a small spurt of sparks.

“How did you say you got there again?” Cozy asked, just to keep things moving.

“Accident. Magical accident,” Paul said.

Could be interesting. Worthy of followup, at least.

“Oh! What happened?” She asked.

Paul just shook his head.

“I do not know. Explosion, I do not know. I do not know about magic.”

She blinked at him and then looked to the many and varied magical, mechanical horses and humans lining the room. Every so often one would twitch or shift and some even seemed to be interacting with one another, though that always stopped whenever she noticed.

“But don’t these run on magic?” She asked. Paul waved a hand and glowered. Cozy got the impression this was the longest conversation he’d had with anyone in some time, and the effort was plainly starting to annoy him. Not that she cared overmuch.

“Little bit. I have practical understanding, not theo-ret-ical. Or did. Things work differently here. Much of what I used to be able to do is beyond me, sadly. Or not sadly, depending. Most of the - ah - “ He flexed a hand here, searching for a word which turned out to be: “Mechanics still work enough. So toys.”

Cozy felt she was starting to pick at a particular thread here, and kept tugging, just to see where it led.

“So, where you came from, you used to do something like this, but not this?”

Paul nodded.

“I did not always make toys. Used to make - other things.”

There’s been a pause there, a moment’s hesitation. Slight, but Cozy had picked up on it. Definitely a thread. And she could see where it was going, too - it was written all over his face, through every inch of him!

“Dangerous things?” She asked, sweetly, like she’d never normally even imagine such a concept and had probably just heard the idea in passing from an adult.

Paul paused and then gently laid down the toy.

“What makes you say dangerous?”

Brief scamble for an answer, eyes darting around and under, then:

“Uh, your - your leg. Sorry! That’s probably really rude of me but, well, you say it like that and you have that, I don’t know, I just assumed…”

He looked down at his leg. Or rather, where most of his left leg used to be. The replacement was sat nearby, leaning against the small set of drawers some of his tools lived in, him having removed it earlier on account of the thing being generally rather uncomfortable to have on for long periods, despite him having made it himself.

In point of fact he had indeed lost his original leg owing to the dangerous nature of his previous occupation, his work having put him in very much the wrong place at the wrong time. But there was no way a child should have known or even guessed at that as far as he was concerned.

Then again, kids made odd deductive leaps sometimes, and often thought in ways that adults didn’t. They really could surprise you, odd little spurts of cutting wisdom when you least expected it, at least in his limited experience. He grunted.

“Hmph. That is big assumption to make.”

“Sorry. Was I wrong?” She asked innocently, sweetly.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You are very advanced for your age,” he said.

“You really think so?” Head cocked, lashes fluttering.

He stared at her, hard. Not a crack or hint of anything other than total honesty. Still though, something nagged at him. Nothing to be done about it, though. He shrugged.

“Hmph. Should you be going off home? It is late. Dark soon.”

“Oh I don’t have a home.”

That got him to raise an eyebrow.

“No home? A child? I should find the boss, put you into capable and caring hands. Hooves. Whichever. She would know what to do with you,” he said, making to rise from the stool, reaching for his leg.

For the merest flicker of a moment a look of absolute dread threatening to spread across Cozy’s face, but she clamped down on it almost as soon as it had started. Had he not been watching her as closely as he had been, he likely would have missed it completely.

“I-I mean that I don’t have a home here! It’s a village over, not far. Heh. I have to wait for the next wagon out. Which is soon. So yeah I should probably - probably go. Told mum and dad I’d be back before dark so yeah, yeah.”

He stared at her a little longer but her look of beatific innocence and light did not waver. At length he just decided to go along with it. Not his problem. Settling his weight back down again and picking up the toy once more he set about continuing where he’d left off.

“Hmph. As you say.”

Stupid mistake. Stupid, stupid! Cozy chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from growling at herself. Stupid!

She then swallowed this and smiled again.

“You open in the morning, right?” She asked.

He waved a hand, done with looking at her and pretty clearly done with talking, too.

“Yes yes, in the morning. Suspicious child. Go, go, away.”

And so she did, making sure (again) that the street was clear before she left then immediately hustling somewhere tucked out of the way to gather her thoughts.

This did change things, this was a development. Nothing she could immediately put to use, but clearly valuable enough to not be worth passing over, no. New! Different! She could do something with this, even if she wasn’t wholly sure what yet.

Her initial schedule had been to move on in the morning, but a small delay could be adjusted for. Just to get a better handle on what this ‘Pall’ was about, what he did, what he could do, and what what he did could do for her.

Better to have something and not need it than need something and not have it.

Already she could start to see a few seed ideas taking root. Early days, very early days, but with just the right coaxing and loving care and attention they’d grow to be something quite magnificent. Back on top on in no time!

And, failing that, smart kid that she was, she could probably figure out some way to use these weird mechanical things for revenge. Not something subtle, but something that would hopefully express the depths of her fully justified frustrations towards everypony and everything that had ruined her perfect plans. Just some simple, direct revenge.

Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

She grinned to herself and stifled a small cackle. Not bad. Not bad at all!

Tum te tum te tiddly pum.

The bell above the door jangled. Paul, who was busy, glanced up.

“Closed, come- you again, suspicious child.”

“Hello Pall!” Cozy said, bounding up, smiling wide.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing back the glasses he’d been wearing, the kind with all the lenses on little arms he could flip down for the really delicate stuff.

“Paul. Pa-ul. Not Pall. Not like gloom. Or bearer!” He said.

Bad start, but she could roll with it. Cozy cocked her head.

“Paul?” She ventured, taking some care over it. Paul nodded.

“Better. Thank you.”

The glasses then went back into place and Paul resumed working. It looked like he was still dealing with the same toy he had been yesterday. The thing was still twitching whenever he poked around. Cozy moved up and again stretched to her fullest extent to be able to just peer over and at what he was doing.

“You arrive late. Thought you would be here in morning,” Paul said while he poked.

Cozy had been so distracted watching the odd little spasmodic movements she took a whole half second to respond.

“Uh, chores. Got held up! You know how it is,” she said. All casual. Because she was a normal child, just out and about. Her life was perfectly normal, nothing to pry into. Nothing to see here.

“Hmph. Arrive after everyone gone, too. Again,” Paul said, sparing her a lingering look, one eye huge on account of those many lenses.

This conversation was veering off-course. Time for a nudge in a better direction.

“Still fixing that little guy, huh?” Cozy asked.

“Yes. Stubborn. And I am getting distracted.”

He made sure he was looking at her for that one, and she made sure to look appropriately sheepish.

“Oh, hah! Sorry.”

He didn’t say anything after that, or after that, or at all, and it appeared that as far as Paul was concerned the conversation had ended. Cozy wasn’t sure what to do. She tried smiling at him adorably, but, again, he wasn’t paying her much attention.

She was going to say something else just to puncture the tension but Paul - surprisingly - beat her to it:

“Get stool, sit. You are staying, so sit,” he said.

“Stool?”

“There,” he said, waving behind him. There was indeed a spare stool and Cozy moved to get it.

The immediate issue was that the stool was sized for something of Paul’s dimensions and he did not help her heave it across the floor, to her chagrin, nor did he help her mount it once she’d managed to get it settled on the opposite side of the worksurface to him.

Realy, normally, she would have just hovered up, but the cunning cloak hid and restricted her wings and, besides, no point in letting on more about yourself than you strictly needed to. In the end she stopped trying to make a big song-and-dance of struggling up and just hopped up in one go, huffing.

“Good job,” Paul said, without looking at her.

“Thanks,” Cozy said, more acidly than she might have intended.

Her new position did offer a much better view of the work he was doing, which was good, even if it still made absolutely no sense to her. She leant in anyway, just to try and get an idea of what was going on. She saw what looked to be clockwork, at least those times when his hands weren’t in the way.

“So, from yesterday, from when we were talking, when you say ‘dangerous things’ do you mean…” She broached.

“I did not say, you say. You guess,” Paul said.

“I was right though, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I?”

Couldn’t really deny that, and he had always felt bad lying to children. Those few times he had been in a position to, obviously. Which hadn’t been that often, but still. It just made him feel bad. And it still did.

“...yes. But you should still not make assumptions. It is rude,” he said.

“Sorry, sorry…

A pause. Then:

“So what kinda dangerous things?” She asked, going for innocently-keen in tone.

Paul sighed.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it’s interesting! And neat! And cool. Come on, please? I won’t even tell anypony else! It can be our secret!”

Cozy had been thinking about these things for most of the day up until this point.

Not the toys themselves, obviously. Toys weren’t a whole lot of use. But the human’s ability to make them and probably more things besides them really did represent a myriad of possibilities, and at this point possibilities were gold dust.

She didn’t really have a whole lot to work with.

And sure, not her style, strictly speaking, but they were new and therefore useful. Everything had a use, after all, and that which was unexpected could not be planned for. Element of surprise was very important, sometimes vital, and so these might have some value. Every piece played a part, etcetera.

Meanwhile, Paul was observing her closely.

The child was very, very suspicious. Didn’t act like the other children. Wasn’t as amazed at the toys, wasn’t clamouring for one, didn’t have parents present to pay. Wore a mysterious, identity-concealing hooded cloak. And right now she just kept sitting, smiling, making sure he saw her smiling. Something about her just seemed off to him.

On the other hand she was adorable, and she was just a child.

And Paul, for his many, many failings, did remain something of a softy at heart. Though he would never admit it.

“Hmph. Fine. But do not tell others, yes? I do not want them to know. Okay?”

“I promise!”

“I do not believe you. But oh well,” he said with another sigh, setting his tools down and pushing the glasses back up off his face and tucking them into place this time, rubbing his eyes. Cozy waited, rocking a little on the stool, mostly for effect.

“The things I made, the dangerous things, I make for the army. Like the toys, but bigger, bigger. Metal men, metal animals. Moving weapons. Lots, lots,” Paul said.

Cozy had to resist the urge to throw her head back in triumph here. She knew it! She knew it had to have been something like that! And she’d guessed it! Based on scraps and hints and cleverness! Put together in her own head, just like that!

Always a step ahead, and in actuality always a step ahead of where everyone thought she was! Aha! That was two whole steps, and one of them was invisible!

“Wow…” She instead said, trying to go for an appropriately awestruck, child-like reaction to learning something neat-sounding. Paul frowned.

“Not a good thing,” he said.

“And they were dangerous?”

“Very dangerous. For army, yes? You have army here, guards, I know. Mine worse. Very dangerous.”

He didn’t really want to go into it any deeper than that, especially with a child. It wasn’t something he’d talked about at all since arriving, in fact, and hadn’t given a whole lot of thought to. He was thinking about it now, and rather wished he wasn’t.

He upped tools again and got back to fixing, just to try and distract himself. Cozy watched him quietly for a bit before deciding enough time had passed for her to forge onward:

“So what’s the biggest, most dangerous thing you ever built?”

At this Paul’s attention slipped enough for him to jab himself in the finger with a tool and hiss out a stream of something Cozy didn’t understand but didn’t really need to to get the intent. Sucking blood from his finger he gave her a sour look.

“Why are you asking this still? Youthful curi-os-ity?” He asked.

That last part took him some work to properly pronounce, but he got there.

“It’s cool!” Came Cozy’s answer.

He’d met more than one child in his time who’d thought the same when they heard what it was he did back home. Hadn’t seen it for a while, but he had seen it.. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t surprised by it. Were he young again he imagined he might feel the same way.

Always something engaging about metal machines smashing things to bits. At least until you have to walk over who and what they’ve smashed so you can go and fix the busted machine so the smashing can continue. Did rather take the shine off, at least for Paul.

“Hmph. Biggest and most dangerous?” He asked, scratching his chin.

“Yeah! Please?” She asked, throwing her hooves up in jubilation before hitting him with the Big Eyes. Paul grimaced.

But he supposed there wasn’t much harm to be had in indulging her just a tiny bit...

“Biggest...siege construct. Like a big man. Very big. At least…” he held a hand in front of him, above the worktop frowned, raised it a little bit, then a little bit more. “Very big. Size of a building at least, very big. There was a wall, a very big wall. Construct made to break wall.”

This explanation aided by a demonstration of him holding out one hand flat and the other as a fist and then smacking the fist into the flat hand, which he then turned over. Very visual.

“And did it? Break the wall?”

“Oh yes. Big wall, big hole in wall, siege over. Everyone was very happy with the work. Used it to level most of city, too. To make sure, they say. Left construct as statue outside city, monument. Too big to take away.”

A lot of the bespoke stuff had been treated as disposable in this way. Indeed, all of the machines had been treated pretty much just as munitions, as disposable. To Paul it had always seemed a dreadful waste, but it wasn’t his job to make those decisions, just make what he was told to. If they wanted to keep throwing money away that wasn’t his problem, as some of that money had been fluttering down on him.

“And you made something like that?” Cozy asked. He shook his head.

“No, not me, team. Whole team. Lots of us, working together. I helped. Did my part.”

Not really what she’d had in mind, exactly.

“Oh. Well what’s the biggest, coolest, most dangerous thing that you could make? On your own? If you, you know, had access to the right stuff?”

Whatever sense of indulgence he had been feeling towards her more-or-less dried up here.

“I do not make dangerous things now.”

“No no! Of course not! That’d be awful! But you could, right? Just, you know, it’d be possible?”

“Maybe,” he said, jaw tight.

“It’s probably been a long time though, right? You’re probably rusty. That’s okay. These little toys are good too. The other kids like them. Especially the really little kids. Really seem to get a kick out of ‘em!” Cozy said, extra-brightly.

“Yes,” Paul said, extra-flatly.

Paul was not rising to that and once it became clear that he was not rising to that or even going to deign to reply, the tiniest smidgen of Cozy’s frustration leaked forth. Outside she might have looked cute as anything, inside she was a coiled spring of sizzling tension.

Things had been rough lately, after all.

“Oh come on! How can you go from making super powerful, cool stuff like that to being happy making this? Not that this is bad or anything, it’s great for all the kids. It just...seems like kind of a step down, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you rather be still doing the big, cool stuff?”

Like, maybe now? For her? With no questions asked? She might actually have a few specific ideas cooking up, if he was in the mood for taking requests.

“I only make those things because they tell me to. If I did not, they would shoot me. I saw them shoot others. So I did what they tell me. And because I was good at it. I did not want to. Never helped anyone, the things I make. Here? No need for them. And no-one telling me to make them. So no. No dangerous things, no weapons,” Paul said, again plainly starting to resent the effort involved in having to talk so much.

Cozy wasn’t wholly sure what shooting meant but she could work out that it was bad, and what he’d said was also bad, at least for her. Something of an obstacle, but not insurmountable. Just had to find a way around. Always a way around, always started with one step, just had to find the direction to nudge them in.

“But you could make, like, one of the toys, but bigger? Right? Still safe! But bigger? Maybe like my size! That’d be fun. You could do that. I think the other kids would really like something like that! And that wouldn’t be dangerous, would it?”

He could kind of actually see that working out, now she mentioned it. Something a little bigger would indeed probably be quite appealing to the kids, and at some point he would reach a stage where everyone had one of his little toys who wanted one, and then what could he do? Couldn’t coast on the money from repairs forever.

Not a bad idea, actually...

But then he shook his head.

“Should you not be getting wagon? Going home?”

“Oh, I missed the wagon!” Cozy said, cheerfully.

She’d thought about this. Another calculated risk. Paul raised an eyebrow.

“You seem happy about that,” he said.

“Do I? I’m just excited! It’s fun learning! And it’s fun meeting new ponies, or, uh, humans, heh. Though I guess it does mean I’m stuck here. With nowhere to stay…” She said, tapering off to doleful and worried, looking about her as though only just realising how big and scary the world was.

Paul was neither impressed nor moved.

“You are angling for me to let you sleep here, yes?”

Maybe she’d been a bit too on-the-nose. Oh well.

“No! Well, maybe. I-if that’d be okay...I wouldn’t want to make you feel you had to…” She said, lip just threatening to wobble. Paul jabbed a finger at her.

“You are. It is why you bring it up,” he said. Not being born yesterday this sort of thing kind of stuck out to him, just a bit.

But noticing it didn’t change much. He sighed, rubbed his face.

“Hmph. I am not comfortable having child in my home. Especially child I do not know. The locals will talk, bad reputation. I do not need that.”

This seemed to Cozy, a pony, a rather odd way of thinking. Why would taking a child into your home get you a bad reputation? Probably some weird human thing. Not worth asking about.

“It’s one night! And it’s cold outside. Please?” She asked, lip properly wobbling now, lashes fluttering, eyes enormous and just on the cusp of brimming with tears. Paul had to hold up a hand to block the sight of her.

“Stop looking at me like that. I know what you are trying to do. There is boarding house in village, I will pay.”

“No!” She yelped, recovering: “I mean no, it’s full. I checked. It’s why I’m asking you.”

Paul stared at her silently for a second.

Then:

“You are lying,” he said.

“Why would I do that?” She sniffled.

“To get what you want. I know people like you. Prefer when they are honest, at least.”

Well this wasn’t going like she’d hoped. Time for Plan B.

Crying. Just out-and-out crying.

“Pllleeeaaasseeee!” She wailed, instantly in floods of tears. Not subtle, but there was a time for subtlety and now was not it. Besides, she had a feeling she was on the right track.

Paul grimaced and continued trying to block the sight of her with his hand. He wasn’t going to fall for this. However much the sight of a crying child - even an obviously fake crying child - got to him.

“Stop that,” he said.

She did not stop. If anything, it got worse. Paul had to turn bodily away and raise a whole arm to block the sight of her. But it didn’t block the sound.

The sound!

He caved.

“Fine, fine. Fine! Stop! You can stay. One night! Then I do not want to see you again, yes? Suspicious child, you are up to something!”

Cozy decided not to draw attention to that, or acknowledge it. So he wasn’t buying it completely, so what? He was buying it enough, no reason to worry. She just decided to be happy. Or at least look happy, which was basically the same thing.

“Yay! Thank you!” She said, making a show of sniffing and wiping away the tears. Paul just glared at her.

“No, no thank you. Vile horse. Everyone will think I am soft. Or idiot. Both,” he growled, angrily strapping on his leg before heaving up off the stool and stomping about to go and get the place locked up for the night.

Once the shop was locked and shuttered Paul ushered Cozy towards the back with shoos and grunts. Turned out he lived behind and above the place, who knew?

As she was so ushered, Cozy’s stomach growled and growled loudly enough to be utterly impossible to ignore. She grimaced internally. Hated those little giveaways. Never good having someone know more than you wanted them to!

“Hungry?” Paul asked without any obvious hint of sympathy.

It had been a lean few days. Ponies kept a lot closer eye on their snacks around these parts, getting food hadn’t been quite as easy as she had initially hoped. As if to underline this Cozy’s gut piped up again, somehow louder this time. Cozy winced, this time just from the unpleasant sensation of being extremely hungry.

“L-little bit,” she admitted.

“Hmph,” Paul said, jerking his head to the side. “Kitchen. This way. Come.”

And to the kitchen they went, Paul already busying himself by the time Cozy followed up behind him, standing in the doorway and just watching.

Everything in the place had been built to pony dimensions so Paul often had to stoop and bend, something which wasn’t always easy for him, Cozy noted. Possibly of some use later? If nothing else, if she kept out of arm’s length (which, for him, was admittedly pretty long) then he would be pretty easy to slip away from if she had to.

Paul, incongruously brandishing a wooden spoon, turned and saw that Cozy was lurking.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to a chair by a table. Cozy sat. Cozy waited. Paul did kitchen-related things. All was uncomfortable, frosty silence, barring the sound of spoon-in-pot and knife-on-board.

Some few minutes later a bowl was set in front of her with a clinking sound, the spoon within swinging about and coming to rest - quite coincidentally - right in front of her. Whether she’d need it was another question, but still.

“Dinner,” Paul said.

Cozy was going to say thank you (always a clever choice to be seen to be polite) when her eyes strayed and actually caught what was in the bowl, at which point she did a double-take and had to sit up properly to get an actual look.

What she saw was not promising.

“This is dinner?” She asked.

Paul nodded, his arms folded.

“I eat this every day. Good for you. Help you grow! Hah.”

Cozy elected to ignore that jab (recognising that he had in fact made a jab) and looked again at ‘dinner’. She gave the spoon a gentle nudge which disturbed the surface, though did little for the consistency. The whole thing remained a gloopy, unappealing grey mass. Difficult to work out if what she was seeing were lumps or clumps, these two things being distinct, and neither being especially good.

She looked up at him again.

“...what’s in this?” She asked, dreading any and all answers he might be about to give her. In the event he just frowned.

“If you do not want, I will eat,” he said, moving to take the bowl back.

The merest suggestion of no food was horrifying, and Cozy immediately wrapped both legs around precious dinner to bring it in protectively, lumps and clumps and all.

“No, no! Thank you. It’s, uh, new, that’s all,” she said.

“Hmph. Thought so.”

Paul then served himself some and got stuck in immediately, balancing against one of the kitchen counters. Cozy imagined - rightly, not that she had confirmation - that he found the pony-sized chairs uncomfortable and difficult to sit on.

She looked again at dinner. It was hard to shake the feeling that it was looking back at her.

Still, she was extraordinarily hungry and at times when one is extraordinarily hungry it can often be surprising where one’s standards end up. Taking the spoon somewhat awkwardly in hoof, cutlery not being something she had a whole lot of experience with, she carefully loaded it up with as few lumps or clumps as possible, and gave it a tentative try.

The most she could say was that it was an acquired taste. One she rather hoped she would not acquire. And if nothing else it filled a hole.

Paul had finished far ahead of Cozy and so was ready to take her bowl when she finally scraped up the last clump (or lump), dump both hers and his into the sink and giving them the once over. He then pointed out the room.

“Bedtime now,” he said.

This involved going upstairs.

He made her climb the stairs ahead of him, partly because she was faster, partly because he wanted to keep an eye on her. Cozy made the conscious choice to be a little clumsy on one step, just to gauge his reaction. He did not do anything other than glare. Not positive. Oh well! Good to know.

Once up top Paul grunted and pointed again and Cozy led the way through the door indicated, into a...room.

“Is this the right one?” She asked, peering in.

“Yes. In here. Bedroom, they tell me.”

It was good that he’d told her, too, as otherwise she would have had some trouble working it out as the room lacked something of a key element of what one normally expected in a bedroom.

“You don’t have a bed?” She asked, looking up at him. He shook his head.

“No, no bed.”

“Is there a guest room?” She asked, utterly confused. She’d kind of thought this was the guest room, but he seemed to be suggesting it was the bedroom. But there wasn’t a bed. She was clutching at straws.

“No. No beds. No beds in house,” Paul said.

This did beg quite an obvious question.

“Where do you sleep?” She asked.

Paul jerked a thumb his shoulder, down the hallway.

“In bath.”

“You sleep in the bath?”

She honestly wouldn’t have seen that one coming.

“Habit,” he said, then pointing to a cupboard in the corner of the ‘bedroom’. “You are only little. Pillows, blanket. In there. Will do good for you, yes? I will sleep in the bath.”

And with that he just left her to it.

There were indeed a variety of pillows, cushions and blankets crammed into the cupboard in the corner, all in various states of age and dustiness, all just-about adequate. The moment she’d opened the door, all of them had also all fallen out on top of Cozy, burying her completely.

Clawing her way free and gasping once her head had broken the surface (so to speak) Cozy flopped across the blankets and such and panted breathlessly for a second before gritting her teeth.

This indignity too, shall pass. This was all in aid of the grand plan.

The grand plan being her life, really, and everypony and everything in it just being a part and component of the greater whole. Like clockwork! All fitting together perfectly! Always just a question of finding what should go where, then hah! Everything would work.

Once she’d recovered from being buried alive she wriggled free and dusted herself off. She had no intention of sleeping, anyway, at least not yet. Rather, she intended on waiting until Paul was asleep - he was kind of old, she shouldn't have to wait too long, she reckoned - and then going out for a sneaky, covert poke around his shop.

Being little, she was very good at sneaking. Being a pegasus helped too. Lighter than most!

And so she waited. Waited until the sounds of Paul shuffling about had stopped, then she waited a bit longer, perhaps an hour or so. That seemed long enough to her. Time to make her way downstairs!

Rather than risk an errant gust from a flapping wing disturbing a door she instead opted to creep along on hoof, taking care to avoid any floorboards that looked like creakers, taking her time and not rushing and, in so doing, moving in almost complete and total silence.

The idea was not to ransack, that would be too obvious (and risky). Rather, the idea was just to have a small poke around, see if she could learn or find anything useful. Plans, perhaps. Something she could memorise or copy, maybe. Any stray bits he might have dropped down behind something and forgotten about. Anything really. Every little helped!

She’d made it almost all the way to the stairs when a voice came through the partway open door to what she assumed must be the bathroom.

“Go back to bed or I tell village boss.”

Cozy froze, hoof hanging in the air for the next step she’d been about to take.

“How did you-”

“Go.”

“But-”

“If you make me put leg on I will be unhappy. Bed. Go.”

Defeated, Cozy slunk back, muttering darkly to herself.

“S’not fair…cheated...”

Continuing to mutter she dug back into the pile from the cupboard until she was properly hidden, curling up into herself and plotting how, once she was back into the swing of things, Paul would suffer too, for styming her.

Weirdo, bath-sleeping alien thing. Who did he think he was?!

In my head, the slop is something he just got used to over the years and now doesn't see the point in ever making anything else. Think bread is involved. Maybe.

I do think about these things, you see, I just never tell you lot. Hah!

When Cozy woke up, Paul was gone. This was a surprise.

He hadn’t disappeared though, he’d just slipped out for some reason, leaving a note in his wake that read ‘I will be back’. This left Cozy to her own devices. In his house. With his things.

The fool! Underestimating her. Better than him had made the same mistake!

Originally, in her old plan, she’d have taken the opportunity to slip away with her objectives achieved, but given that her efforts at snooping during the night had been curtailed she figured now was probably the best and only time she’d have to pry, so pry she did. In search of stuff!

Sadly, no such luck.

If Paul kept plans or notes she couldn’t find them. All she found instead was tools she didn’t know the function of and parts she couldn’t work out the purpose for. She did have a poke at a few of the toys themselves - there were a couple in various states of completion which she imagined could perhaps give her a few clues or ideas - but really they just raised more questions than answers.

Which just made it worse! These things were inexplicable! That made them useful to her! If she couldn’t work them out, who could? They’d be baffling when deployed! Catch everypony off-guard! Keep them on the back-step, keep her ahead. Useful! New!

She’d have to try and wheedle the secrets out of him directly. That would require a different approach entirely, and a lot more work. She didn’t relish the thought, but she wasn’t going to just write off the past few days - she had to get something out of it!

Being careful to cover her tracks and ensure nothing was where it wasn’t supposed to be she cast around for the best possible place to be once Paul returned and eventually settled on the stool he normally sat at, feeling that this could be seen as innocently precocious. She was still sitting there when Paul returned.

“Good morning, Paul!” She said brightly, waving. Paul, closing the door behind him (bell jangling), looked at her flatly.

“You look, yes? Around?” He asked.

Cozy’s smile took on something of a rictus quality. What was wrong with this human?!

“What?” She asked.

“Look around? For something? Valuables?”

“Me? No! Never!”

He didn’t really have any. This she’d also discovered.

“Hmph. Designs then, yes? Uh, plans? For toys? So you can make?”

“No! Paul, I’m shocked you’d even suggest such a thing!” She protested, even more loudly than before. Paul nodded to himself.

“I see. No plans. All here, yes?” He said, tapping a finger to his temple.

“I didn’t - I wouldn’t - “ She started, gearing up for a proper protest but Paul just waved her off.

“I do not care. You want breakfast?”

“Um...okay,” she said, all the wind and windup for her big, wounded speech about she wouldn’t ever dream of doing the things he was accusing her off just bled off and she deflated, hopping off the stool and following him as he limped his way to the kitchen.

Breakfast turned out to be exactly the same as what had been offered at dinner. Cozy had yet to acquire a taste for it, no matter what time of day it was being served at.

Being less hungry now she wasn’t making as much progress on eating as she had last night, either, a further distraction being the frankly disconcerting level of attention that the human was paying her from across the room where he was standing leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching.

Eventually it became too much for her.

“Something on my face? Is it a lump? Or one of the clumps?” She asked.

He did not immediately answer.

“They have posters up of you,” he said, eventually.

All at once the room felt just a touch chillier.

“...what?”

Paul, arms still folded, pointed off with two fingers.

“In the village hall. I do not go there often but I was curious. You are suspicious. So I went, just in case, to ask if anyone knows strange girl. And there you were, on walls. Posters, many posters. Name, picture. Wanted. They were surprised you had slipped away, I hear. The important ones. Surprised when they found out, I hear. Quite dangerous, you, Cozy Glow.”

Another pause. Then, in a scramble and tangle of hooves that sent the bowl rolling and smashing Cozy leapt from the table and flopped over to come to stand in front of Paul, the better to bawl at him:

“It’s all lies!”

“Lies? What is?”

“All of it! Anything they said! Everything they said! They’re making it up!”

He shrugged.

“I ask about you, they tell me. But I do not care, not really. It is not my concern. Even if you destroy the world it is not my world, and I am living on borrowed time anyway. What would I do? Turn you in? You are a child, it would feel wrong.”

That touched a nerve.

“Don’t underestimate me.”

She said, while coming up to about his knee.

“I am not. I heard what you did, they tell me. Very impressive, very clever, very big. Also, reminded me, not long ago my toys stop working. Well, mostly, still work a little, but very strange. Make sense now, I understand. But you are still a child. It is a foible of mine. Children. Not like to see hurt.”

Still galling, still insulting and she did not believe him in the slightest.

“So you’re what? Just going to keep it to yourself? That a dangerous villain passed through your shop? Not going to mention that to anyone?”

“Probably.”

Cozy let out a muted scream of tiny, tiny rage and hopped up to hover in front of his face, the better to yell at it.

“I don’t believe you! There’s a reward! I know there’s a reward! You’re lying to me! You already told them, didn’t you?! They’re coming here right now, aren’t they?!”

“No.”

“Liar!” She nigh-on shrieked, pointing accusingly. Paul remained unmoved.

“Fine, go look,” he said.

“I will!”

And, snatching her cloak from where she’d tucked it away and slinging it on (though keeping her wings out this time), she moved to the kitchen door, a door she rapidly discovered she could not open on account of the stiffness of the knob. So to speak.

After some fruitless efforts at getting it to work she sheepishly turned back to Paul.

“Could you - ?”

Grumbling, he limped over and opened the door for her.

“I will look!” She said, zipping off and out and into the air and out of sight.

Leaving the kitchen door open a crack, Paul shuffled off to the working part of the house, the shop part, settling onto his stool and getting started. Things always did need fixing or finishing, after all.

Cozy returned a minute or so later, walking in from the back and looking utterly baffled, in something of a daze.

“Nopony’s coming,” she said.

“That is because I do not tell anyone,” Paul said, tightening something very small and delicate. Cozy glared at him.

“But there’s a reward!”

A not-insubstantial one at that. She’d seen the posters, too.

“Reward, yes. But what of it? Money? Why do I need money? I have house, I have work, I live,” he shrugged again. “Do not need any more.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not for you, maybe. It makes perfect sense to me, Cozy.”

He took care over that last part, enunciating with great delicacy and afterwards looking like he’d chewed a wasp and following up with a burst of whatever that language he said he spoke was. It sounded angry.

“Was that rude? What you said just then?” Cozy asked.

“Yes.”

“You not swearing in front of me because I’m a foal?”

He gave her a very odd look.

“I do not know any horse swear words. They do not teach me,” he said.

She hadn’t considered that.

“Oh. Right,” she said.

After this, nothing, Paul’s concentration falling solely on the toy he was holding, moving entirely away from the wanted criminal standing, staring up at him. Cozy was unsettled, and didn’t really know what to do.

Really, sensibly, she should make the best of the opportunity presented and leave immediately, even without anything to show for it. That would be the clever thing to do. Just accept that this hadn’t worked, was a dead end, move on, keep going, pick everything up further along.

She didn’t though. Instead, she got the spare stool again.

“Well if you’re not going to turn me in what are you going to do?” She asked once she’d sat down opposite. Paul shrugged.

“Work,” he said, working.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Every day.”

Cozy looked around the shop. Still full of toys. Probably not a great sign to have so much stock, she thought. Unless they were just for show. She shook her head - not the issue at hoof!

“You know Paul, you could probably be doing a lot better for yourself in a bigger town. Or a city, even! You get stuck here or something?” She asked, digging, prodding, probing.

“Not stuck. Arrived here, stayed. Quiet here.”

“You like it here?”

Paul sighed, squeezed his eyes shut, shot her a look. She just grinned at him. At this point, why not?

“No, I do not like it here. Not anywhere here. I do not dislike it, but I do not like it. I do not belong. But I am alive, which is more than my friends. Did not arrive alone, you see? They did not last long. I was lucky.”

“Oh, that’s awful! I’m sorry!”

“No you are not. And it was an accident. So it goes.”

With an unusually satisfied grunt he pulled back from the toy he’d been fiddling with and laid his tools aside, closing up and clicking shut every open panel on the thing and then sitting it upright.

“So...suppose there’s not a whole lot of a chance that you’d feel like making some sort of cool array of magical, perfectly obedient metal soldiers and monsters for me?” Cozy asked, figuring that with the cat out of the bag she had nothing to lose from being direct.

She still had plans after all, and while these things Paul made weren’t vital she could at least find some uses for them somewhere.

Paul frowned.

“Does not seem like your style. From what I heard. Not very friendly.”

“Everything’s useful for something, and never try the same thing twice!” She said, brightly. Paul chuckled.

“Heh, honest with me. Clever, too. But no.”

“Didn’t think so. Urgh. Worth a shot. Well if you worked out I was suspicious and know I’m here it’s only a matter of time before somepony who does care works it out. I can’t stay here!”

Going a little further out might be tricky, things would start getting exceedingly remote and harsh, but it might be the only viable option at this point. Word of her misdeeds - or simple mistakes, really, depending on how you looked at it, because if it had worked properly then no-one would have known a thing! - had spread a lot faster than she had anticipated.

Mean really, had it been that bad? Really?!

“You go, Cozy Glow. Go, leave, do what you want,” Paul said, waving her off, then adding: “You should try to be happier, though.”

This sort of off-the-cuff faux-pithy wisdom got under Cozy’s skin immediately.

“I’d be a lot happier if I got my own way without everypony messing it up!”

She put a lot of hard work in, after all! The least everypony else could do was just go along according to plan. In her head it had been perfect! Every single step and part and aspect had performed exactly as it had meant to. Was it her fault that reality failed to live up to her expectations?!

No! It was everypony else’s fault!

“Maybe. I doubt. Your goals, bad goals. Should think about them,” Paul said, wagging a finger at her. She just glared, confused. What did he know, exactly? He lived in the middle of nowhere and wasn’t even from there to begin with! And he slept in the bath!

“What are you talking about?” She asked.

He spread his hands apart.

“Many years, I make many things. Things I make do many bad things. Hurt, kill many people. Not my fault, my fault, who knows? But certainly nothing I make do any good. So what do I have? Nothing, nothing. Then accident, arrive here. All friends, all die, just me. Everything I did, gone, world away, not matter anymore. What do I do? Make more things like before? More bad things? Or good things?”

“I really don’t get where you’re going with this.”

He ground his teeth and there came another - likely rude - round of incomprehensible muttering.

“Bad at speaking. This language. If English I could explain better. Hmph. You are child, yes? You are young. Clever though, big ideas, want to make impact. No experience though. Do not know what you are doing. Think you know, but do not. One day, in years, you will look back and you will see what you did, and you will think ‘I could have done things that did not make so many people miserable, I could have done things that made many people happy instead’. You have power, you can think, you could do better.”

He picked up the toy and held it so she had to look at it. A prop.

“I make things, that is what I do. Before I make bad things, now I try to make good things. See?”

The toy was then set down again, and he watched her.

She didn’t see, not really, but she couldn’t fight down the rising sense of outrage at having her goals questioned by someone who’d deliberately chosen to make toys for a living when he could have been doing a whole lot more a whole lot easily. A man who ate slop and - again! - slept in the bath!

“But it will be good! Might have involved a few things that seemed like bad things to get there, but those are just steps in the plan! It’s not like I wanted to do anything bad in the end! Sure everyone thought so but it wasn’t! It would have worked out good if they’d just let me do it! It would have been good! For everypony!”

Something they all would have understood, eventually, if they’d just done what they’d been supposed to and not messed it up!

Paul shrugged.

“Maybe. But if so, why trick everyone? Why pretend? If it was good, you could say so, would get help. Everyone be glad to help a good thing. But everyone want to stop you. Everyone join together to stop you, happy they stop you. Maybe you should ask why. And ask now, not later. Later damage done, too late. Now, can think, make better choice. Live happier.”

“You just don’t understand,” Cozy said through gritted teeth. Paul looked like he might counter this, but then clearly lost all enthusiasm. Instead he just sighed, pulled a slim case from an inside pocket and pulled from the case some small paper tube which he tucked behind his ear.

“Probably. I am not so smart. Just make things. Just seemed to me you lacked, ah, goal? End-game? Something. All means, no end. I do not know.”

He then heaved himself upright and started moving towards the shop door. As he passed Cozy he paused, turned, and reached over her (which she flinched at) to pick up the toy on the worksurface.

“Before you go, take this,” he said, handing it over to her. Baffled and confused she could naught but take it, blinking, holding it in both hooves. Thing was lighter than it looked.

“The broken one?” She asked.

“Not broken anymore. I fixed it. Yours.”

She looked at it some more. The little thing inclined its head at her, which was a touch unnerving. It really was a tiny bit alive. She also noticed that he had, at some point, etched the letters ‘CG’ into the side. A nice touch, but just made her more suspicious.

“Why are you giving me this?” She asked, wondering what it was he hoped to get out of it.

Paul, again, shrugged, taking the paper tube from behind his ear and holding it now between his lips, patting himself down in search of something he couldn’t immediately find.

“Why not? You like things doing as you tell them, yes? Maybe you enjoy it,” he said, digging through his trouser pockets before apparently, finally finding what it was he’d been trying to track down.

Taking this mysterious little silver, hinged-top cuboid in hand he stalked off outside without another word.

It's like there's a piece of paper pressed between two sheets of glass.

One person stands one side, another person the other.

Both looking at the same thing, but not seeing the same thing.

Cozy was long-gone by the time Paul had finished his smoke break, to his complete lack of surprise. Idly, briefly, he hoped she was doing alright wherever she was and silently wished her luck in her endeavours malicious and benign and then put her out of his mind completely.

Not his problem.

And so he worked, he ate, he slept in the bath, and the next day he woke up with much the same in mind. As always. As he’d done most every day for however long he’d been here. How long now? Couldn’t remember, hadn’t ever bothered keeping track.

Did allow himself another quick smoke before the start of the day though. As a treat.

He was around the back this time, resting against a wall by a door and puffing quietly when movement caught his eye. Seeing Cozy round the corner he sighed and smoke billowed alarmingly from his nostrils.

“Again?” He asked.

Wrapped up in her cloak and grumbling to herself she came to a halt by his feet, dissatisfaction written across her face.

“Yeah yeah I’m not happy about it either. Can I come in or not?” She asked, pointing to the door.

“No,” Paul said. Cozy sputtered.

“Why not?!”

“Because I am smoking. Not smoke inside, not trust you inside on your own. So stay out here while I finish,” he said.

She stared at him, but it turned out he was serious.

“...what?!”

Paul waved his hand around his half-dead garden, the few clouds in the sky.

“Nice outside, talk outside.”

“But - !

“No but, not inside.”

Cozy let out a muted, frustrated growl and pulled the hood of her cloak up tighter, glancing around but not making any moves to leave or try to enter, though making sure to stay in the shadow the building was casting over the two of them. Paul just puffed a bit more.

“So. You try to destroy the world, yes? Or something?” He asked, out of nowhere.

“No! Not really! It was just - there was a plan!” Cozy said, annoyed at him and indeed at everything.

“I heard. Think they said your plan was, be boss? Of a school? Something?”

Close enough. Missing some important details, but who cared?

“Yes,” she said, sour, not seeing much point in engaging.

He nodded.

“Right. And this was to make friends, most friends. Friend school,” he tailed off here to mutter something Cozy didn’t understand before continuing: “Because more friends is more power. Magic, power. How it works here. Yes?”
.
“Yes. Yes!”

Maybe he wasn’t such a lost cause after all.

Hearing this from her he nodded again, puffed out some more smoke. What few whiffs of it drifted down to Cozy were not appreciated and she wafted them aside, having to use her hoof for this, her wings presently pinned beneath her cunning cloak.

“Stupid,” Paul said, at length.

Cozy’s face, which had been edging towards the triumphant on hearing him apparently starting to grasp it all, fell.

“What? Hey! You said I was advanced!” She protested.

“Yes yes, very advanced, very smart. But stupid, just child. Stupid plan.”

“What part of it was stupid?! It was perfect! And it was going to work, too!”

“Just whole thing. Wrong, all wrong. Friends is not numbers game. Not get most, win. No winning anyway. Man with a thousand friends but wants more, he happy? No. Man with three friends, good friends, is he happy? Yes. Which is better?”

Was this a trick question?

“The one with most. Duh.”

Paul shook his head.

“Stupid, tsch.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Paul glared down at her a second before taking a final, definitive drag and then flicking the stub away into the ditch he’d dug specifically to flick them into, then pointing down at Cozy.

“But you are stupid! Clever, yes, very clever, but stupid! Not know enough about life, yourself, others. Think you know but you do not understand, not really know. Think everything is piece, part, everything click together, like one of my toys, maybe. Or part of one big game. Life is not like that. Many systems, many rules, some real, some not. Only thing that runs through all is you. Always you, wherever you go. Are you happy? Yes, no? If you had won, what? If you make everyone in world your friend, what? Most powerful? Boss?”

She was unmoved by his outburst.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” she said, blithely.

“Good for you. Happy then? Then what? No magic, but biggest number. Good job. Boss of dead, empty world. Many friends, never enough, not even like you. King of the heap. Dung heap, Cozy sat on top, boss. Great. Good job, Cozy.”

Cozy’s jaw was set, a muscle in it twitching. She would have said something back, but what was the point? This was a stupid argument anyway, and wasn’t getting anywhere that mattered.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said instead.

“Know you are not happy. Know you won’t ever be, like this.”

“You don’t seem happy,” she shot back.

Paul pulled out and lit up another little tube, puffing briefly to get it going properly.

“I am not happy. But I am old, had chance. You are child, you have chance. Want to waste chance, but have chance.”

“You don’t even know me! You don’t know anything about me,” Cozy said. It was difficult to glare up at him given the height difference but she was doing her best.

“No. Do not want to. But know you are a child. Should be acting like a child. Not like this.”

“Stop calling me a kid!”

“Hmph.”

Times like this it was hard to keep from snarling.

“Well what would you do, smart guy?” Cozy asked, teeth bared.

“Not me, you. You should, Cozy, go away, far away. Somewhere they do not know you. Start over. Be child. Live. Make friends with no - ah - no plan, no goal. Grow up a little. Play. Play with toys, yes?” He said, pointing to the one he’d given her which had just started poking out from underneath where she’d secured it.

A quick adjustment of her cloak hid that.

“But what’s the point?” She asked, genuinely baffled. He just stared at her, sighed, puffed out some smoke and then grunted some more.

“Hmph. Yes. Shame. Oh well. Really, what you should do is turn yourself in,” he said, shifting his weight about and wincing.

“What?!”

“Turn yourself in,” he repeated. “Say you are sorry. Work to show you are sorry. Work to understand why you are sorry. Grow. Be better. You will not, but you should.”

She tried briefly to wrap her head around this but whatever brand of logic he was using was so utterly alien she couldn’t even work out a place to start.

“That’s insane, why would I do that?”

“Hmph.”

“Stop doing that! Use words!”

“Hmph,” he went again, only this time with a smirk.

“Augh!” Cozy squawked, throwing her hooves up in the air before collapsing onto her rump in the dirt. This had plainly all been an enormous, aggravating waste of time. Sullen, exhausted and starting to edge into hungry she stared angrily at the ground and felt - rightly - that the world was an unfair place and unfair quite specifically to her and her alone.

Paul looked down at her, impassive, smoking silently.

“What are you doing here, Cozy? Lots of guards. Thought you would be gone,” he said, after some lengthy period of silence.

Given that there were normally no guards in town, any would be enough to catch Paul’s attention. In the event, there were oodles of the buggers, guards coming out of every orifice. They patrolled the streets, stood sentinel over bridges and at crossroads and even flapped through the sky, keeping watch.

“I want to, but there’s lots of guards,” Cozy said, continuing to glare at the dirt.

Paul frowned.

“I do not tell them about you,” he said.

That got her to look up.

“No, no I know you didn’t. I know who did.”

She had indeed been planning on leaving and would have done, too, but something had come up, an opportunity she felt she couldn’t let slip away. A birthday party.

A rich vein of friends, yes, normally, but not this time, they’d be on the lookout for her. Rather, this time it was instead a rich vein of food and treats, right there in the open!

Better by far than whatever Paul had served her, that was for sure. And so she’d done the bare minimum to make herself not look so much like herself, folded the cloak into something less suspicious that she could just casually drape to hide her Cutie Mark and snuck on in amidst the frivolity.

Her logic being that at a birthday party one extra foal wouldn’t attract any particular attention and she could just slip in, grab something, slip out. A pretty solid plan, all told.

But some aggravating colt had noticed her and had told his parents who’d told the other parents and it had turned into a whole thing. She’d beaten it as soon as she’d seen him give her that dawning look of recognition, but that didn’t help.

Word had spread in next-to no time at all to every adult around and they had fanned out throughout the village in minutes, doing an adequate enough job of stopping her from getting away until the guard had shown up - in scarily good time, too - at which point pretty much every part of the whole area had been locked down tight. All roads, everything. Even the air, as Paul had seen.

Nothing was getting in or out without being spotted. It was ridiculous.

“So what is your plan?” Paul asked, out of nowhere.

“Plan?”

“Planning is your thing, yes? I hear. So you must have plan.”

“Well…” She started, drawing little circles in the dirt with her hoof.

Paul cut her off there.

“You cannot stay here,” he said.

His continued ability to keep up with her was really starting to get on her nerves. What did they do to humans to make them this suspicious?!

“Why not!”

“Because you are dangerous, tiny criminal, hah. Also because you are child, I am old man. Weird. Uncomfortable. No, not staying here.”

Why did nothing ever go her way?!

“Well what am I supposed to do?!”

“Turn yourself in,” he said, totally straight-faced, only cracking up when Cozy stomped a hoof at him, unable to keep from laughing to himself.

“Be serious!” She said, seething.

“Okay, okay. Serious? Hmm,” he stared into middle distance for a few seconds. “Could sneak you out. Smuggle. You know?” He suggested. Cozy stomped again, snorting.

“I said be serious!”

“I am serious. Could do that. Not hard. You are little,” he said.

She stared at him, turning her considerable talents towards sniffing out the merest trace of insincerity. As alien as he was and inscrutable as he was she still felt she would have been able to pick up on some hint that he was still messing with her. But no, nothing. He seemed completely serious.

“Why would you do that?” She asked.

Paul shrugged.

“Get you out of here. Stop being my problem. Here, my problem. Away, someone else problem. Also, funny.” he said and Cozy cocked her head at him.

“Funny?”

“Yes. Funny thinking of them looking for you. Funny making their life difficult. The, uh, the in-charge horses.”

Paul personally had absolutely no idea who was in charge of anything in Equestria but, generally, he was averse to authority and pro whatever it was that would frustrate them.

Cozy looked at him oddly, head still cocked.

“You have a weird sense of humour,” she said.

Taking a particularly deep drag Paul let out an alarmingly big cloud of smoke straight up before dropping and stepping on what he had left.

“I am not a nice man,” he said.

Cozy saw no reason to disagree with this and stroked her chin as she considered what he’d said.

“So basically you just want to get rid of me?” She asked, just to confirm the obvious.

“Yes. You prefer I want to keep you?”

Now there was a sobering thought.

“Smuggling it is! And in return I could teach you how to speak properly,” she said, not unkindly though hoping at least to puncture some of that aggravating attitude he had. It kind of worked, too.

“Or I could teach you English,” Paul said.

“Ooh! Yes! That too! Writing especially. Please.”

Please was important.

She’d meant it as well. Being able to speak - and, importantly, write - in an alien language only she and some singular other, random, grumpy, isolated individual could understand could be quite practical for somepony with things who they might not want others knowing. Another useful tool, and another handy piece.

Would also make Paul a bit of a loose end if it came to that, but all things in time.

Her answer evidently surprised Paul, who was at a momentary loss for words.

“Oh. Okay. Yes,” he said.

“Great! So how are you going to do this? The smuggling? Can it happen soon? No pressure or anything just, you know! Sooner the better.”

“I have wagon,” he said, gesturing to an outbuilding in the corner of his garden. Presumably there was a wagon inside.

“They’ll search a wagon,” Cozy pointed out.

“I know. So I have crate, see? Will make special crate. Not take long. Look like full of toys, but not. Special part, hidden, for you. Will have air holes, do not worry.”

This last part, if meant to be reassuring, wasn’t.

“You want me to get in a box?” Cozy asked with much incredulity.

“Crate. And yes. Better idea?”

“Call me crazy, Pall, but I’m not super-peachy-keen on the idea of letting you put me in a box. Seems like kind of a silly thing to let someone do. I don’t know who else you made fall for this but I’m just a little reluctant. Just saying.”

“Crate. And I do not hurt children. Not on purpose, not now. You want to stay, stay. But not here. Or else smuggle. Up to you, Cozy.”

At this a trio of guards passed overhead a good distance up and Cozy instantly flung herself flat against the wall of Paul’s house, pressing in tight and making sure that he was also blocking her from view as much as possible. In the even the guards didn’t even look down anyway.

Once they’d passed out of sight Cozy licked her lips and asked:

“How - how quickly can you make this crate? Paul? Friend?”

~Road trip!~

Making the crate did not take long. Or rather, modifying it did not take long.

Airholes were indeed drilled, then it was basically just a grid of wire bolted across the middle to split the thing in two. Toys would go on top, Cozy would hide in the bottom. Boom. Smuggling crate.

She wasn’t happy with it still, but she could at least see the wisdom in it. And he’d even been kind enough to install a kind of emergency-release false-panel in the back, should a sudden attack of claustrophobia overtake Cozy and she feel the sudden to vacate the crate post haste.

Or so he’d said, she hadn’t tried it out yet. She didn’t really believe him, honestly. Just seemed like the kind of thing you’d tell somepony to get them to go along with your stupid crate-based smuggling idea. But, really, what choice did she have?

There were guards everywhere.

Once Paul had finished with that part it was just a case of loading his wagon with whatever it was he felt he’d need for the duration of smuggling Cozy out of his life. Cozy watched him doing this, trekking back and forth from his house to the wagon sitting in its outbuilding, loading it up with this and that, talking to himself in that ‘English’ of his all the while.

Though of course, when it was all finally loaded, there was one outstanding question.

“Who’s pulling this?” Cozy asked. All things considered she didn’t really feel that Paul himself was up to it, and it would kind of make the whole ‘smuggling’ thing a little trickier if he just asked some random yahoo from around the village.

“Pulling machine,” he said instead.

“What?” Cozy asked.

Apparently he didn’t feel like explaining himself though, instead just motioning for her to stay put and clomping back into the house. He returned - with some evident difficulty - a few minutes later, carrying something big cradled in his arms.

Like one of the toys he made, but probably bigger than Cozy. Something that looked to be more legs than anything else, and which ticked loudly once Paul had set it down.

“Pulling machine,” he said again. Cozy just stared.

It was kind of creepy, actually, if Cozy was being honest about it. Something in the way it moved made her kind of think it was panting. But that wasn’t what drew the most attention for her.

“So you do make bigger ones!” She said, eyes shining.

“Quiet, you. In crate. We leave.”

Despite her lingering misgivings Cozy got into crate, curling up as Paul slotted in the wire and packed in the toys. Then she was heaved into the wagon and everything else that happened after she just had to assume happened. Like the pulling machine getting hitched up.

Given that they started moving not longer after, this seemed a safe assumption.

Peeping out the holes, Cozy watched as Paul’s house rolled by, then some other buildings. This didn’t tell her much. Much to her worry, the wagon then started slowing down. Weren’t they supposed to be trying to leave?

“Whoa there, hold up,” came a voice. A pony then entered into view, at least for Cozy.

The airholes were positioned such that Cozy actually had a reasonable view of both the pony and of Paul, too, or at least a little bit of him. What a crazy random happenstance that was.

“Good morning, Paul!” Said the pony, beaming up at Paul, who nodded down.

“Morning, Dusty Pages. Why guards?”

The pony’s expression darkened.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Cozy Glow! The Cozy Glow! In our village! My, but she moves quick!”

“Who?”

Though she’d never admit it to him, Cozy couldn’t help but admire Paul’s pokerface.If she hadn’t known the truth herself, even she might have maybe fallen for it!

“Cozy Glow? The villain? She…”

The blank look Paul was giving Dusty did a very good job of impressing on the stallion the utter pointlessness of explaining any further.

“Well nevermind all that, heh, guess it’s not all that important to you, huh? So what brings you out today? I didn’t even know you had a wagon! And my, look at that pulling wotsit! How marvellous! I do love those little devices you make! So ingenious. But, uh, yes, going somewhere?”

“Going holiday. Need break,” Paul said.

A bit on the blunt side for Cozy’s liking. She would have maybe slid in a compliment here, just to keep things sweet. Still, she supposed it fitted more with Paul’s tone, and she could admit to a certain simplistic charm in it.

Or maybe being stuck in a box was starving her of oxygen and making her overthink things. She wasn’t sure.

“A holiday? Oh, I’d say you were overdue! Don’t think I’ve ever seen a day you weren’t working. But, um, you’re coming back though? The kids do love those little thingies of yours!” Dusty said.

“Yes, coming back.”

“Glad to hear it. Right, well, off you go then, Paul! Enjoy your holiday!”

Guards then appeared, as if on cue.

“Halt! We need to search this wagon for the fugitive.”

And it had all been going so well.

“Really now! This is Paul! He wouldn’t be doing anything criminal! He’s a toymaker for Celestia’s sake!” Dusty sputtered, waving a demonstrative hoof. The brace of guards who had showed up were unmoved by this.

“Doesn’t matter. Orders are all wagons, carts, wains, carriages, chariots and other sundry vehicles to be searched coming in or going out. Stand aside, citizen.”

They did not wait for Dusty to stand aside, instead shoving him aside, one guard clambering up past Paul into the rear of the wagon, falling forward and landing face-first on Cozy’s crate.

Cozy curled up even tighter in the bottom, legs over her head, eyes screwed shut. If she tried that panel Paul had said he’d put in, would it work? Could she get away? Was it worth it?

She worried about all that as the guard set about snuffling and poking and fondling everything that Paul had loaded the wagon up with, the human watching all of it with a mounting and obvious and mountingly obvious level of simmering rage. He didn’t say anything though, even if his knuckles were starting to go white around the reins of the pulling machine.

Cozy had just about got a handle on her rising panic with a hoof tapped the lid of her hiding spot.

“What’s in the box?” The guard asked.

“Is crate. Toys. For children.”

“Ah, thinking of expanding your market, eh Paul?” Said Dusty, who was still hanging around, giving the guard who’d shoved him the stink eye.

Paul shrugged.

“Might find children on holiday. Can sell. Good idea.”

Dusty certainly seemed to agree if his enthusiastic nodding was anything to go by.

“That is some smart thinking, Paul!” He said.

From the sound of things it seemed as though the searching guard was trying to open Cozy’s crate. He wasn’t having much luck with it, though.

“It’s nailed shut,” he said.

“Yes.”

A pause wherein which nothing of note happened.

“...could you open it?” The guard asked.

“I have to?” Paul asked in return.

Nothing in training had prepared the guard for this.

“...please?” He ventured.

“You don’t have to ask nicely! We have orders! Just say ‘Citizen, open this crate!’” Shouted the guard outside the wagon, who appeared to have a slightly higher level of experience or, alternatively, common sense.

“Oh, right. Uh, citizen, open this crate, please!”

Leaving just a big enough gap of sullen, angry silence to fully convey how little he cared for this treatment Paul tied the reins up and, grumbling, reached overhead to pull himself upright. The whole wagon creaked and shifted as he moved into the back to join the guard, disappearing from Cozy’s view.

“So...what are you, exactly?” Cozy heard the guard ask.

“Human,” came Paul’s answer, shortly followed by a crowbar jamming itself into the crate. Then a grunt, then a heave, then the lid came off. Cozy held her breath and did her best to try and seep through the blanket that Paul had laid down across the bottom of the crate (“So no splinters,” he’d said).

She could see through the gaps between the toys! She could see the guard! If that guard looked down she was finished!

Almost as soon as the lid had clattered free Paul had reached in and scooped up the closest toy to hand - which just-so happened to be the one that had been directly in front of Cozy’s face, much to her absolute horror - and pretty much just shoving the thing under the guard’s nose.

“See? Toys. Little horse, yes?” He said.

“It’s moving,” the guard said in hushed tones.

“Yes. Special toy. Moves. Does what you say. Salute the guard,” Paul said and Cozy watched as the tiny mechanical horse did just as it had been told, snapping off a rather nifty little salute.

“Neat!”

“Keep, keep,” Paul said, thrusting the toy into the guard’s chest. The guard, bemused, took it.

“What? For me?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, nice! Uh, how much do I owe you…”

“No charge. For hard work.”

Commonly known as a bribe. At least among those who recognise what a bribe is and what they’re for. Sometimes, these things don’t get picked up on. Like now.

“Aww, thank you! You know, I don’t think most ponies appreciate the effort we put into this job. It’s not as easy as it looks!”

Cozy found herself having to bite down on her hoof to keep from laughing out loud. Paul meanwhile reached back to pull the lid of the crate partway back into place and then ask:

“I can go?”

The guard, enraptured with his new toy, took a second to register the question.

“Oh yes, of course. All clear, all clear! Wagon’s clear, let it through,” he said, clambering back out of the wagon again, toy in hand. Paul spared a glance down to catch Cozy’s eye before putting the lid back properly (albeit not nailed down again) and sitting back at the front.

And then they were off and off properly, out of the village, out on the road.

Some time later - hard for Cozy to gauge while curled up and hiding - Paul reached back again and gave the lid of Cozy’s crate a thump.

“Can come out now, Cozy,” he said.

“Really?” She hissed, cautiously.

“Yes.”

There was a clatter as she burst forth, punching the separating grid clear out the top and scattering the toys about the interior of the wagon, much to Paul’s silent, brooding chagrin. Not that Cozy noticed or particularly cared. She was too thrilled at having slipped the net again.

“They’re so stupid!” She cackled.

“Not smart,” Paul said. Couldn’t really argue with it, honestly.

The wagon rolled on a bit, creaking and tilting as it hit some uneven ground on the track. Cozy, fluttering, gently settled along the seat from Paul at the front of the wagon. She would have sat closer but when she’d tried he’d glared at her.

“You know...for a second I thought you were going to tell them I was hiding in there,” Cozy said, capping it off with a breezy ‘Imagine such a thing!’ kind of a laugh. Paul’s eyes stayed on the road.

“Hmph.”

As much as Cozy prided herself on maintaining a bubbly facade in the face of anything life might wish to throw at her, this particular habit of his was rapidly becoming impossible to tolerate.

“What? What does that mean?!”

“It means I do not want to talk because talking is tiring. And I would not be able to say what I want,” he said.

“Oh. Right. Well, uh, we could start learning that whatever language of yours. Unglish? Englash? I’m excited!”

“English. No. Am driving wagon.”

“Yeah but you can still tell me words, right? Just one or two words? Come on! What’s that?” She asked, pointing to a rock by the side of the road. Paul looked at the rock. Paul sighed.

And so it started.

I wrote this bit then watched an older episode that I hadn't got around to yet - Rarity Investigates! I think - and they made the exact same fucking joke about the guards complaining that no-one apprecaites their hard work.

You bastards! You stole my joke and made it years before I did!

/handwave

For the sake of narrative consistency from this point onward ANYONE speaking in bold IS SPEAKING IN ENGLISH whatever language makes you happiest. And there are exactly TWO PEOPLE in this story who understand that, and that's Cozy and Paul.

You'll likely hate this gimmick but hell, here it is.

Also I have no idea how old Cozy is. I just picked a number at random. You'll tell me I'm wrong, I won't really care. The point is she is AN age. And that age is young.

Cozy was really, really good at learning English. Scarily good.

Those long stretches of the journey between stops in villages and hamlets when they were sufficiently out on their own for her to sneak out of the crate and sit just behind him or along from him she’d be forever pointing to stuff and getting the English word for this or that or the other. And at night, when they camped up (at a safe distance from anyone and anything), she pretty quickly got a handle on actual structure.

Couple days like that and they even started being able to have actual conversations. Faltering at first, but only at first, and then pretty fluid. Paul had been staggered.

Sharp kid.

“You picked all this up bloody quick,” he said to her one night as they sat opposite ends of a log facing the fire he’d put together.

“It’s because I have such a good teacher,” she said, sidling a little closer and giving him the Big Eyes again. Paul, scowling, hawked and spat into the fire, which was disgusting enough to entirely undermine anything she might have been trying to go for.

“You’re so full of shit, Cozy. Urgh, _{don’t swear in front of kids you’ll give them bad habits}. You’re so full of it, Cozy, give over. There’s no-one here to fool so just drop it,” he said.

“Fine. You’re a terrible teacher, I’m just smarter than you. Better?”

“Much better.”

This was all doubly good too because Paul’s ability to learn Mareain was appalling. Almost as bad as Cozy’s ability to teach it. Neither had the patience required, and the results had been halting and unproductive at best. Both had reached the same conclusion pretty quickly and that was that there was no point.

So Cozy just got better at English, while Paul remained just as bad as he had with Mareain. For reasons she couldn’t fathom he seemed to find something about this oddly amusing.

On and on they went, further and further. The plan had been to head out a little and find the first place that didn’t seem to be aware of what it was she had done, but this was proving tricky. Everywhere they went had some of those posters, and the reward being offered seemed to just get bigger and bigger.

“This is intolerable! How can it be everypony knows?! Even out here? Come on!” Cozy groused after they’d had to move on from yet another initially-promising dropping-off point when it became clear that she was notorious there as she had been at the last however many places.

Paul had stopped the wagon a few miles further up the road and started another fire, the wagon shielding them from anyone who might have felt like taking the road at night. Cozy was pacing, Paul was sitting.

“Guess you pissed off the wrong people,” he said, unstrapping his leg, grunting in annoyance a moment later over having immediately forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to be swearing.

“It wasn’t that bad!

“Maybe they’re unhappy you stabbed them all in the back.”

Being the one to venture into the various places they passed through - for supplies, directions, whatever - Paul had had ample opportunity to learn more about what it was Cozy had actually done, and while the details tended to vary quite a bit (and get a bit more lurid as the days passed) he liked to feel he had a reasonable picture of things now.

Not that it really changed his opinion, much. He still didn’t care.

Cozy blew a raspberry.

“Oh please, don’t be so dramatic. If someone can’t see they’re being used then they deserve to be used. I mean, so I’ve heard.”

“Heh, like me?”

“No, you know what you’re doing, that’s different.”

“So I’m an idiot but I’m a self-aware idiot?”

“Well I wouldn’t be thaaaaat mean but yes! Exactly.”

“Good to know where I stand.”

“The next place we stop should be better, I think. No! It will be better! And once I’m there I can start again! Get revenge, start again! Yeah! Positive thinking! That’s the thing!” She said, pumping a hoof. Paul, setting his leg beside the camping chair he’d settled in, raised an eyebrow.

“Getting right back to it, huh?”

“Yeah! My thinking was fine, my plan made sense. The execution was just unsettled. Sometimes things go wrong, things outside my control. That’s all that happened, some things went wrong! If I just make doubly sure this time that nothing will - and put backups in place for if they do - it’ll work perfectly!”

Paul looked distinctly unimpressed. So unimpressed that Cozy double-took as she paced.

“What? What is it?” She asked.

“Too clever by half, that’s your problem, Cozy.”

“How is that a problem?”

“‘Cos it tends to mean you miss obvious stuff of think other stuff isn’t important when it actually is. All the gear and no idea.”

Cozy growled, pounding her hooves into the ground.

“Stop saying these things! I don’t know what they mean!”

It had been a good few days now, and quite a lot of things that Paul had been keeping a lid on during that time chose this moment to finally bubble forth. It had been a bumpy ride today, and his leg hurt to boot. Both of them, actually.

“That’s kind of the point, Cozy. You. Are. A. Child. I know you don’t like me saying that but you are. You’re a smart child, but you’re still a child. You know all this stuff - fuck, way more than me - but you have no context, no experience. You have no real idea how any of it works. Worse, you have no idea what works for you. Because how could you? You’re only four years old or something.”

“I’m twelve,” Cozy said through gritted teeth.

Paul recoiled.

“Seriously? Fuck,” He hissed, bit his tongue. “But you’re so small.”

She glared at him so hard he was wondered whether his beard might ignite. It didn’t though, thankfully. He waved a hand at her and leaned back in the chair, cradling his head.

“Well anyway my point still stands. You’re whipcrack smart, could probably do anything you put your mind to, but you just...you don’t know anything. You know things, but you have no, ah, appreciation of them. You need to grow up, basically.”

“Grow up?!” Cozy spluttered. “Grow up?!”

Paul, not for the first time, sighed. He’d probably sighed more since Cozy had intruded upon his formerly-quiet life than he had in however many years he’d been here. Something about her was just so draining.

“Whatever. Fine, don’t listen to me. This isn’t a fucking road trip anyway, this isn’t a bonding experience, we’re not discovering ourselves out here. I’m just taking you from here to there so you can do whatever it was you wanted to do somewhere away from me. Yes?”

“That’s right!”

“Good. Glad we sorted that out.”

With that settled Cozy stalked off to sulk and Paul had an angry smoke.

Cozy’s chosen spot to sulk was around the wagon, hidden from view from the road and also hidden from Paul, all on her own. Once there, she pulled out the toy that Paul had given her. Keeping it under her cloak (which she still habitually wore, you could never be too careful these days) wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she couldn’t think of where else to put it.

Setting it down in front of her she looked at it. It, in turn, looked up at her, smooth, featureless little head cocking, waiting for instructions.

“You listen to me, don’t you?” She asked.

The toy nodded.

“Good. Stand up straight,” she said.

And it did what it was told!

Was that so hard?!

“If only everypony could be as clever as you,” she said, giving it a pat.

For a split-second Cozy then experience a blinding moment of clarity where she realised she was patting a toy on the head and congratulating it for doing what it had been made to do. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this.

Hurriedly tucking it back under the cloak she returned to pester Paul, if only to have some noise to help her keep her mind occupied.

“So…” she said, clambering onto the unoccupied camping chair that he’d set up a healthy distance away from his own. “You said that it was mainly clockwork that got the toys to move, right? And-”

“No, Cozy,” said Paul.

This didn’t annoy her unduly. She’d rapidly discovered on their little trip that Paul was very cagey about these sorts of things, and that the key to getting around this was constant pressure. A teeny, probing query here or there had allowed her wheedle out of him, for example, that the magic involved in the toys largely took the form of little engraved chems set inside them - that thing he’d been using the little hissing, smoking tool to fiddle with.

Cozy had of course been quietly delighted, because that sounded like the sort of thing she could do on her own, once it came to it. She could have taken apart the toy he’d given her to investigate further, but she was worried that if took it apart she might break it and she broke the toy he’d given her then…

...then…

Then he’d known she’d been poking around and he wouldn’t answer anymore of her questions! Yeah! That was it.

So that was fine. For now she decided to go in a different direction.

“Heh, sorry. Let’s talk about something else! Back in your shop you said you arrived with some friends? Were these friends from when you were making that stuff for the army or…?”

“I’m not telling you about my life, Cozy,” Paul said, projecting smoke sideways out of his mouth. Cozy groaned. What was wrong with this alien thing? Most ponies loved talking about themselves! Why couldn’t he work right?!

“Come on! I couldn’t get you to shut up about yourself the other day! Back in your shitty little shop!”

Paul, more annoyed at himself for having let his bad habits rub off on Cozy than on her for actually using his favoured language, glowered and wagged a finger at her, scattering ash as he did so.

“Don’t swear,” he said.

“You swear all the time!”

“Yes but I’m allowed. When you’re an adult you can be as hypocritical as you like. Right now no swearing for you. I’m going to have to watch myself now, aren’t I? And no, I was talking about work and that was because I thought you were just some kid interested in the toys. Then I kept talking about it because I thought it might be relevant to your situation, might help you out a little.”

“Oh, so you’re interested in my development now are you? Thought you said that wasn’t what this trip was about!”

Paul stubbed out the smouldering remains of what Cozy had learnt was called a cigarette on his (metal) leg - something which, if the burn marks were anything to go by, he did more than he should - and threw up some defensive jazz-hands.

“Ooh, look, you got me. I don’t give a fu- I don’t really care about you or what you want to do, Cozy, I just think that you probably should, being as how you’re the one who’s going to have to live with it. Well, one of the ones, given the scope of what you apparently like to do. But whatever. Who cares about them, right?”

“What does that mean?” She snapped.

“Even if I could explain it - and I can’t - would you listen to me?”

She didn’t really have an answer for that. Well, she did, but she and he both knew what it was already, so saying it out was kind of redundant. Instead, sullen silence descended once more. The fire popped. Paul lit up again.

Cozy was the one to get things going:

“How would what you did be relevant to me anyway?” She asked.

“Because we did bad things. Both of us.”

She looked at him sideways.

“That’s debatable,” she said. Paul rubbed his temples.

“No, no it isn’t. If what you did wasn’t bad you wouldn’t be on the run, would you? We can split hairs on the difference between law and justice and blah blah whatever but, typically, doing the right thing doesn’t result in everyone hating your guts and banding together to bring you down with peace, friendship and hugs for all. Yeah?”

“~Still debatable~!” She said, sing-song.

“Fine. You tell yourself that. But still, just think about it. Yes it’s relevant. Best years of my life wasted making things that made the world worse. What a load of toss. I used to like doing those things, you know? And I was good at them. Guess that’s why they scooped me up. Wasted, fuc- just wasted!”

“Well, I mean, you did say they made you, right? Would have, uh, shot you otherwise?”

One thing she had learnt in her time with Paul was that to be shot was not a good thing where he came from. Apparently it was rather like being shot here, only messier, if what he said was anything to go by. And didn’t involve arrows or bolts, often as not. He hadn’t gone into details.

“Okay fine. Best years of my life stolen, better? Still gone, that’s the point. Years I should have been doing anything else. Could have been doing anything else! Gone. But that’s me. I didn’t have a choice, fine. You do! But you’ve locked yourself into this one line of thinking! It’s like, uh - wagon rolls down a dirt road, leaves something in the ground? Uh…”

He ran a finger back and forth through the air to indicate lines.

“Tracks?” Cozy suggested, but he shook his head.

“No, deeper, like the kind the wheel gets stuck in,” he said.

“Rut?”

He clicked his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s the one. A rut. Heh, look at you, helping me out in English now! That’s some scary stuff. How’d that even happen? Smart kid, smart kid. But yes, it’s like there’s a rut, and you’re tiny, right at the bottom. Can just see behind and ahead, so you just think there’s two ways to go, forward and back. But if you climbed out you’d see all these other directions! The whole fuc- the whole world! So much you could do if you just put a little effort in! Just looked up! It’s fucking miserable, Cozy. I don’t know you and I don’t pretend to know you but it’s clear you’re a bright, driven kid but you’re just pissing it all up a wall going after the dumbest, pettiest shit. What a fucking waste.”

He took a steadying breath then a steadying drag. Got a bit carried away there.

“Still. Your choice. If that’s what floats your boat you go for it. Once you’re off somewhere you can keep doing whatever it is you feel like doing. Maybe you’ll win this time, who knows? Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“It’s not dumb…” Cozy mumbled.

She kind of wanted to be angry with him - would have preferred feeling angry with him - but every time she looked at his face she didn’t see him being angry with her, he just saw him being disappointed. And not in the betrayed and hurt way she’d seen from everypony else, that she was used to, that she could have handled. This was something else.

Something she couldn’t quite put a hoof on, which only made it worse.

Paul held up his hands.

“Hey, look, that’s just me, alright? I don’t know you, like I said and like you said, too. You’re probably right. You’re a smart kid, you probably got a better handle on it than I do. So you do what you think is best. Seems to have worked out pretty well for you so far.”

Taking one last drag he flicked the remains into the fire (muttering to himself about “And that’s another fucking waste and all.”) and laced his hands across his belly, slouching deeper into the chair.

Another of the things that Cozy had learnt about Paul during this trip was that he could sleep sitting up if he wanted to. Or, also if he wanted to, pretend he was just to catch her out.

Difficult to tell those two apart, yet another thing she’d learnt.

“I’m turning in. Watch the fire. If you feel like trying to steal the wagon in the night could you at least be quiet about it so you don’t wake me up? Ta.”

Further and further. Still no luck.

Paul had started leading the wagon a rather winding route now, feeling that if they’d just kept heading straight they’d be in the wilderness before too long, and figuring that probably wasn’t what Cozy had had in mind. Since it wasn’t what Cozy had had in mind she did not object.

The theory - long-shot thought it had been - was that maybe they might-just stumble into that one village or that one town that had missed the news about Cozy. Just on the off-chance. So far, no dice.

They’d been doing this whole thing for quite a while now. It was starting to grate on both of them.

Cozy had been left with the wagon (again) while Paul had gone into town to reconoitere and she’d been staring at the same patch of sun-frazzled grass for so long she didn’t even hear him coming back until he was thrusting some sort of paper-wrapped package under her muzzle, making her jump.

“Here,” he said.

“What is it?” She asked, suspiciously, eyeing the package. It looked pretty benign but then again Paul had never, ever done anything like this before, so who knew?

He gave it a shake and Cozy got the hint, taking it from him, though delicately and with caution.

“Pie. I don’t know. Something with honey and carrots. Sounded terrible to me but the guy selling it told me it was good. Got it for you,” he said.

That just made it even more suspicious!

“Why?” She asked.

“Because I hate the look you get on your face when you eat my food.”

“Think it’s pretty generous calling it food…”

She had yet to acquire the taste for Paul’s personal brand of clumpy-stroke-lumpy slop, but by now she’d at least stopped having to suppress the urge to gag anytime she ate it.

“Laugh it up, Cozy. Do you want this thing or not?”

The smell wafting from the package finally started reaching her at this point. Truly, there was honey within. And probably also carrots.

“...yes,” she said.

“Thought so. There you go. Dig in.”

Dig in she did while Paul stumped off to lean against the side of the wagon, hiss in discomfort and massage his leg.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he’d bought her a pie.

That she made the most horrendous face when eating his food was true, but why he would care about that was less obvious - as long as she was fed and alive what did it matter? And yet he did have to admit to a certain level of satisfaction in seeing her burying her face in the thing and hearing the rather cute sounds of very-obviously content pie-consumption coming from inside the bag.

Sure, she was manipulating him for all he was worth, but he was playing along knowing this, so hell. Did that still count?

For her part Cozy liked the pie, and was increasingly wondering whether it was even possible to actually manipulate someone who knew you were manipulating them. And if not, why even try? Paul seemed to be doing things for her without her even having to make him! Which was nice. And confusing. But mostly...nice…

And very confusing.

Wolfing down mouthfuls Cozy pulled her head briefly from the torn paper that had previously been containing the pie to ask:

“Ish thish celebrathion pie cosh thish ish a goodsh town? Ish thish the one?”

Through mouthfuls of pie.

Paul shook his head.

“Nope. Got those posters of you up all over. First thing I saw. You know, at this rate it’s looking like you might have to go overseas or something. Considered a haircut? Heh.”

Cozy did not look amused, though it was hard for her to look particularly serious being, for one, adorable and also flecked with pastry crumbs for another. She swallowed angrily.

“It’s not funny,” she said.

“You’ve got to laugh though, don’t you?”

She stood up to her full height. Not that this changed a whole lot.

“It’s not funny!” She said with a stomp and a snort.

“Alright, alright. Mean, I’ll stick with you until you want to get shot of me, so whatever. Just pick a direction and we’ll go.”

“There’s nowhere to go!” She wailed, head thrown back.

“Is that you giving up?” Paul asked, pulling a metal-and-glass flask from somewhere about his person. Yet another of the things Cozy had learnt was that Paul had just about everything he could need at any time somewhere on him at all times, day or night.

“No! I just - it’s - it’s not fair!” She cried, flopping onto her back in the dirt.

It really wasn’t! Why didn’t anything ever go her way?!

“You know, speaking from experience your best bet probably is to surrender and show some contrition. You don’t feel contrition, Cozy, pretty sure about that, but you could probably fake it until you got it. Trust me, getting them to work for it only makes it worse. And really, I mean, what are they going to do? Lock you in a tiny little kiddy cage? Throw you into some dank pit full of monsters?” Paul asked, chuckling to himself at such a ludicrous notion and taking a swig.

Cozy, however, just rolled back into sitting and nodded.

“Yes,” she said.

At this Paul choked on his drink, sputtering and coughing for a spell before being able to wheeze:

“You fucking what? I was kidding!”

He'd heard about her having escaped on her way to somewhere, yes, but he'd just assumed it had been some sort of hippy-dippy friendship borstal or something like that, something soft, these horses being the way they were. Somewhere they'd sit her down and make her colour in things until she stopped being such a bloody nuisance.

Apparently not!

“It’s fine. I could take that. Not ideal but I could still work with being in a cage. Couldn’t slow me down!” Cozy said, back to brightness. Paul goggled at her, tucking away the flask.

“That’s not - that’s not the point! You shouldn’t put a kid in a cage! What’s that going to do?!”

“Punish me? For trying to destroy all magic? ‘Destroy the world’?”

Hyperbole as far as she was concerned but still, that’s what their argument had been.

Paul considered this.

“Well, yeah, okay, can’t deny that, but punishment isn’t an end, it’s a means! Gods! We’re back here again! The whole point of punishing someone is so that they can improve and not do whatever it was they did again! Especially a kid! And since you still don’t really get what it was you did wrong what the hell is shoving you into some pit going to do? Are you being honest with me?”

“That’s where they were taking me before I escaped.”

Paul stared at her, aghast. He then winced as his leg twinged, standing up straight and trying to shift his weight about.

“Honestly? Fuck me. Never thought they’d have it in them. Well if that’s their plan then fu- ah, I’m doing it again - if that’s their plan then nuts to them, you don’t turn yourself in! Forget what I said before. Put a kid in a cage, bloody hell…”

He shook his head in wonderment and Cozy hovered up to smoosh his cheek, wings popping through the slips that Paul had actually put there specifically for the purpose. Turns out he could do that - who knew?

“Aww, you do care,” she said, getting sent head-over-tail by Paul shoving her away through the air. Gently, mind.

“Urgh, get away with that. I just think that’d be a ridiculous thing to do. What good would it do? For you or for anyone? What a waste of time. What a waste of you! You were already doing a pretty job of wasting yourself, didn’t need any help.”

“Gee, thanks,” Cozy said, upside-down briefly before righting herself and landing.

Paul was still amazed. He hadn’t thought a whole lot of the horses, really. He found them all rather soft and squishy and quaint. The guards were all idiots, their magic had weird links to ‘friendship’ of all things and everything was just so brightly coloured.

And their solution to something like this was to put a child in a pit? In a cage? He was amazed.

“Who made that call anyway? To toss you into some dank pit?” He asked.

“Think it was more of a mutual decision,” Cozy said.

“Get hauled before the court and all that?”

“Oh no, the Princesses just sort of decreed it. It all happened so fast!”

It really had!

Paul clucked his tongue.

“Drumhead bullshit, huh? I know how that goes. Pricks. Why even pretend there’s a process? Piss on your leg and tell you it’s raining why don’t they. Who’re the Princesses, anyway?” He asked, getting a very surprised look from Cozy.

“You don’t know the Princesses?”

“I don’t know anyone around here. Other than you. And a couple of the ones back in the village. Like Dusty, I guess. So no. They the ones in charge?”

“Pretty much.”

“Hmph.”

Nothing to bolster Paul’s opinion of anyone in any position of authority, ever. Bastards the lot of them, at least in his experience. Grasping fucks from top to bottom and no mistake. Only ever out for themselves and the only thing alive that could fail upwards. Bastards. Spurred by this thought he asked:

“Why do you want to be the one in charge, anyway?”

Much as with him admitting that he didn’t know the Princesses, this struck Cozy as an incredibly bizarre thing to say.

“Because then I’d be the one in charge?”

She wasn’t sure how to break it down anymore than that. The answer was right there. What was he confused about?

“But what do you want to do in charge?”

“...be in charge?”

Was she missing something here, Cozy wondered? Or had whatever accident that had brought Paul here done more damage than she might have initially suspected?

“Gods, you really are just a child, aren’t you?”

“Hey! I’ve told you! Stop saying that!” Cozy snarled, again flying up to get into his face, again being pushed away but this time coming back quicker. Paul stopped bothering.

“I’ve had to do what a whole lot people tell me to do in my life, Cozy, and it’s always one bast- always one person getting swapped out for the next one who only wants to be in charge. They come in just to be at the top, get knocked off by the next one. Just a long line of stabbed backs. It’s a mugs’ game.”

“Well that’s because those guys you’re talking about weren’t really in charge. If they were like me they’d be in charge of everything, then they wouldn’t have to worry!”

“No, what? I mean - what? Okay, think about this. When I was coming up - like, when I was a little kid - we had the Emperor, right? And he was in charge of everything. Guy scared the pants off of everyone, no-one went against what he said or what he wanted.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Hmph. Anyway, so he’s got everyone and everything under his thumb, right? He says jump, people jump - like my toys, hah! But people are still plotting behind his back, because they’re scared of him but they don’t respect him and they sure don’t respect a damn thing he’s ever done.”

Paul snapped his fingers.

“The instant he pops his clogs that’s it, open season. Everything he’d spent his life doing just torn to bits by a dozen different people. No-one cared what he’d done, no-one even really cared he’d died. It was just a scramble to get to the top. And he’d spent his whole life putting all that together! Years! Everything he had! For nothing!”

“So you’re saying...never die?”

He blinked at her.

“What, no, how - Cozy - “

“Oh! Make everyone love you instead! Or everyone your friend! That’s kind of what I was going for, actually - then they’d do what you wanted without plotting against you! And if anyone did, you just turn all the others on them! It’s easy!” She said, thinking that she got it now.

Paul was back to the old stalwart of rubbing his temples, his eyes shut.

“Cozy, just, that’s not how friends- look, think about it this way: Through everything I’ve said, all the people I just told you about, what have you noticed that’s been missing?”

“Um…”

He gave her a few more seconds but Cozy was stumped and shook her head, holding her hooves up in defeat.

“Life! Doing anything other than just getting more! What the hell is the point in only ever being worried about what the next step is? Stairs go somewhere, you know? Somewhere you want to go. That’s how steps work! You don’t just go forever!”

“Your imagery really needs work,” she said, frowning in distaste.

“You! Just! You’re just - Urgh. Fine. Fine. Yes. You’ve got it sorted. Nothing ever going to slow you down, eh?”

“Nope!” Cozy said, shaking her head happily.

“Hmph. Didn’t think so,” Paul said before turning on his heel and hobbling off towards the treeline just a little distance from the wagon. “I’m going for a fucking smoke. Eat your pie. _{Fucking kid why do I even bother...}”

“Just like that? Paul! Rude! We’re still talking!”

He rounded on her and she flinched backward despite herself. He really was rather tall.

“Cozy, there is no bloody point in talking about this if none of it ever goes in. You’re just going around in circles. Like water around a drain. Hah. No, I’m joking, sorry, that was harsh. You’re smart. You’re a smart kid. It’s fine. You know what you’re about, that’s fine. So I’m just going to stop talking. Kind of a waste of time anyway.”

“What? Hey, it was a joke! I don’t really still want to take over! I was kidding!”

“No, you weren’t, don’t lie to me. You’ve got your head set, you’re locked. I can’t do anything about it and, frankly, I’m kind of done wasting my time trying. You want to grind yourself to a nub doing this, want to devote your whole life to this, fine, go nuts. I’ll get you where you need to be and then I’m going home. Send me a letter when you win.”

And off he stalked.

“You can’t do that! We were talking! Hey! Stop! Get back here! Why aren’t you doing what I tell you?! WHY DOES NOPONY DO WHAT I TELL THEM TO ANYMORE?!” Cozy shouted to an empty space, ending up standing, breathing hard, nostrils flaring, eyes wild, all on her lonesome.

With a scream she grabbed up the remains of the pie and threw it as hard and as far as she could which, in the event, wasn’t very much of either because she was only little. She did succeed in completely ruining the pie however, something she immediately regretted.

It had been a pretty good pie.

Flopping down onto her rump she sat and felt all that anger from a second ago do an abrupt about-face and come flooding back as an overwhelming sense of being truly and horribly put-upon - the unluckiest pony in the whole world!

“It’s not fair…” she sniffled, reaching under her cloak without really thinking and again pulling out the toy that Paul had given her, putting it down in front of her where it stood, steadying itself briefly before giving her a bright wave. She couldn’t help but wave back.

“Hey there little guy, you don’t think my plans are dumb, do you?” She asked, wiping her nose and eyes on the back of a hoof.

The toy shook its head. Cozy beamed. It got it!

“Yeah! You think I’m smart, don’t you?” She asked.

The toy nodded enthusiastically.

This was more like it!

“Tell me I’m good,” Cozy said.

The toy seemed to consider how best to fulfil this request and then, after a moment, gave her a tiny thumbs up. Paul had explained what this meant. She was appropriately delighted and radiated in it for a moment.

Then:

“Tell me you like me.”

The toy did the exact same thing as before, movement-for-movement, utterly identical. Just a response. Just what it had been told to do, nothing more.

And whatever pleasant feelings Cozy had been enjoying went away.

Reflexively and without thinking about it she smacked the toy away. Then, once she realised what she’d done, she leapt over with a quiet yelp to check it was still working. Thankfully it was. Dazed and dirty but working.

Hurriedly tucking it out of the way again Cozy set off the way Paul had gone at a gallop, hopping into the air and taking flight after remembering that, thanks to those slits in the cloak, she could do that now more easily.

He had not gone far, and she found him leaning against a tree where he was, indeed, smoking again. Angrily too, and not for the first time. He did not look her way when she landed.

“Hey Paul?” She asked, quietly.

“What?” He asked back, still not looking at her.

Cozy wasn’t actually sure what it was she wanted to ask him. She kind of just wanted him to talk to her again, even if only to argue. Just to get something. So she picked a question at random, something that had been bugging her for some days now.

“Why did you engrave the toy you gave me?”

He puffed before answering.

“So you knew it was yours.”

Unhelpful. Cozy tried to think about this but she didn’t get very far. It just didn’t make sense. Did it mean something? Was she missing something? What would make it all click, fit together, work like it should?

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Paul finally looked down at her, even if only for a tiny sideways glance.

“There’s nothing to understand, that’s the whole thing.”

That didn’t make sense either.

“...but why though?”

“I told you why. If you overthink everything, you’ll probably miss a lot of stuff. It’s just a thing I did for you. That’s it. Tie yourself in knots trying to dig into something with nothing in it or just, you know, enjoy the bloody toy.”

Cozy wasn’t sure she could anymore, for reasons that eluded her.

She swallowed.

“Hey Paul?”

“Now what?”

Swallowed again, thinking of the wording.

“Was it really that bad? What I did? Really?” She asked.

Paul had to turn and look at Cozy properly for that one, just to check she was serious. She was completely serious, staring up at him with wide eyes, expectant, maybe even a little nervous.

“Yes! Do you need me to tell you that? Did you not work that out for yourself? Surely the thought must have crossed your mind at the time! Did the looks of betrayal tip you off at any point?”

She hadn’t expected quite that vocal of an answer and recoiled briefly before recovering herself. Even then, it didn’t come quite as easily as she thought it should have. Normally it was right there!

“Well, I did think that maybe it was a bit naughty at worst, but that’s not so bad. And much worse things have happened! And I didn’t really hurt anyone, did I? Directly? By myself? But maybe I did do some...things that...may have made me feel...not good. Like locking ponies in cupboards. And some...other stuff…but was it really that bad?”

“Do you want me to say no, Cozy? That you’re in the right? Tell you it was fine? That everyone is making a fuss over nothing?”

She shuffled.

“Could...could you…?”

“Your world runs on bloody magic! I’m not even from here and I could give you a list of why it was a bad idea! It starts with every one of the ones with horns not being able to open doors and it ends with, oh, the sun stopping working?”

Now he mentioned it...

“Sure I could have...figured out a way..around that…”

“There has to come a point where you admit that you just didn’t think things through. Because you’re just a child. And that’s fine. Everyone makes mistakes. You do know it’s okay to do that, right?”

“...no…”

“Or that. Stick with that. If you want to be the sort of person people are happier to see dead - well, locked up in a cage in a pit, whatever - than alive then you go ahead, be my guest. That just doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time.”

“What else - what else can I do?” She asked, and never had she looked more small or more her age then at that moment right then.

“Anything you want, Cozy. Got your whole life. Absolutely anything.”

“...I’m not sure what I want…”

For a moment it became blindingly clear to Paul that what he was doing here was dumping all over a little kid. A very smart, often dishonest and driven, megalomaniacal little kid, sure, but still a little kid. All at once he felt pretty shitty.

“I’m getting that. Hey, look, don’t worry about it right now, alright? Just enjoy your pie. Is it good?” He asked. Cozy kept her eyes on the ground.

“...it’s good…”

Paul found it hard to fight the urge to just give her a reassuring ruffle or pat. He didn’t do it though. For one he’d have to bend over to do it, and fuck that, for another he wasn’t super-comfortable in touching the tiny, manipulative little child no matter how miserable she appeared to be.

“Well then just focus on that right now. You haven’t got to worry about any of the other stuff right now. You’ll be fine, kid,” he said. She sniffled, nodded, sat silently for a second or two and then:

“...Paul?”

“Yes?”

“...I threw the pie.”

Paul was at once surprised and not that surprised.

“You threw the pie?” He asked. Cozy nodded. “You not like the pie?” He asked.

“No, no, I liked the pie - it was good pie! - I just…” She tailed off. Not that she really needed to go on. Paul could work out enough to get the gist. He sighed - she really did have that effect on him - dropped his cigarette and stamped it out.

“Fine, that’s fine. Day’s still young and the guy had a bunch. I’ll get you another. You throw this one though and that’s it. Not made of second chances, Cozy,” he said, stretching his back and rolling his neck. Cozy looked up from the dirt.

“What?”

“I’m getting you another. Don’t object, don’t say thank you. Back in a tick.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say either way, her brain just fizzing as it attempted to grapple with why he would be getting her another one after she’d wasted the last one. What was his goal here? And did he have one? And how could someone not?

Paul limped away, paused, and turned to delver some parting words:

“Just so we’re clear I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, Cozy. Just saying I think you need pie,” he said warningly.

“Y-you do like me though. Right?” Cozy asked.

Paul hesitated here, not sure what the correct answer could be and even less sure what answer it was that Cozy might be angling for. But then he remembered that he didn’t really care either way, and that trying to make it more complicated would be pointless.

“Course I like you, Cozy. You drive me up the fuck- you drive me up the wall, yeah, but you wouldn’t if I didn’t like you, would you? Now don’t wander off, I’m going as fast as my leg can carry me. Hah!”

Which wasn’t that fast, really.

I probably got some key details wrong.

“Please please please?”

“No.”

“You always get to go into these places! It’s so boring having to stay with the wagon every time! I’m going crazy!”

“Crazier.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“...sorry.”

“This is serious!”

It was, indeed, serious.

The trip to try and get Cozy to somewhere no-one would know her was not going well. In fact it would not be far wrong to say that it was going poorly and was going in circles. Literally going in circles. They were running out of places to go.

This town coming up at least was one they hadn’t gone to before, but that put it in a distinct minority, and it was for this reason - coupled with burgeoning cabin (or wagon) fever - that Cozy felt she could take the risk of venturing in with Paul.

She had to do something!

Paul was less sure.

“I don’t know, Cozy. There’s no easy way to break this to you but it kind of looks like the net is closing in. Your reputation is preceding you pretty much everywhere at this point.”

“I don’t care please I just have to go somewhere and do something!”

“I don’t know…”

“I won’t even do anything bad! Not that I ever do. Or did! But I wouldn’t even do anything this time! Please please please! It’ll be okay, I’ll be careful! I’ll wear the hat.”

The hat that Paul had picked up a town or two back, the woolen one that was ever-so-slightly too big for Cozy’s head and practically covered her whole head when she put it on.

Getting the hat, he’d said, had been a practical purchase, her hairstyle being somewhat distinctive even with a hood pulled up. She’d questioned the wisdom of getting it given that she was told to stay in or with the wagon and out of sight. He hadn’t really been able to come up with an answer to that one.

She was giving him the big eyes again, and since he had to look away she knew for a fact that she was starting to gain ground. She stepped in around into his line of sight.

“Pllleeeaaassseee?”

Paul grimaced.

“You bloody...hmph. Alright, okay, yes, fine. But if you get rumbled you’re on your own, got it? I won’t help you out,” he said, warningly. Cozy saluted.

“Got it!”

Only afterwards did Cozy wonder why she’d even bothered asking for permission in the first place. Why didn’t she just go without asking? Did seem a bit odd. Too late now though, and she’d got her own way so who cared, really?

And so into town they went. Paul limping, Cozy wrapped up and disguised, hat and sunglasses and everything. Where the sunglasses had come from was unclear, but there they were.

In the event, sticking by Paul turned out to be a pretty smart move for Cozy - everypony in town was too busy gawking and staring at the clomping, tall, grumpy-looking alien to really notice or think much about the foal nipping about his ankles.

It was not long before they came across a sign that this town may not be the one for Cozy. A long, long stretch of wall entirely plastered with her wanted posters. At this point the reward was getting frankly ridiculous, like they’d had spare zeroes lying around.

Really! It was just excessive!

“That seems like too many posters,” Cozy said, peering up at her own face on the wall, over and over again. It left her feeling oddly blank, kind of numb. Paul was glancing about.

“Maybe not look too long. Suspicious,” he said.

Avoiding English while around and about others seemed a good idea. Odd enough being the strange creature with the foal wearing the big hat and dark glasses, odder still to be conversing in a language no-one else would even be able to recognise. Seemed best to limit risk.

“I’m just taking an active interest in the dangerous, highly-wanted criminal on the loose, that’s not suspicious. Everypony’s doing it. See! He is!” Cozy said.

She pointed. Further along a stallion was, indeed, looking at one of the posters.

“Hmph,” Paul grunted.

At the very least he had to admit she seemed happier now she’d got to come with him than she had the past few days. She’d got very...quiet lately. It had been unpleasant. Like she’d been washed out. As dangerous as this might have been, he supposed the tradeoff was worth it. Ish.

Certainly had the spring back in her step, which he found nice in a way he hadn’t expected. Given a choice between the chirpy, usually-lying, sunny Cozy Glow or the sullen, non-verbal and listless Cozy Glow he’d picked the former. If someone had a gun to his head, obviously.

He also didn’t much appreciate her attempts to flutter up sit on his shoulder, and his lack of appreciation for this led to her sulking aggressively at him from by his ankles for a few minutes until something caught her eye.

“Ooh! Balloons!” She squeaked.

Paul looked around. Balloons indeed, a whole stall of them some distance off, being sold to any who asked. Kids, mainly. Unsurprisingly.

“You like balloons?” He asked. She looked up at him as though he were mad.

“Of course I like balloons, silly! Balloons are fun!”

“...cannot tell if you are lying or not.”

Cozy blew her cheeks out, indignant.

“I don’t lie! Sometimes I’m just...selective about what I say,” she said. These distinctions were very important to her. Lying, she knew, was bad, so clearly whatever it was that she did was not lying. It had to be something else.

“Hmph. Is lying,” Paul pointed out.

Clearly he had no idea what he was talking about. Still annoyed Cozy, though.

“Hmph - see? See?! I can do it too! Not fun, is it?!”

Paul sighed, nodding towards the stall.

“You want balloon?” He asked.

“Why bother, I’m probably just lying!” She spat. Paul started walking.

“Getting you balloon, Cozy.”

The balloon stallholder finished up her transaction with a pair of very happy foals who went gambolling off with their purchases before she turned to Paul and baulked to see this huge hairy thing looming over her.

“Uh…” she went. Paul held up a hand, one finger.

“Balloon. One balloon, please. That one. Pink one. For my…”

He struggled to find what word could possibly fit here.

“...friend.”

The stallholder blinked at Paul, then looked down at the incognito Cozy, who was giving an extremely toothy smile.

“Uh…” the stallholder said. “Okay!”

Money changed hands (or hooves) and Cozy was then the proud, happy owner of a single pink balloon.

“Yay!” She cried.

Cute whether she was lying or not, Paul had to admit, and it did keep her occupied while he pottered about and picked up a few sundries they needed to keep the journey going. He even managed to sell the last of the toys he’d brought with him, the others having gone to keep things moving on prior to this point.

And once that was done, he even got Cozy some ice cream.

“You keep buying me food,” she said, cautiously optimistic as he set the bowl down in front of her, having picked out a covert nook away from the hustle and bustle and, importantly, the few knots of guards dotted about the place. Really couldn’t move for them these days.

Not that they ever seemed to do much...

“You not like ice cream?” He asked.

Given her enthusiasm for the balloon he had just kind of assumed. Rightly, as it happened.

“Obviously I like ice cream, I just want to know why.”

“Always why with you, Cozy! Not always a why, you know?” He said. But then he was forced to admit: “Food keep you occupied. I am going to take a leak. Over there.”

He pointed off aside and out of the nook they’d settled into. Cozy did not really get what he was hinting at.

“What?”

He leaned in.

“I’m going for a piss in that alley.”

“Ew! Why did you tell me that?!”

Paul chuckled. Something to be said for making kids disgusted.

“Just so you know. Stay here. Eat ice cream,” he said.

“You better wash up after,” Cozy said, her tongue stuck out, appalled. Paul scoffed.

“You are child! I am meant to tell you that! Stay here. Enjoy ice cream. Try not to make scene. I come back.”

“Yeah yeah yeah…”

And off he went, leaving her on own, tucked away out of sight.

Happily licking at her ice cream, humming a jaunty little tune to herself, Cozy had to admit that she felt better today than she had in, well, about as long as she could remember, actually.

Sure, she was being actively hunted the length-and-breadth of the land and apparently everypony in the whole world despised her and wanted to see her locked away forever but, like Paul said, you had to laugh, didn’t you?

And at least she had ice cream. And a balloon!

So happy was Cozy that she didn’t even really care about the two ponies passing by ahead of the nook who were chatting. She didn’t even care when they stopped there to finish up their chat, or even care when one of them wandered off and the one that stayed looked around and spotted her.

And did a double-take. Lone child? Could be nothing, but could also be in trouble!

“Hey, you,” he said, approaching.

Now Cozy cared.

“Hmm? Oh! Hello mister! Uh, c-can I - can I help you?” She asked, hurriedly tugging her hat down a little more and pulling the cloak about herself that much tighter, adjusting her sunglasses. The stallion got closer, head tilted.

“What are you doing here all on your own? You okay?” He asked.

Cozy swallowed.

“Me? Just - I’m just waiting for my…”

She struggled to find what word could possibly fit here.

“...friend. Haha. Hah!”

Should have come out easily. Always used to come out easily! Why did it stick this time?!

“Alright,” he said, eyes narrowed. He’d arrived at the table tucked into the nook now. He was practically on top of her. He leaned in, Cozy leaned back. “Do I know you?” He asked.

“Me? No! I’m just, you know, somepony! Nopony, really!”

“No, I know you from somewhere, let me see…” he said, frowning, attention fixed onto her.

He moved in closer, closer, and Cozy - being in a nook that had until recently felt so snug and secure - quickly ran out of places to back into.

“Hey, hey! Watch it! What are you-”

Extending a hoof he lifted up her sunglasses.

His face lit up with recognition.

“I do know you! You’re-”

This was as far as he got before Paul came back, his shadow falling across the pony, sun blocked out completely.

“What are you doing with the child?” Paul asked in about the most ice-cold tone of voice that Cozy had ever heard from him.

The stallion turned, ready to remonstrate, only to come face-to-belly with Paul and flinch, momentarily losing his train of thought on being confronted with something so sudden and so big.

“Whoa, big thing. I mean what? Don’t you know who this is? That’s Coz-”

Again, interrupted, this time by Paul cold-cocking the stallion right across the jaw and dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

“Ow, son of a whore,” Paul hissed to himself, shaking out his hand (which was still wet from when he’d washed it in a trough, because he was an adult, not because Cozy had told him to), looking down at what he’d just done. “Shit. Alright, we have to go.”

Without another word he reached, scooped Cozy up under one arm and set off at a run. Or, rather, what was pretty much just a brisk, uneven jog. Cozy was so taken-aback by this rapid-fire series of events she was momentarily lost for words.

“My ice cream!” Was all she could manage, legs kicking.

“I’ll get you another one. Fuck, which way? This way.”

He picked a direction at random, momentum banging him into a wall and sending him swaying and wobbling off at speed, Cozy still clutched under one arm.

Behind them came a shout:

“Hey! Guards! Guards! It’s Cozy Glow! And some big thing! They went that way! That way!” Followed by a quieter bit: “_{Ow my face...}”

“Guess I don’t hit as hard as I used to, hmph. Getting old. Alright, fine,” Paul, pausing, ducked into the nearest alley and came to a halt, lifting Cozy up in front of him with both hands. “You, Cozy, you got those little wings, right?”

“Yeah?” She asked, dangling.

“You can fly properly using those?”

That was just insulting.

“Of course I can fly!”

“Thought so. Well off you go.”

He gave her a bounce up but she did not take to the air and just landed back in his hands again, baffled.

“What?”

“Fucking fly! Away!”

“What? Just run?”

“Well, fly, but yes! Go, go!”

It didn’t make sense.

“What’ll you do?”

“Why do you care? Limp after you, probably, and be a bit of a distraction.”

“They’ll catch you though. They know you were with me.”

Did he not know that?

“So? You didn’t grow a conscience at some point in the last few weeks, did you?”

That one stung.

“Shut up! I just - it doesn’t - I don’t know!”

“This is the real deal, kid, you have to go, right now! I didn’t drag you halfway across the bloody map just you could get caught now! Go! Go!”

“But-”

“No but’s! Once I’ve made a miraculous escape we can pick this up! I’ll buy you another ice cream! Fuck, I’ll buy you two! For now you have to go, go!”

None of this made sense. She should go. It made sense to go! There was no reason not to go! And he would just slow her down. Just leave him behind and go!

But if she left him behind then - then -

...then he wouldn’t be able to take the hit for her the next time! Yeah!

That worked!

...didn’t it?

Paul grunted.

“I’m throwing you on the count of three so you better be ready, damnit,” he said, shifting around and pulling back one arm, getting ready to toss Cozy like a javelin. Her eyes widened.

“Throwing?!”

“You don’t seem to want to go so I’m helping you! One!”

“Just keep going! Keep running! Carry me!” She shouted, struggling but getting nowhere.

“Nope, too slow. Two!”

“They’ll catch you!”

“Who cares? Three!”

And he hurled her through the air.

Cozy couldn’t really speak to his punching-ponies-in-the-face abilities but his throwing-fillies-through-the-air abilities were pretty good if she was any judge, finding herself tumbling end-over-end and up and out of the alleyway, clear of the surroundings and above the rooftops.

Helped that she was little, really.

Reflexively her wings shot out and, by chance, caught a very timely stiff breeze, yanking her away almost at once. Very confused, she just went with it, entirely baffled why she felt so unhappy about escaping. Why didn’t she feel good about this? It made no sense!

Paul, meanwhile, watched her go and then turned around.

A good dozen or more guards came skittering and clattering to a halt at the head of the alleyway, spotting Paul immediately. He matched the description they’d been given, and he was rather hard to miss.

“Halt! Criminal scum, you violated the law!” Bellowed the lead guard, the one with the most and most impressive plumes.

“You have me mistaken for someone else,” Paul said.

The guards experienced a momentary ripple of doubt before the lead guard calmed their minds:

“He’s trying to pull a criminal trick on us, men! Stand firm!”

That bolstered them, and they started to approach. Paul stood his ground. Not really anything else he could do.

“Where is the criminal Cozy Glow?” The lead guard asked.

“Who?”

None of them fell for his wily tricks this time.

“The criminal you were helping escape!”

Paul made a big show of looking around, spreading his arms.

“Only me here.”

“She may be hiding in the dustbins, men! Start rummaging!”

Some of them got to doing just that, the rest though remained focused on Paul and continued to advance. Some were coming from the other end of the alley, too.

“Surrender!” The lead guard shouted. These sorts of things had to be shouted.

Paul shrugged.

“Okay, I accept. Do not have room for all of you. Will have to squeeze up in wagon.”

“...what?”

Paul groaned. Put his fists up.

“Joke, idiots. Let us get this over with.”

Maybe I'm being a little harsh on the guards...

Predictably, one reasonably old, beaten up man against a seemingly limitless stream of armour-wearing horses (no matter how dim-witted) could only ever have gone one way.

Paul ended up in custody, albeit not without fuss.

His reluctance at coming in quietly was the reason his wrists had been chained together, much to his annoyance. He’d given a pretty good account of himself though, he liked to think, going by the bruises on both him and a fair few guards surrounding him.

They’d been surrounding him for some time now. After having been subdued he’d been brought (read: dragged) to this town’s hall, and once there had just been made to stand and wait with no further explanation.

Paul, as a rule, did not like standing for any extended period of time, and so this was less than ideal. That the room he was waiting in was basically wall-to-wall guards was really just the icing on the cake. He could barely move for the bloody things, they were everywhere.

“Why are we waiting?” He asked, and not for the first time.

“Silence, criminal scum,” the nearest guard hissed back.

“My leg hurts. I am old man! Should have chair!”

“I said quiet!”

“Will not be quiet! Why are we waiting? Put me in cell, do not waste time,” Paul said, loudly, raising his arms.

“Stop goading the prisoner,” hissed another guard, leaving the first utterly flabbergasted.

“Me? Goading? He-”

The doors to the room burst open and a hush fell and the strangest sense of unexpected warmth just seemed to suddenly fill every available corner. It put Paul on edge.

Seemed that what - or who - they’d been waiting for had arrived.

There was a big white one, a smaller darker one and a much smaller kind of bluey-purply one. All looked pretty grim and serious. Paul assumed that these were some of the ones in charge, those Princesses he’d heard about, and, as a result, took an immediate dislike to all of them.

Crowns indeed. He’d spent most of his life doing something he didn’t really want to do for someone wearing a crown or carrying something with a crown printed on it which meant he had to do what they said. Not a fan.

If he was meant to be impressed by them being tall or their shiny bits or their wings or their big billowy hair he wasn’t buying it, either. Only two of them had the billowy hair anyway. Slapdash.

The vast mass of guards choking the room parted, creating a space for the three new arrivals to move into, a handful keeping a line between them and Paul who kept on standing, waiting.

“You ones in charge?” He asked once the three had come to a halt just across from him.

The white one - the biggest one - stepped forward.

“I am Princess Celestia, this is my sister Princess Luna and this is Princess Twilight Sparkle,” she said, in tones warm, pleasant and authoritative, three things Paul wasn’t a huge fan of.

These names meant nothing to him either and, honestly, just kind of annoyed him.

“Ones in charge, yes. Why am I waiting?” He asked.

Used to being treated with, if not deference at least a little friendliness and courtesy, Celestia was momentarily taken aback. But only by the briefest of moments, and that was by her standards, so more of a split-second than anything else.

“What are you?” Asked the dark one - Luna - before Celestia could continue.

“Paul. I make things.”

That was about as much as he felt was required as an answer.

“Why am I waiting?” He asked again.

Luna looked set to give a rather sharp response before Celestia gently laid a wing across her back, being the one to speak instead and asking:

“We were told that you were recently travelling in the company of a filly?”

“Yes,” said Paul.

No point in denying it.

Hearing this Celestia nodded, as though all was now clicking into place. She started:

“I am sorry to say that you have been mislead, manipulated and used by this filly who-”

Paul could see where this was going and did not have the stomach to wait for her to get to the point.

“No. I know who she is, I know what she did,” he said, interrupting, scratching his jaw and wincing as he caught one of the bruises.

That came as a surprise.

“You knew? And you helped her anyway?” Celestia asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Paul shrugged.

“Funny.”

No-one else seemed to get the joke, from the looks of things.

“Funny?” Celestia repeated.

“Yes, funny. Many weeks, not caught. Very funny. Guards useless, stupid. Me, not exactly in-con-spic-u-ous, hmm?” That one had been a mouthful but Paul felt it had been worth it. “Walked into town with Cozy! No-one notice until I take leak, even then only got lucky! Hah! Funny! Aha!”

Again, no-one else seemed to find the funny side of this. Not that Paul cared.

Much of the warmth that Celestia had previously been radiating was now reduced. Not absent, but restrained, say. Which was more than could be said for the starry-one, who looked nigh-on murderous and the little one, who just looked deeply upset.

“So you admit aiding and abetting a known criminal?” Celestia asked.

“Yes. I do good job, too. Give me a medal,” Paul said.

“Impudent-!” Luna snarled, taking a step forward, Celestia stopping her short and giving her a look.

Celestia then continued:

“You will have to be punished, of course,” she said.

Paul shrugged. Not a surprise, not the first time. Who cared anyway? Old man. He could take it. And this was what people in charge did anyway, what they were for.

“Yes. Fine. Good. What happens to the child?” He asked.

“To Cozy Glow?” Celestia asked. She honestly hadn’t expected him to ask after Cozy.

“Yes yes, the child. What happens?” Paul asked, nodding.

Assuming she ever got caught, of course. He was mostly just curious.

He still thought - in the back of his head - that she had to have been lying to him about the whole ‘pit and cage’ setup in an attempt to try and curry some sympathy from him or something, to push his buttons. This seemed as good a time as any to confirm.

Before Celestia could answer Luna cut in:

“What was meant to happen to her in the first place! She will be conducted - in greater security - to Tartarus, where she will be incarcerated,” she said.

A lot of the guards shifted uncomfortably at the ‘greater security’ part because she’d glared around the room and, really, no-one had wanted to catch her eye.

“Tar-ta-rus?” Paul asked, brow furrowed. Had Cozy mentioned that? He couldn’t remember. Either age or hoof-blows to the head. “That is the prison? Like, big hole?”

“I suppose you could categorise it as such…” Celestia said. She wasn’t wholly happy with it existing, even if she knew it had to, and was certainly not happy that anyone had to get put into it, least of all a child. In an ideal world it wouldn’t have to be there, but, sadly, it did.

Paul’s brow knotted further.

“In cage?” He asked.

“Well, yes…” Celestia said, clearly even more unhappy about this particular detail but not able to deny it, either, glancing to one side.

At this a nearby knot of guards parted, revealing that Cozy had actually been there the whole time, and been there in a tiny little kiddy cage to boot.

And despite what she’d said once about it not being that big of a deal, the absolutely crushed look on her face kind of suggested that it was perhaps a bigger deal than she had been willing to admit.

Assuming she wasn’t just putting it on, of course. Or wasn’t just sad she’d lost her hat.

And not that it mattered either way. On seeing this Paul’s eyes had widened then, a second later, he’d launched himself in her direction and through whatever guards happened to be in the way at the time, elbowing, kicking and kneeing his way across the room even as shouting guards immediately dogpiled onto him.

“You bastards! You complete and utter bastards! You DID put her in a cage! That’s bullshit! She’s just a kid! Kids don’t get better in a cage! What kind of chance is that giving her? What the hell do you think you’re playing at?! You fucks let her out of that right now! I’ll fucking have you! Everyone wearing a crown in this room can GET FUCKED! I’ll chew through the bars with my fucking TEETH if I have to! Get off me you cunts!”

Of course, since this had been delivered (at some volume) in angry, snarling English from beneath a pile of bodies there were only two people in the room who understood a word, and one of them was the one shouting it all. Cozy rather appreciated it though, all told. Particularly the swearing.

The guards were very enthusiastic in their efforts at restraining Paul. Vocal, too.

“He’s spry for an old man!”
“Hold his legs!”
“I think he bit me!”
“Ow, this part’s metal!”

All of which struggling came to an abrupt halt when, with a light tinkling sound, golden light enveloped everyone involved and hoiked them all into the air. The guards - sheepish - were all set down gently in a row. Paul though stayed suspended, and was brought over to Celestia.

Hovering and held in the air in front of her, Paul couldn’t do a whole lot other than glare.

“Let her out,” he said.

“I’m sorry?” Celestia asked.

“Let. Her. Out. Out of cage! Should not - child - not in -”

His frustration was getting the better of him here, and his ability to be articulate was suffering as a result. Growling, he gave up on that.

“Hey, Cozy,” he called out instead. Cozy’s ear twitched and she glanced up, still doleful. “You tell them!”

“Tell them what?”

“I - I don’t know! Something! Anything! Tell them you’re sorry! Say you’ll make it up to them or something!”

“They don’t care.”

“Piss and shit, why is everyone in charge always such a fucking moron!”

“You understand what he is saying?” Celestia asked, looking over to Cozy.

Cozy nodded.

“He taught me. It’s fine, I told you it was fine. I can work with this. It’s fine,” she said.

He just held his hands up, even as some of his fidgeting started to cause him to rotate in place. Celestia had to correct for this.

“Shh, I’m thinking…” He said.

“Are you-” Celestia started to ask.

“Shh! I am thinking!” Paul snapped, holding up a finger on both manacled hands to get his point across. Celestia was brought up short.

That sort of thing didn’t happen to her that often.

“Not exactly sure what there is for you to think about, rea-” she started.

“Wait, I’ve got it! I am to be punished, yes?” He asked.

Celestia blinked at him. Slowly.

“Yes,” she said. Paul gestured to Cozy with both hands, pointing.

“Put me in cage in hole with child. Other cage, not same cage. Oh I hope that didn’t come out sounding wrong...”

Celestia looked to Luna then to Twilight, but neither of them had any better idea of what was happening than she did.

“Sorry? Would you care to repeat that, I don’t think I fully followed you,” she said.

“What? What are you doing?!” Cozy practically squawked from the sidelines, fluttering in agitation.

“It’s a good idea!” Paul said to her before turning back to Celestia. “Put me in cage next to other cage in hole with child. Tar-ta-rus, hmm? Put me there.”

“This is not a good idea!” Cozy shouted. Frowning, Paul turned to properly argue with her.

“It’s a brilliant idea! I’ve probably been in worse places. And someone has to look after you, damn kid. You sure aren’t looking after yourself!” He yelled.

“This isn’t going to slow me down! I don’t need looking after!” She shouted back.

“Yes you bloody do! Or company at least! Someone to get you to come out of your own bloody head and actually look at the world. Someone telling you ‘no’ every once in a while never hurt anybody. Not going to let them just toss you into some dank pit all on your own!”

Cozy hesitated a moment before shouting back, if only because what Paul was saying and suggesting was so utterly and completely baffling to her. Perfectly in keeping with how weird he acted normally, of course, but that just made it worse. Why was he this way?! What did she do?! Why did he keep doing things like this?! For her?! Why?!

“T-that’s stupid! You’re being stupid! Just go! Just let them take me!”

“No!”

They likely would have continued this had they not both found their mouths magically clamped shut.

“Not wishing to be rude, but could you please - for now - speak in such a way as everypony present can understand? Given Cozy’s previous behaviour it might be unwise to allow her an avenue of planning such as this, public though it may be,” Celestia said.

To put it mildly. Better safe than sorry.

“She is not plotting! She is being dumb kid!” Paul said once his gag vanished.

“Me?! I’m being dumb?! You’re the one wanting to get thrown into Tartarus when you don’t have to?! What is wrong with you?!” Cozy screeched having managed to pull the magical gag (hers having most certainly not gone away) enough away from her mouth to do so.

“Is brilliant plan!” Paul yelled back.

Cozy would likely have responded but the gag snapped back and got bigger, and Celestia - gently - turned Paul’s head so his attention was back on her again.

“Why would you want me to do this? Who is Cozy Glow to you?” She asked.

“Me? Stranger. She is strange child. But smart. Child does not know what is good for her. Know no child does, but this child especially. Wants to keep making mistakes. Dumb mistakes!” He said, glowering sideways over at Cozy. Cozy, in turn, looked for all the world as though she was trying to pry the bars apart by hoof so she could fly over and throttle him.

“Argh!” She screamed, loud even when it was muffled.

Celestia absorbed this.

“You’re interested in her reformation?” She asked.

That last word took Paul a second to parse, and once he did he blanched.

“What? No. No! Just think child should have chance, is all. And think that if she gets put into hole she will come out worse. A waste. What a waste! Smart child! Could do much, if she tried! I can go in hole no problem, already worse enough. But she could be better! If she just tried! Cannot try in cage!”

Celestia gave Paul a very hard, lingering look and he couldn’t help shake the impression she was peering into him more deeply than he felt comfortable with. Kind of made his skin crawl. She then turned to engage in hushed, whispered discussion with the other two. This Paul did not appreciate either.

“I am still waiting,” he grumbled, turning slowly in midair. At least it had taken the weight off his legs.

Their conferring went on a few minutes longer and seemed in parts to get rather heated, at least as far as whispering can be said to get heated. At length their little huddle broke and they all took up position again, Paul finding himself lowered back down to the ground, magic fading.

“What?” He asked, bluntly. They looked expectant and he’d rather they just get on with it.

“We feel that we may - may - have arrived at a very tentative alternative solution,” Celestia said.

This sort of thing was never a good start, in Paul’s experience. If someone in charge wasn’t outright telling you what horrible thing they had planned it usually implied they had something worse than normal up their sleeve and just wanted to be coy about it.

Not that horses had sleeves, as a rule. But still. Point remained. Couldn’t ever trust anyone in charge. They never got there by being nice.

“What?” He asked again, wary this time.

“We would be willing to forgo imprisoning Cozy Glow if and only if you took her into your care and took personal responsibility for her...improvement.”

Paul blinked, then went for the hat trick:

"What?”

“Under very, very, very close supervision,” chipped in the small one.

“Very close supervision,” Celestia agreed, nodding. “You would be asked to live either in or around Canterlot, with oversight and regular visits from an appointed representative and measures would be taken to prevent - to ensure that Cozy remains where she is supposed to.”

Paul could not believe what he was hearing. This was so much worse than his idea!

“What? No! No no no! Bad idea! No!” He said, looking from one of them to the other in quick succession, looking for a hint of a coming punchline.

He liked a joke as much as the next man but this wasn’t funny!

“I think she could benefit from a role model. I think she already has,” Celestia said, looking over to Cozy who, despite herself, couldn’t quite meet the Princess’s eye. She wanted to! Oh how she wanted to! How she wanted to glare and seethe!

But her heart just wasn’t quite as in it as it once had been. Weird.

Probably just because if she made a scene now they might take this very, very, soft and cushy option off the table. And that would be bad. It wasn’t that she wanted to be passed into Paul’s care - who would?! - it was just that it was better than Tartarus. Much cushier. Assuming he upped his food game.

Yeah. She bought that.

And quite what Celestia was basing this observation on was probably one of those things that’s only immediately obvious to someone who’s been alive a very long time.

Paul was busy sputtering.

“Role model?! No, no, no role model! I am warning! Warning!” He said, rapping a finger against his chest loudly.

“Yeah he’s not that great,” Cozy said.

Apparently once she’d screamed herself hoarse and exhausted the gag had vanished, and she was now back to hanging partway through the bars, languidly. Paul pointed over at her.

“See? Child knows,” he said.

“Should see what he calls dinner…”

“Not the time, child!”

“He snores, too.”

Paul turned, outraged.

“Me? Me snore! Should hear yourself, child! Sawing logs! Tiny child, such noise! Some nights I worry they hear us from miles!”

Cozy’s turn to be outraged.

“That’s not true!”

This likely would have kept going had the pair of them not found themselves gagged again, Paul’s attention once against gently but firmly back towards Celestia.

“Are you truly committed to seeing that Cozy Glow receive a second chance?” She asked, and Paul’s gag vanished again.

“I - well - yes - but - in principle, yes! But idea is bad idea! Bad plan! Not good! Someone else! Anyone else! Horse! Find horse! Any horse! Any horse better than me! Parents! Child must have parents, yes? Find parents!”

Everyone present chose to ignore this last part, or just didn’t hear it. Certainly, no comment was drawn to it. Just glossed over completely. Kind of weird, actually.

“It is unlikely that we would be able to find anypony else willing, and it is equally unlikely we would find anypony as able,” Celestia said.

Again, what she was basing this on was very unclear.

“But - but - no - bad!” Paul stammered.

The sheer profusion of reasons why it wasn’t good was so overwhelming he couldn’t quite order his thoughts. Him? Him?! Looking after a child?! Were they insane? Had they not seen him?

“Tartarus remains my preferred option,” Luna said. Paul glared at her.

“That is it? Me, or hole in ground?” He asked.

“To put it bluntly, yes,” said Celestia.

Again, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what was happening.

“No! But! No! It! I - I am just some stranger! Could be dangerous! Not even horse!” He protested.

“You were willing to be imprisoned for Cozy’s sake, and you seem to have managed well enough with her until now,” Celestia pointed out.

Cozy was still alive, so Paul couldn’t really dispute that. His standards weren’t very high.

He decided to take a different tack, gesturing wildly off to the side.

“I have home! Far away from here! Far away! Cannot make me move!”

“We could move your house, if you wanted.”

Logistically only mildly difficult. They did, after all, have magic.

Paul was momentarily lost for words. How could they still be serious?

“That - that is not better! Still bad! Principle! Cannot ask me to move! Cannot make me! I am free man now! Cannot just tell what to do! Just for - just - ”

His eyes kept slipping over to Cozy, in her cage, and he kept thinking of how, if he didn’t, she’d be staying in that cage. Worse, staying in that cage underground, somewhere where the light couldn’t find her. Until when? No-one had seemed to even mention that yet. The implication - Paul at least - seemed to be that there wasn’t a when.

They’d fucking trapped him again. Fucking people in charge. They always did this! Always!

Agreeably never...emotionally blackmailing him into looking after a child before, that much he could admit was new. Normally they just told him to build something lethal with the implication being that if he didn’t they’d break some part of him that wasn’t vital for working. But still! It was still the same!

And those fucking Princess horses just kept staring at him! He snarled, threw his arms up.

“This is no way to run a country! You are all mad!”

“I do not wish to rush you, Paul, but this is a time-sensitive decision,” Celestia said.

He glared at her. He glared at the other two. He glared at the guards. He glared over at Cozy but couldn’t hold it on her because she was there, hanging off the bars of her cage, eyes huge, expectant, hoping…

“_{Fucking cunning horse giving me the big eyes, tricky fucking kid why not just slit my throat now.} Fine. Hmph. Fine! Yes! I will do your plan. What choice do I have? You fucking bastard horses! Stupid plan. I will do it,” he grunted.

If nothing else, Paul trusted himself more at keeping an eye on Cozy than any of these idiots. He wasn’t happy about it, but he was taking what he could get.

“Should anything happen that looks to be even remotely related to Cozy Glow, we shall be holding you personally responsible,” Luna said, sternly. Paul shrugged. This stipulation wasn’t a huge surprise and he wasn’t especially intimidated.

“Sounds about right. Shoot me now. Save time,” he said.

“Hey!” Cozy piped up. He turned her way.

“I’m not repudiating you, Cozy, I’m just saying that was a bad thing for them to do! Making me responsible! This is what I was talking about! People in charge! Fuckers! Fuckers the lot of them! _{Shit I’m swearing at her again said I wouldn’t do that...}”

“Oh. Repudiating is the telling off one, isn’t it? So you don’t think I’ll do anything bad?” She asked, brightly, ignoring most of the rest of what he’d said. Paul frowned at her.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, head getting tilted back Celestia’s way a moment later.

“Paul. Language,” she said softly.

“I would show you language, horse, if I could swear in horse-tongue,” he growled.

“...I don’t know what to say to that,” she said.

She really didn’t.

And for all of Cozy’s brightness and bluster here, internally she was utterly unsettled. None of what had just happened made a whole lot of sense. She couldn’t quite fit it together. The bits and pieces were there, in her head, but scattered, jumbled, and she couldn’t make them work. Not yet at least.

The general idea though seemed to be seeping through. Something about having someone who’d prefer to see a world with her in it than a world with her out of it, and a world where she was happy or trying to find out how to be happy rather than one where she did something that made no-one happy, not even herself.

This confused her and made no sense, sure. In the abstract she could kind of picture it, but much the same way one can picture something and not make heads or tails of it. And still it sat there in her head. Kind of warm. Kind of confusing. Impossible to shift.

Threw all her normal, other thoughts severely out of whack, that was for sure. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how to plot revenge now! She kept hitting a block of how Paul would just be there, shaking his head at her and it all fell apart! And for some reason she cared about that!

What was that about?!

Well, at least she had time now to properly pick at it. She was sure, given time, she’d work it out and be right back on track! Everything ticking along just as it was supposed to!

...eventually. No need to rush it, right?

She could probably afford to take her time. Yeah! Yeah. Where was the harm in that?

“Now Paul, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Celestia asked. Paul set his jaw.

“Do not want to do, have to do. Apparently,” he said.

“You should not feel you have-” Celestia started but Paul raised his hands and cut her off:

“Is done! Done! Said yes!”

She was starting to get a little annoyed at him doing that. Not that she let this show, of course. She’d lived long enough to simply glide over such things.

“As you say. Very well. Starting now, Cozy Glow is in your charge.”

Nothing signed, apparently nothing else needing to be done, just a decree. Yep, sounded right to Paul. Crowns, fucking crowns. This at least felt familiar, in theory if not in the full details.

“Hoo-ray,” he said through his teeth, rubbing his wrists as a quick flash of gold unlocked his manacles and sent them clattering to the floor by his feet.

Celestia gave a nod to those guards standing around Cozy’s cage and, though they clearly looked as though they doubted the wisdom of this decision, they did as was implied and unlocked it.

“Watch her,” Luna said sternly, eyeing the guards who all braced for action.

Unconcerned about this or about everypony (not everyone) in the room glaring daggers at her Cozy burst from the now-open cage, took to the air, pulled off a loop or two and then, once directly above Paul, dropped like a stone.

“Catch me!” She shouted.

He did, much against his better judgement, sticking out his arms into which Cozy promptly fell.

“Whee! You caught me!” She said happily, nuzzling into him. Paul grimaced.

“You are pushing your luck,” he said, eyes darting around. He for one was concerned that everyone was watching him. They’d think he was soft! Cozy stopped nuzzling, stuck her tongue out and leaned away from him, prodding him in the chest with a hoof.

“And you need a shower!” She said.

Paul sighed.

“I have made dreadful mistake.”

Celestia actually managed a small smile from seeing that (though she was alone in this) and turned about, the other two silently following suit. Paul got the idea he was meant to follow and - grumpily, still holding Cozy - did so.

“Come, we shall discuss the details. Now are you sure you’d like us to bring your home? It is eminently possible, but are you sure you would not prefer something more bespoke?” Celestia asked. Paul bristled at such a question.

“Is my house! Yes! Bring shed too. Shed important,” he said.

It wasn’t, he was just grumpy and wanted to make everyone’s life as difficult as possible. Celestia was entirely unruffled, simply taking this detail onboard with a small nod.

“We can accommodate that,” she said.

Cozy wriggled about happily. Not even pretending this time! She was happy!

Because...because…

...because she’d got away with it! Yes! Yes that was the one!

Had to be.

“Yay! House! You fooled them good, Paul! Can I get a bed in my room when they drag it down here? Ooh! Can I decorate my room? Can you help me paint it? We’re gonna have so much fun!” She said, all four legs flailing in delight.

Paul was less thrilled.

“Keep this up, Cozy, and you won’t live to see thirteen.”

“Um, he just threatened to kill me,” Cozy said, waving a hoof like someone waving a hand to attract attention.

“Please don’t threaten to kill children, Paul, even the misbehaving ones,” Celestia said, beatifically.

Paul growled, looked down at the child now curled up in his arms, her eyes closed, told himself that whatever weird, squishy feelings he was feeling were just lying figments of his imagination that she wanted there and muttered:

“Should have gone for reward...”

Well that happened.

Likely could have happened better, mind.

Paul stomped through the kitchen, saddlebags in one hand, stick in the other.

The stick was for the bad days. Today was a bad day, hence the stick. Not that he was letting it slow him down very much. Slinging the bags onto the kitchen table he swung around for a weighty paper-wrapped package before swinging right back round again and cramming it into the bags.

“Alright, so that’s lunch. And there’s a snack, too. I did make a snack. Where’s the snack?”

Lunch in this instance not being his trademark ‘It is good for you!’ slop but rather something more pony-friendly involving flowers and other nonsense he resented having to have learnt about. At least it kept complaints to a minimum, he supposed.

Cozy, who had been following him this whole time, jumped up and put a smaller paper-wrapped package in front of him, also on the table.

“Here,” she said. He packed it.

“Right, good. So that’s those. What else are you going to need…”

“Come oonnn! I’m gonna be llaaaaattteee! The others are waaaaaiitttiiinnggg!”

“Steady on, Cozy, don’t want to be sending you off half-cocked, do I?”

“We’re not even going far! We’ll be back before it gets dark! Coommmeee ooonnn!”

Cozy continued to have a curfew, which was why she was going to be back before it got dark. Also why anytime a sleepover occured (as one would be later, once she returned) it happened at hers. Or Paul’s, rather. Paul’s house that she lived in, making it also hers in an oblique sort of a way. Her home, you could say.

The same three kids she was going out with today were the ones who would be sleeping over, and who had done so a few times previously.

There was an orange-y one, a white one with a pointy bit and one with a bow. Paul had been told their names several times now but they kept slipping out of his head. He just referred to them all as ‘Child’ individually when he had to and ‘Children’ when as a unit. Pointing was also involved.

Apparently - according to Cozy - she and those three went back aways. They were the ones she’d shut in a cupboard, she said, though they seemed to have more-or-less put that behind them, at least if the deafeningly-loud, all-night-long giggling sessions they had nowadays were anything to go by.

Kids! Could forgive anything! Or not, sometimes. Like flipping a coin, really.

Like life.

Looking down at the child hopping from hoof-to-hoof in excitement by his feet, Paul frowned.

“I was going to pack you a cagoule but I suppose you can do without. What about a hat? Will you need a hat?”

“Do you guys need any help back there or what?” Came a scratchy voice from the front of the house.

“I’m coming!” Cozy called back, leaping up to snatch the saddlebags and swing them over herself in one surprisingly deft movement, trotting out the kitchen with Paul staggering close behind, weight on his stick with every other step.

“What about the hat?” He asked, concerned.

“Forget the hat!”

He followed her through to the front part of the house (still the shop part) and there found the three young girls he was passingly familiar with (all engaged in ogling the toys, something they did every time they came over) and some rainbow-haired mare he did not know the name of and did not care to know the name of.

Nominally she was there to act as the supervising adult presence for all four of the kids on their trip out today, in reality she was really there to mostly keep an eye on Cozy.

For while she’d made progress - considerable progress, by all accounts - it was likely that Cozy would never really be able to fully make up for the damage she’d done to the trust everyone had had in her, or at least not for a long, long time.

Still, getting better every day, and Paul believed she was trying, albeit in her own singular way. That he believed this was all that seemed to matter to Cozy anyway. Not that she’d admit it.

“Hello Mr Cozy,” the trio of kids said to Paul in chorus. They kept doing that.

“No no children, Paul, Paul,” he said, tapping a finger against his chest. “Try again.”

“Hello Mr Paul,” the trio of kids said to Paul in chorus.

“...better. Cozy, Cozy?” He then said, getting her attention.

“Yeah?” She asked.

With a wince and a groan he heaved down onto one knee and beckoned for Cozy to come in closer, which she did.

“Okay. Now. What is it we say, Cozy?” He asked.

This they’d practised.

“Don’t let the bastards grind you down!” She replied, one hoof raised high. He gave it an awkward bump. That they hadn’t practised, and even if they had Paul would still probably be bad at it.

“That’s right!”

Paul had never considered bastard a swear word, personally, and even if he had he felt that the wisdom here was important enough to be worth bending the rules a little. And with this tidbit delivered he heaved right back up again, albeit with slightly more difficulty - always harder getting back up!

“Ready to go?” The rainbow-one asked Cozy, who nodded brightly.

“Yep!”

“Good! Finally! Let’s go!” The rainbow-one said, leaping up into the air, flapping.

“Hey hey. You. Wait,” Paul said, motioning for the rainbow-one and waving the kids off. Cozy was already sharing the snack with the others, something Paul didn’t know whether to be annoyed about or proud of.

“Yeah?” The rainbow-one asked. She didn’t really have the measure of Paul or any real idea of who or what he was, beyond the lunatic creature who’d agreed to babysit Cozy Glow for whatever reason and who - by all accounts - was apparently doing an adequate job.

Paul bent down closer towards her and pointed through the window over to where the kids were waiting some distance away, still happily sharing out the snack.

“If Cozy hurt, will be angry. Track you down, make machine to wake you up early every weekend until end of your life. Yes?”

Machines that flew were tricky, but not impossible. He could do it if he had to.

“Geeze, okay! She’ll be fine! You really care about her that much, huh?” The rainbow-one asked.

He recoiled at the mere suggestion.

“What? No! I - just that if Cozy hurt, I blamed. That all. Keep safe, yes?”

“She won’t leave my sight. Trust me,” the rainbow-one said, casting glances out the window towards Cozy who was, at that moment, laughing harmlessly. But with her that could really mean anything.

“Hmph. Good. You can go,” Paul said, waving her off. She didn’t need telling twice.

The bell jangled and out she went, catching up with the kids and leading them off through the gate set into the wall that circled the compound into which Paul’s house had been moved. The gate on which both sides were posted guards, the compound over which a great net had been stretched, on the off-chance Cozy felt like going for a nice leisurely escape.

Paul found this setup a huge imposition and a ridiculous overreaction. He'd argued at length (and often volume) with the Big White One on how this was not an environment likely to yield positive results on the development of a child and the Big White One had agreed. Sadly though, she had not budged. Apparently they wanted at least some idea of where Cozy was.

And as loathe as he was to agree with anyone in a position of authority Paul could kind of - distantly, dimly and with great reluctance - see their point. He knew that Cozy wouldn’t do anything, not really, but he still didn’t trust her - a position he understood perfectly but couldn’t ever have hoped to actually explain to anyone.

By now he’d mostly stopped caring anyway. It was what it was, you could never change the mind of anyone in charge and while you could probably make an argument for it being a big cage, really, the alternative hardly bore thinking about.

And Cozy seemed happy, he supposed. Which was kind of the main thing. Unless she was pretending. If so, she was doing a very good job. Damn kid was always smiling these days. Paul couldn't quite understand it, honestly. But he could put up with whatever happened if it helped her keep it up.

Best not to complain too much anyway. Things could, as always, be worse. Sit on the log and say it's naff, get an eel. Mock the eel, get the heron, then you're fucked.

Still, ultimately, you had to laugh, didn’t you?

And with Cozy and her friends gone and out of sight Paul sighed, shuffled over to his stool, sat himself down and set about working. Because that was what he did.

Credit where it was due, Cozy had been right - moving to a bigger city (or, strictly speaking, just outside a bigger city) had indeed done wonders for his commercial potential.

This important pony’s child had seen this other child playing with this toy and heard that that toy was made by this weird alien who was doing this thing for that villain and etcetera etcetera.

Result? Demand, and lots of work for Paul to supply the supply. Enough to keep him happily occupied those times he wasn’t grunting at Cozy, at least. And money, he supposed, certainly sufficient funds to cover the decoration of her room which he had indeed helped to paint.

And speaking of Cozy - again, as Paul often seemed to find himself doing these days, even when she wasn’t around - an example of her attempts at Paul’s very particular style of toymaking sat overlooking his place of work these days, lopsided and half-finished, on a shelf where he would glance up at it every so often and smile to himself.

He imagined - at some point in the future when they were all languishing under her iron hoof, brutalised by her magical clockwork constructs - that he would come to regret teaching Cozy a few tricks of his trade, but he was only human and could only have held out against her pouting for so long.

Besides, in contrast to her usual ability to pick up just about anything in no time at all, she wasn’t very good at it, much to Paul’s continued amusement and her endless frustration. Seemed that only he had the knack. Fine by him.

Well, mostly.

Previously he had been more than happy imagining his particular talents passing from the world when he did. Lately though he had entertained - idly, briefly - the ludicrous idea that maybe possibly, were she amenable, Cozy could maybe continue the fami- the business.

It’d keep her out of trouble, after all, and keep her in pocket.

But no, no. Silly idea. She was just putting it all on anyway, all this niceness. And besides she wasn’t that good anyway. Yet. Maybe. It could change if she put a little more time into it. But it was a silly idea anyway. Not sure why it kept popping up, honestly.

That aside, overall, if he had to admit it, Paul might say that life right now was adequate. Okay. Pretty good. Alright.

Acceptable.

Cocooned in his thoughts and concentrating on his work as he was, Paul failed to notice the sound of Cozy surreptitiously flapping up behind him from the kitchen, only noticing when - with a squeal - she plunged and wrapped around the back of his head.

“Love you, dad!”

“Gerroff, Cozy! And don’t call me that! I told you!”

The ‘dad’ thing was Cozy’s latest wheeze to get under his skin, having only started a couple of months ago. He’d clamped down on it the moment she’d first tried it, of course, but she still gave it a shot here or there, plainly doing her best to wriggle even deeper into his grudging affections than she already had.

It was a good thing that she was clearly kidding, too, because if she was being serious about it then Paul wouldn’t have known what to think.

So that was lucky, then.

Reaching back Paul peeled a giggling Cozy off himself and dangled her by the scruff of the neck in front of him, doing his best to look unimpressed by her sneaking abilities. She’d only got him because he’d not been paying attention - normally she never got close!

“Thought you were worried about being late,” he said.

“I am! But I’m also worried about not saying goodbye properly!”

Paul knew what this meant, and knew there wasn’t a whole lot of point in resisting. Sighing, he released his grip on her and a moment later she thumped into him, trying and failing to wrap her hooves around his middle. She never could manage, but she always did try.

“I’m not buying this for a second, I hope you understand,” Paul grumbled, but that only made her snuggle in harder.

“That’s okay,” she said.

This persisted and, eventually, gingerly, Paul put an arm around her in turn. One arm! Just one! And just to get it over with! Cozy hummed happily, and Paul was in serious danger of actually smiling before he decided that this had clearly gone on long enough and used both hands to firmly but delicately remove her.

“Aww,” she said, pouting, held before him.

He wasn’t falling for that one. Not this time. Turning her about he dropped her onto the worksurface - safely, mind - and pointed to the front door.

“Off! Away with you, child! Daylight’s burning! Off! Go!” He said.

Cozy zipped to the door with a:

“I’m going, I’m going!”

And was then off and away.

“You better be! And you better go and have fun, you hear? I want to hear about it when you get back!” He shouted through cupped hands before the door swung shut again.

Once it did, things were much quieter.

Briefly - only briefly - Paul reflected on what a strange turn his life had taken of late. Which, given what life had thrown at him up until this point, was saying something. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, really, but the more he reflected the more he felt himself leaning towards a conclusion, so he stopped reflecting on that.

Instead, he reflected on how he’d have to make food for those fucking kids when they got back, too, and put up with all the giggling throughout the night. At least he’d had another bathroom fitted with some of that sweet, sweet success money so he wasn’t woken up every five fucking minutes by tiny kids with tiny bladders forcing him to hop out of the room he slept in while they used the facilities.

Still though…

Still...

Shaking his head he upped tools and got back to work, smirking.

“Damn kid...be the death of me yet…”

A little daft, but where's the harm in that?

And of course, parental upgrade cribbed in essence mercilessly from SoloBrony's Never Alone, a far deeper pull from the well and what made me want to do this one in the first place!

But enough of this gay banter, STRIKE THE SET!

We're done here, roll it up come on people!

Don't you all have homes to get to?