The town hall was packed as far as the eye could see. Ponies of every race, every age, every size and every colour from every town in Equestria filled the large meeting room, which looked absolutely exquisite for the occasion. And WHAT an occasion: the Summer Sun Celebration was going to be held in Ponyville this year, and not just any Summer Sun Celebration, either. This celebration would mark the 1000th anniversary of the celebrations, and Ponyville was very lucky to be hosting such a historic event.

Nopony was more excited than one light blue pegasus in particular, cutting a path through the crowds of chattering ponies. Occasionally he would bump into another pony, or accidently stand on a hoof, but always followed such incidents with “My most sincere apologies sir/madam.” He knew he should have been looking where he was going, as it is the proper thing to do, after all, but he simply couldn’t take his eyes off the decorations. They complimented the architecture beautifully, and whilst Weatherstorm had been in the Ponyville town hall many times before during his time as a journalist, covering all sorts of events, he had never seen the old building look as divine as it did tonight. His mind began to wander as he made his way to the front of the hall: he had a few comments hurled at him such as, “What gives you the right to butt in?” and “Quit pushing, Specks,” but these promptly ceased once they caught a glimpse of the shiny, laminated 'VIP: Press' badge hanging around his neck, and the reporter’s notepad and quill tucked safely underneath his wing.

The decorations did look beautiful. ‘Almost,’ thought Weatherstorm, ‘as beautiful as the mare who designed them.’

He took his place at the very front row, with the very important guests and those wealthy enough to afford a place with such a view. He came to a stop beside Canterlot fashion icon Fancypants and his ‘escort’, the stunning Fluer de Lis. Although Fancypants seemed like a fine gentlecolt and all round nice fellow, the pegasus couldn’t help but wonder why somepony like Fluer de Lis, that was young and good looking, and with so much life ahead of them, would choose to spend all of their time with an old man such as him.

‘I guess some ponies will do anything for money,’ he found himself thinking. Fancypants smiled down at him. Weatherstorm smiled back. No further interactions were made.

Looking around the stage, the journalist instantly recognized some other familiar faces, such as Sapphire Shores a row behind him, or Hoity Toity on one of the upper balconies, laughing and drinking with his filthy rich friends. Few of those he recognized had he interviewed himself years ago, most he saw glaring at him from the glossy covers of ‘Canterlot Weekly’ magazine. Working for a fairly small newspaper in a fairly small town meant that he rarely had the chance to speak to anypony interesting: most days his material was limited to writing about stray cats getting stuck up trees, or the occasional case of slipper theft, and that was it. There were several other journalists around him. He quickly scanned the badges around their necks: there were press here from Canterlot Weekly, The Manehattan Times, The Cloudsdale Chronicle, The Fillydelphia Tribune... some from even further afield, like the Trottingham Daily, to name a few. It really emphasised what a big event this was. The small town writer felt a little out of his depth with so many well known, successful people around. The only reason he was getting special treatment was because the festivities were taking place in his hometown: were this taking place in the capital of Canterlot, as it does most years, he would have been shoved to the back of the room.

Not that he was complaining at present: he did, after all, have a beautiful view: and he wasn’t just talking about the view of the stage.

Rarity stood on the top balcony, leaning over the handrail with all the elegance and beauty of a swan.

“A little to the left,” she sang to two pegasi moving company workers below who were carrying a grand piano up to the balcony, flicking her perfectly stylized mane behind her. “That’s fine. Keep it coming...”

Weatherstorm felt his heart skip a beat: he wasn’t attracted to mares all that much, but that isn’t to say he was attracted to stallions, either (despite what some of his friends said.) He didn’t really see the sense in romance: it never turned out like in the novels he so frequently read, where the right thing is said at the right time, and it always ended happily. That was just plain unrealistic, in his opinion. The journalist liked his life to be his own, and his alone. His friends oft teased him of his views on love, and called him rather cynical when it came to romance and family. But he had never had his heart broken, and opted to keep it that way.

They called him cynical, he called himself a realist.

Rarity, on the other hand, was a completely different matter altogether. She made him feel ALIVE. He had known her for quite some time, but she didn’t really know him all that well in return. Sure, he called into the Carousel boutique every so often and whilst there they would talk: he interested in her art of dressmaking, and she in his job as a wordsmith. She once told him, “They are both arts, in a way.” He’ll never forget that. Just remembering that little smile she gave him made his heart flutter. Their conversations rarely went any further than that and she had yet to discover his true feelings for her. Even so, he was enjoying this moment of peaceful isolation, staring up at her glorious figure.

“Ooh, so you like Rarity, do ‘ya? I thought you didn’t believe in love! She is hot though, I’ll give you that.”

Weatherstorm blushed, and sighed. Scratch that: he USED to be enjoying this moment of peaceful isolation until Belove showed up.

The pegasus turned to the figure of a dark red earth pony standing behind him. “You’re twisting my words, Belove. I didn’t say that. I just said I’m not really attracted to every mare that passes me by...”

“...Because you’re a colt cuddler,” the other pony laughed. He spoke with a broad, Hiberno-Equestrian accent, deep and low, and sounded every bit a country pony. “It’s okay, ‘Stormy. I get it. You don’t need to hide your feelings. I know you dig me.”

Weatherstorm rolled his eyes. “Huh. Don’t flatter yourself.” Belove was larger and better built in comparison to Weatherstorm, with broader shoulders and a manly squared jaw and nose. He looked very masculine, and you could tell by his biceps that he was no stranger to physical exercise. Weatherstorm would try to tell him that pegasi use their wings to travel more than their hooves, but Belove would always reply with “Then why are your wings so puny?” He looked the typical soldier: tall and dark, with a strong body and very hard headed. His cutie mark, a shining gold medallion, proved he liked to be the very best. Whilst his short cut mane was covered by his guard’s helmet, his cropped brown tail was visible out the back of his immaculate armour. Although less earth ponies joined the Ponyville guard than pegasi or unicorns, they were not uncommon. At least he was doing his part to help break racial stereotypes, just as Weatherstorm believed he was doing – after all, how many of the other journalists in the room belonged to his race, the Pegusi? Very few. The general assumption from some in Equestria was that most earth ponies became farmers, most pegasi became weather ponies and most unicorns became scholars. And he had learnt in his travels all over the globe that such accusations could not be more wrong.

“Besides,” the reporter continued, “what do you mean 'she’s hot?' You had a marefriend, last time I checked.”

“Aye, but that doesn’t mean I can’t say that other ponies are hot, though. I’m sure my Fuzzyhead does the same thing about the occasional stallion.”

Weatherstorm sighed and smiled. His soldier friend had an answer to everything. Winning an argument against him was nigh impossible: he would defend his case to the death if need be, and beyond. “I seriously doubt she does. Besides, looks aren’t everything.” He turned back to his love and felt his heart turn to mush. “Rarity is absolutely gorgeous, to that there is no doubt, but she’s also... funny and... charming... generous.”

He was brought back to Equestira by the deafening smash as a grand piano collided with the marble floor, spitting white keys like broken teeth and wooden splinters everywhere. A shrill squeak escaped one of the guests, a small and timid yellow pegasus with a bubblegum pink mane.

The heavy instrument landed mere centimetres from a group of high society guests, who looked in disgust at the debris before ‘tsk-tsk-ing’ and walking away, their noses held snobbishly high in the air.

The first worker looked down at the once grand piece of art that was now just in pieces, then back up at Rarity.

“Uh...,” he stammered, his caramel brown wings beating furiously. “Did you say ‘right’ or ‘left’?”

Weatherstorm face-hoofed. This wasn’t the first time that his friend Derky Bells had embarrassed himself at a public place. It was also why he couldn’t hold a job down.

The journalist heard the white unicorn sigh. “Left.” She said. “I said left.”

“Aaaah.” Derky nodded in understanding. “I thought you said right. But you said left.”

“Yes, I’ve established that,” smiled the unicorn sweetly. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ve got another outside, in case of...” she looked over the balcony. “Uh... ‘Unforeseen accidents.’”

The second worker, a light grey mare with a golden mane, stared at the wreckage. At least, Weatherstorm THOUGHT that she was looking down, but with her eye condition you were never sure whether she was looking at you or somepony at the other side of the street. She cringed. “I just don’t know what went wrong...”

Derky was quick to explain. “She told us to go left, but we went right.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe,” Rarity called down to the two workers. “We could use a third pegasus to hold the other side?”

Weatherstorm’s stomach did a summersault. He knew what way this was going to turn out, and he didn’t like it at all, not one bit.

He attempted to slink slowly backwards into the crowd, but it was too late.

Derky swivelled around mid air. “Sure! My friend Weatherstorm is right over there, do you see him?” he pointed to the reporter who was trying to blend in with the crowd. Derky turned his head upwards to the smiling unicorn. “That’s him there. Do you see him there? Right there, beside Fancypants?” he addressed rather too loudly in the still silent hall. All heads present turned to the colt in question: Weatherstorm’s blue face went a bright pink.

‘By Celestia’s mane, why do these things always happen to me?’

“Hey, Weatherstorm!” His fellow pegasus friend cupped his mouth and called his name, which echoed throughout the room. “Hey! It’s me! Derky! Your friend! Come help me move a piano!”

Weatherstorm felt everyone in the room stare at him. He heard some whispers of disapproval somewhere behind him. Up in one of the balconies, he heard somepony laugh: a cruel, mocking jeer. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened: he had gone from enjoying a quiet bliss to being publically laughed at in the space of around 10 seconds, without the faintest notion of how that transpired. That must be a new record.

He looked back to find Belove had somehow disappeared and was now standing at the left hand side of the hall with the rest of the Ponyville guard, as though he had been standing there the whole time. He wouldn’t make eye contact.

Wearily, Weatherstorm took a deep breath and flew slowly past the rows of gaping nobles, over to his friend whom was still beckoning to him with an outstretched hoof. The blushing blue stallion stopped at the edge of the balcony and found himself staring into those beautiful, gentle, feminine eyes. “Uh... hello, M... Miss Rarity.” It felt like the butterflies in his stomach were having a house party, and everyone was invited.

Weatherstorm mentally cursed himself: why did he always turn to jelly whilst talking to her, and her alone? Why did he never know what to say?

The dressmaker gave him one of her trademark smiles. “Good evening. Would you be so kind as to help your friend here carry the other piano inside whilst I take care of this... slight mishap?” Her hypnotising blue eyes sparkled as they fell over the mess of broken wood and shattered chords below her. “It seems to me that it might be a three pony job.”

Weatherstorm took a deep breath, then released it. He was going to be cool, calm and collected, and reply in a civilized manner that a truly magnificent lady like Rarity deserved.

“Yes.” His voice cracked a little as the one syllable word barely managed to escape his mouth. He mentally cursed himself yet again: he just had to go and make a fool of himself in front of the mare of his dreams, now, didn’t he?

His train of thought derailed as Rarity leaned over the handrail and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. For a moment he thought he had imagined it, but then he realized that even his imagination could not simply create such a beautiful work of fiction. He felt his face turn from a light pink to a dark red. He didn’t care. Nor did he care that a simple kiss on the cheek is nothing more than a sign of goodwill. As far as he was concerned, he was never going to wash that cheek again. Although his brain was going into a complete meltdown, he rethought that last part. ‘No, she wouldn’t like that at all. In fact, that would be rather ghastly...’

“Thank you. It’s just outside,” Cooed the snow-white unicorn. A second later, she disappeared behind the lavender curtain.

He heard her perfectly manicured hooves make faint, dainty little clops down a flight of unseen stairs. General chatter resumed between the guests.

Weatherstorm wasn’t sure what had happened. He had went from being publically laughed at by the elite of Equestria to being kissed by his love in the space of around 10 seconds, without the faintest notion of how that transpired.

He followed the other two pegasi outside. Before he left, however, he glanced back at Belove, standing like a stone statue amongst the other soldiers. Weatherstorm gave him a goofy, distant smile, an expression that was quite unlike him. Belove ushered him off with his hoof. Then he was gone.

Belove sighed, shook his head, and smiled. The earth pony had never seen that look in his friend’s eyes before: the poor sap looked absolutely smitten. And why shouldn’t he be? As he said earlier, Rarity was a pretty good looking mare. He never thought in a million years that ‘Stormy had a chance with her though: no offence to him, but he was just way out of her league. She seemed the sort of pony that wanted a big, tough, masculine stallion, handsome and fair: Weatherstorm was so ‘fru-fru’ on occasion that Belove sometimes questioned whether he was even a stallion at all. The soldier knew that nothing was meant from that one, small kiss, but he didn’t want to dishearten the guy. He was a nice colt and a good friend, and he wished him all the best with his farfetched fantasy.

The guard realized that he had been standing in the same spot for far too long. Furthermore, his ceremonial armour was beginning to feel REALLY heavy. He began to fidget, first by craning his neck from side to side, then stretching one hoof in front of the other. Being a pretty active pony, Belove didn’t like standing still in one place for too long: something the other guards, who shot warning glances in his direction, had mastered.

“Uuugh!” he groaned in discontent, stretching out his rear leg and narrowly missing an expensive looking china vase that was resting on a nearby decorative table. “When's this thing going to start, already?”

The guard beside him, a dark grey unicorn with straggly black hair, continued to stare straight ahead. “When the other guests have arrived, and when Her Majesty is ready.” he whispered back, his voice hushed and gruff.

Belove scoffed. “Huh! How long does it take the princess to get ready, anyway? It’s been ages now...”

The other guard gave him a death glare. “Watch your tongue, soldier. This is our princess you are talking about. Our fair and just ruler, who raises the sun in the morning so that our crops can grow, and raises the moon at night...”

Belove rolled his eyes and silently mouthed along with the unicorn. He knew every word of this little speech by now, since it was drummed into their skulls so much during training.

“...so it would do you good to show a little respect.”

The red stallion forced a sarcastic smile. “Aye, sure. I’ll watch what I say in future... SIR.” If there was one thing Belove hated, it was being told what to do. Especially by someone like this clown: he had no authority over him, so why should he patronised and treated like a misbehaving child?

When Belove decided to join the Ponyville guard, he dreamed of a life of adventure: to see other countries, travel the globe, meet new and interesting life forms, fight glorious wars and return a hero... Looking back on it now, he did manage a little smile at how disillusioned he was. For there were no conquests, no interesting new life forms, no strange, uninhabited lands. Nope. Nothing but the same old boring routines. Nothing exciting ever happened in this small town: the most he ever had to deal with were tree climbing cats, and the occasional case of slipper theft. And it had made him restless over time. Just as he was standing in that hall.

The other guard leaned over and whispered in Belove’s ear, “They're here. Look professional.”

Belove wasn’t sure when they had arrived, but there was no missing them now: maybe it was the fact that their shining gold breastplates were almost blinding him, or maybe it was the fact that the natural feel of the room was becoming far too cramped trying to shove all of that ego into one place.

The Elite Royal Bodyguards had arrived.

Belove expected a majestic bugle choir was going to welcome their arrival, accompanied by a flock of beautiful white doves, gliding through the dazzling light of their armour. They walked in a single file, each step they took in synch with one another.

All heads in the hall turned as they made their way down the carpeted aisle, and a few children cheered. Most ponies looked on in awe: even a few of the nobles seemed impressed. And the posers were lapping up all the attention.

As they took their places, lining up against the opposite side of the wall, Belove saw Captain Icarus give him a dashingly smug grin. His perfect white teeth sparkled like his deep blue eyes. Belove made a fake retching noise, receiving a few looks of disdain from his squad mates.

Captain Icarus: even saying the name made Belove’s stomach churn. The earth pony didn’t know what the big appeal was. Sure, the guy was handsome, he’d give him that: with a blindingly white coat, chiselled face and powerful wings, he looked every bit an action hero. But then again, Belove didn’t think he looked too bad, himself. Besides, it wasn’t as though Icarus was in charge of all the Royal Canterlot guard- that honour rested with Captain Shining Armour.

Not that it stopped him from acting like it, though. It was clear that the Pegasus loved himself: he was voted Canterlot Weekly’s ‘handsomest stallion’ for seven years in a row now. He would rarely be seen in public without his full set of gleaming gold armour, and what he said in the city was carried out to the letter. In a way, Belove envied him: he lived the life that he had always dreamed of with fame, fortune, mares, and excitement. He was the real deal; a pony that had won countless medals on the battlefield. Although he didn’t want to show it, Belove felt a little insecure in his presence.

The captain removed his blue feathered Corinthian helmet and shook his long, blonde mane free. A few mares squealed. Somepony near the back fainted.

Belove cringed at the corny-ness of the gesture. Who did he think he was, a prince? The small town guard barely managed to force his lunch back down. An over-glorified castle guard the pegasus was, and nothing more.

There was still no sign of the princess. And now he had to stand there, staring at that stupid face for a few more hours?

Belove could tell it was going to be a long night.

Starfire was having a hard time keeping all the schoolchildren in order. It seemed that every time he took his eyes off them, even for a split second, they would be wreaking mischief and getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. And if he turned his attention to one of the pupils, the others would be getting up to something else behind his back. He already had to apologise to more stall owners than he could even count.

The unicorn was seriously beginning to re-consider his desire to become a fully qualified school teacher: is this he really wanted to be doing for the rest of his life? Foal-sitting? No amount of bits in the world would be enough pay. Being a teacher is deceptively hard work. But with his degree, it was either this, or become a librarian; he had already made his choice.

Still, though, Cherrilee was trusting him to be the responsible adult here. And he wasn’t going to let her down, only a few weeks into his training. They were good kids, really: he penned their eccentric behaviour to the fact that it was way past their bedtimes, and they were getting a little hyperactive. He was taking them on a class trip to see the Summer Sun Celebration: it was an exciting night out for the children, not because of the cultural and historical importances, but because they rarely got out for class trips at all. And certainly not this late at night.

He had to stop and tell Snips and Snails to leave the puppy dog’s tail alone. The dog snapped at them as they passed. Starfire couldn’t help but think the animal had the right idea.

Turning his attention back to the town square, Starfire allowed himself to soak in the beauty of the quaint little village: a large river ran through the town like a snake, and right through the eerie Everfree forest that lay just beyond the city limits.

Hundreds of candle-lit streetlights were dotted around the square, casting their light upon the dirt path below like a swarm of glowbugs. Shopkeepers scurried to and fro, packing up their stalls for the night after a busy day peddling their wares.

The owner of Quills and Sofas gave him a friendly wave as he walked past, which the unicorn returned. That was one thing that struck Starfire as pleasant about Ponyville: their welcoming attitude towards strangers. He had only moved to the town around three months ago, but the friendliness of the locals made him feel instantly at home. Quite a contrast to Fillydelphia, his hometown.

He stopped near the town hall, as did his train of unruly children, and did a head count. All present and accounted for, and none too worse for the wear. Thank Celestia.

The doors to the town hall were teeming with ponies, all pushing and shoving to get in first. A few pegasi were hovering in place, trying to get a good look inside the building. The queue of chattering equines stretched back quite far back into the town, and ended near the square fountain; a large statue of a cherub pony, water trickling from its gaping mouth. Two of the local guards were standing at either door, directing the flow of ponies into the building and guiding them to their places.

"Great," the student teacher grumbled as he made his way to the back. "A line. Just what you need when you have fifteen-odd fillies and colts nipping at your hooves." The unicorn couldn’t believe he was actually using his own free time to escort a group of reckless pre-teens around: he just hoped Cheerilee was having a nice evening off.

A few more ponies lined up behind him. It seemed like everypony in Ponyville was coming to the event, and a few more besides. Hopefully, if he was seen with a class of schoolchildren, he could cut a few spaces. That was the plan, anyway.

Two mares in front of him, one an aqua green unicorn with a silver mane and the other a cream-coated earth pony with a curly, pink striped mane, amused the children for a while by telling them a ghost story; something to do with the mare on the moon. Whilst this kept them out of trouble for a while at least, Starfire didn’t want angry parents rapping on his door in the middle of the night and complaining that their foals were having nightmares. That would look bad on his report.

Still, the children seemed to enjoy being scared, so he didn’t say anything. When storytime was over, the earth pony put her hoof around what he assumed was her marefriend. “We love kids. We were thinking of adopting, you know.” Starfire smiled and nodded, but said nothing. He didn’t even know who they were, so why were they telling him their business? Sometimes, he just didn’t understand other ponies.

The line moved forward a few spaces. He still had quite a long wait ahead just to get in, but at least the children were entertaining themselves now: he heard a few stories bounce back and forth between them, ranging from ‘The headless horse,’ to one he remembered being told when he was their age: ‘The Olden Pony and the rusty horseshoe.’ Scootaloo looked rather uncomfortable, her light purple eyes darting from left to right, scanning the darkness. When questioned, she would just shiver and complain about the cold. For the most part, they seemed to be enjoying themselves telling spooky tales, with the exception of Silver Spoon and Diamond Tiara, who were trying to dismiss each story as, ‘a silly baby story.’ How long they would stay entertained, however, he had no idea. He just prayed that it would be for long enough.

He hadn’t noticed the three pegasi until he had taken a few more steps forward. They were to his left, just out of the way of the queue, trying to lift what appeared to be a grand piano out of the back of a moving-firm wagon. He didn’t really think much of it: they were, after all, wearing the white caps and uniforms of the moving company, so at least he knew they weren’t trying to steal the heavy wooden instrument. The blue one, however, wasn’t wearing any uniform at all. And it was he that caught the unicorn’s eye: the poor pony seemed to have a hard time.

“Ugh...” the Pegasus grunted, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. His face was showing great signs of strain trying to even lift the thing up a few inches. “Huh! I daresay... pretty... heavy...”

The other male pegasus, a brown coated, ginger maned pony, looked down. “The legs aren’t even off the cart, yet.”

Starfire was about to intervene, but stopped himself: after all, he didn’t know these ponies and they didn’t know him. And they were obviously just doing their jobs: he wasn’t one to butt into something ponies were getting paid for, or get in the way. Besides, they could take offense if they thought that he was implying that they couldn’t do their jobs right. Or if they thought he was implying they were weak. He knew how headstrong some pegasi were.

Still puffing and wheezing, the trio (their wings a collective blur) managed to lift the piano a few centimeters and off of the wagon with a group effort. Their faces a dark crimson, they spun the instrument sideways and held it there, hovering dangerously close to the ground. And judging how fatigued the three looked, there was only one way the unicorn knew this could end. Still though, no need to help just yet. They did know what they were doing, after all...

Starfire had to admit that he was pretty introverted. Despite being made welcome in the town, he didn’t go out of his way to talk to other ponies. Not that he was anti-social, by any means, but he much preferred his own company. He hadn’t made any friends since he moved to Ponyville three months earlier, but he tended to focus on his studies and let his social life take a back seat. When it came down to it, this temporary employment was just that: temporary. As soon as he finished his work placement and earned his teaching certificate, he would move right back to Fillydelphia to find work in an elementary school there. Any friendships he made here would be null and void come the end of summer, so he would rather spend his time studying for something that would actually benefit him in the future.

“Guh...” the stallion with the neon blue streaks in his hair puffed. His hooves, red and raw, quivered under the weight of the dark brown piano. “How... how, pray tell, did you... lift the first one... so easily...?” he inhaled sharply to catch his breath. Starfire, watching out of the corner of his eye, noticed the grand wooden instrument dip a little. Their grip on the huge wooden beast was slipping. Maybe he should help them? He didn’t want to see them lose their jobs, whoever they were...

The mare let go of the piano. “Well, you see...” The cross-eyed pony realized her mistake too late.

Both Weatherstorm and Derky cringed, waiting for the sound of smashing wood and ultimate failure.

It never arrived.

Opening his eyes, Weatherstorm saw not the shattered frame of his shattered hopes with Rarity that he was expecting; rather he saw the piano floating by itself. Now, at first he found this a tad unusual: Unless the piano had suddenly decided to spout wings and take off of its own accord, (which he had to admit would make shifting the blasted thing a tad easier) he was seriously considering having the musical instrument exercised.

It took him a few seconds to notice that the piano was wrapped in a sparkling, blue aura. A blue aura that was emanating from the equally blue horn of an equally blue unicorn.

The unicorn was very blue indeed. Even Weatherstorm had to admit that, and he himself was fairly blue. The unicorn’s blonde mane was cut to a medium length, much like his tail, and the eerie glow of his magic lit up his studious face, twisted with effort. He spoke, as well.

“Are you guys going to help me, or are you just going to stand there?” he said. His voice was plain and slightly accented: Weatherstorm hazarded a guess that he was from Fillydelphia, or somewhere in the surrounding area.

That wasn’t technically accurate: for one, Weatherstorm wasn’t standing, rather he was hovering. He also liked the idea of NOT helping- his frail frame just wasn’t used to heavy lifting, after all. Still, it was ungentle-coltly of him to stand and gawp at someone struggling with something, and since the stranger had prevented an unsightly accident on his part he could at least return the favour.

Swooping down and grabbing hold of the end of the piano, the pegasus apologised. “I am so terribly sorry. I offer my most sincere apologies, I assure you.” He silently waved Derky and his work colleague over, each pony grabbing hold of the piano at either end. Weatherstorm smiled down at the unicorn below him. Anypony who helped him with heavy lifting was a friend of his. “May I perchance have your name, sir, so that I may thank you on a more personal level?”

Starfire found himself wondering whether this pony was for real. He had honestly never heard anypony talk like that before, and at the slight risk of sounding a little biased, certainly not a pegasus.

“Starfire.” The teacher replied. “My...” he took a moment to catch his breath. “My name is Starfire.”

The blue Pegasus nodded as though he had known all along. “Ah, that is quite an intriguing name, Mr Starfire. I,” he threw back his head and puffed out his chest. The other stallion, ginger curls protruding from under his white cap, rolled his lime green eyes. “...Am Weatherstorm. Allow me to shake your hoof...”

He was quickly reminded by all present that taking his hooves off of the piano was a very bad idea.

Starfire grunted uncomfortably. “I...It’s alright. Can we... can we please just move this... thing inside?

Weatherstorm chuckled. He had a strange laugh, almost like somepony chugging a flagon of apple cider, or water being poured from a bottle. “But of course. I shan’t forget your aid, Starfire. I shall return the favour some day, and I give you my word as a gentlecolt on that.”

“Great.”

“Now then, shall we?” With that, the trio of pegasi and solitary unicorn began to set off.

“Wait. These children... are with me.” The unicorn turned, his magic still holding the piano in the air, and mustered up a little strength to whistle. The young foals, who were wrestling around with each other on the grass, froze like statues and looked up at their classroom assistant. The sight of their new student teacher levitating a mahogany piano that was being held at either side by three Pegasi, two of whom wearing white coats and caps, the other wearing black rimmed spectacles and a reporter’s badge, struck them as a little out of the ordinary.

Applebloom was the first to voice her stupefaction. “Why ‘n tarnation are ya’ carryin’ a piano, there?”

Sweetie Belle squeaked in delight. “Are you going to sing a song for us? I’ll start! NINETY NINE BUCKETS OF OATS ON THE WALL! NINETY NINE BUCKETS...”

Scootaloo pushed her pink-and-purple maned classmate aside. “No, we need to sing a WICKED ROCK BALLAD!”

Applebloom pushed her orange coated pegasus classmate aside. “What ya’ gonna sing fer us, Mr Starfire? Huh?”

The unicorn suddenly found himself surrounded by fifteen fillies and colts, all staring up at him with adorable, pleading eyes. He was still getting used to their unnatural ability to change from little monsters one moment, and little angels the next.

“I’m helping... these ponies put this inside. I need you...” he gasped. “...To stay here, okay? Don’t wander off. Keep our place in line, and... wait in this spot until I get back. Okay?”

The children reluctantly nodded. They really had their hearts set on some music.

With that, the foursome turned and headed for the doors into the town hall. Occasionally, heads would turn from those waiting in line, curious eyes following their journey as they hovered and crunched their way over the wet summer’s grass.

As they walked, Weatherstorm talked. “So, Mr Starfire: correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not from this town, are you?”

The unicorn nodded in agreement. “Nope. I’m from...”

“Fillydelphia.” He finished his sentence for him. “I can tell by your accent. It’s not particularly strong, mind, but just about enough to distinguish you from the other folk around here.”

Starfire looked up at the pegasus in wonder. This ‘Weatherstorm’ character certainly knew what he was talking about, and had keen hearing to boot. His accent was not particularly strong, as he said, and the Fillydelphian accent was very hard to pick up on unless ‘water’ was mentioned. Which, so far in this conversation, it had not. “How did you know?”

The pegasus merely shrugged his shoulders. “In my line of work, travel is not uncommon. Sometimes, one picks up on other dialects. So, you’re new here?”

“Yeah, I just moved here 3 months ago. It’s a nice little town: peaceful and quiet,” responded Starfire. He hoped they would reach the doors sooner rather than later. Carrying this piano was really taking it out of him, both physically and mentally.

“Well, might I have the privilege to properly welcome you to our fair town? It’s no Fillydelphia, but it has its quaint little charms, I'm sure you'd agree.” He paused briefly. “You wouldn't happen to know this new unicorn that just moved here tonight, do you? The one from Canterlot?”

Starfire thought little of the comment. “No, I don’t believe I do. Why?”

“I was merely curious. I’ve heard that she came from Princess Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns: apparently, she’s the Princess’s star pupil, and she came here to help organise,” he motioned towards the steadily approaching doors leading into the town hall, “This fine setup. On her Majesty's orders, no less. Or so a little bird told me. I don’t pretend to know a lot about magic, but I just assumed, considering that you possess the magical ability to lift an object as heavy as this grand instrument with somewhat relative ease, a feat few untrained unicorns can accomplish, that you might enroll there yourself.”

Starfire’s eyes lit up at the mention of Princess Celestia’s School For Gifted Unicorns. He had always been fascinated by the science of magic, and back when he was a colt, he had dreamed of attending the academy himself. But his mother kept him from attaining his dream: ‘It’s unrealistic,’ she said, ‘And I don't want to see you hurt.’ It was her who suggested the more obtainable job of teaching to him, to follow in her footsteps, and to leave any silly notions of becoming a powerful mage, like the famed Starswirl the Bearded, behind him. However, this didn’t stop him trying, the determined young foal that he was. He was excellent at magic back then, even better than most fully grown unicorns, his father said, so he decided to pursue his dream. Many years ago (he remembered the day well) he took the entry exam: standing in front of the examiners, his face a deathly pale complexion, he let nerves get the better of him. He ruined his one chance at greatness, and never let himself live it down. So, whilst he continued to train and expand his magical abilities, it always nagged him; in the back of his mind, he knew he was destined for greatness. And yet here he was, foal-sitting and using his honed skill to do manual labour for a group of ponies he had only just met.

“A student of Celestia’s? From the academy? A...Are you sure?”

“Quite positive. The whole town is simply abuzz with the news.” He drew out the ‘z’ of buzz, almost giving the impression that a bee was going to fly out of his mouth. “Did you not attend the welcome party that Pinkamena Pie threw earlier today? I was under the impression that everypony attended: it appears that was not the case.”

The unicorn lowered his head. “Well, I got the invite...” He found himself wondering who this mysterious mare was: A student of Celestia’s! He had so many questions to ask! The stallion was a little disappointed that he didn’t go to the party after all.

Weatherstorm looked the unicorn up and down a few times, from head to hoof. Feeling a little uncomfortable, Starfire looked the other way. “Forgive me for daring to be so bold, sir, and I hope you take no offense to my upcoming statement, but... you don’t get out much, do you?”

The question caught him off guard. Although no offense was deliberately intended, the pegasus made Starfire a little angry. “I go out just as much as any stallion, thank you.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How beastly of me to cast such an accusation.” The Pegasus shook his head in disgust, presumably at himself. He wanted to stay friendly with this newcomer for two reasons: first of all, he tried his upmost to uphold manners when talking to anypony, especially somepony new. Secondly, this piano was quite a bit easier to carry with the unicorn (and his impressive magical ability) around. “It’s just... I don’t quite recall YOUR welcome party. Although I may be at fault here, I forget little: in my profession, I tend to be the first to find out about something out of the ordinary in this, and I quote your very own words, ‘Peaceful and quiet’ little hamlet.”

He had Starfire there. The unicorn smiled up at the pegasus, and the pegasus smiled down at the unicorn. This ‘Weatherstorm’ character DEFINITELY knew what he was talking about.

“Well... My job dominates the most of my life, and I have a lot of study to do. I really want to get better at magic, you know? Get better at something I enjoy.”

Weatherstorm gave him another soft chuckle. “Oh, please do! Had it not been for you, I fear I may have awoken in hospital with a splintered piece of piano protruding from my lower abdomen.”

He didn’t hear what the unicorn replied with, but it sounded like something along the lines of, ‘I love biology.’

Before they knew it, they were at the door. Weatherstorm, Derky, Ditzy and Starfire squeezed past the lines of bewildered patient ponies and glaring door-guards, and set the lumbering mahogany beast down at the back of the main room. Starfire wiped a bead of sweat from his brow; he felt a thin line of water drip from his matted blonde mane and run down the length of his muzzle. So much for a relaxing class trip to the Summer Sun Celebration...

All four, panting with exhaustion, took a moment to catch their breaths, taking in great gulping mouthfuls of the seemingly thick night air. Starfire took advantage of this opportunity to quickly scan his environment: this was the first time he had ever visited the town hall, but it certainly looked magnificent. Seemingly, no expenses were spared when it came to decoration: the colossal hall was draped from floor to rafters with banners of every size and colour. Equestrian flags, protruding from the towering balconies, fluttered like ghosts in the cool breeze from the open doors. Blue ribbons, each adorned with a golden broach, ran the length the room, occasionally wrapping themselves around one of the many roof- supporting marble pillars.

With one final effort, the group hoisted the grand piano up one last time. The instrument reached its destination with ease this time, and arrived in one piece as well. There it sat, like the king of the castle, nestled safely on the balcony, looking down upon its royal subjects with all the air and grace of Her Majesty herself.

The four congratulated themselves on a job well done. Starfire had to admit accomplishing something as part of a team gave him a warm feeling inside.

Smiling more than he usually did, he pushed back the fringe of his hydrated hairdo, taking care that his hair didn’t tangle itself around his horn. It could be troublesome to unravel, sometimes. He turned to the other two pegasi, their white uniforms spattered with random splodges of dark grey sweat. “Sorry, but I didn’t catch your names.”

The mare was the first to respond. “I’m Derpy, but my friends call me Ditzy.”

The other worker, the pegasus stallion, said nothing but shook his head.

The mare, obviously embarrassed, turned a bright pink and smiled nervously. “I mean, my name is Ditzy, but my friends call me Derpy.” She whispered, almost sadly, “I get confused sometimes...” afterwards.

In the vast light of the hall, Starfire noticed for the first time that her yellow eyes were actually crossed. Knowing a decent amount about biology, he could tell she suffered from a severe case of Strabismus, a condition that involves a lack of coordination between the extraocular muscles, which prevents bringing the gaze of each eye to the same point in space.

The other held out his hoof in greeting, and Starfire did the same. A hoof-shake was exchanged. “My name is Derkington Robert-Alexander Bellray, but I prefer plain old ‘Derky’.” The colt had a goofy sort of smile, a little lopsided, and a curl of dark ginger hair fell over one of his green eyes. His coat was a creamy, caramel sort of brown, and his tail was like his mane. His voice was droll and relaxing, hushed, resonating with an underlying simplicity, and the unicorn could only imagine that he was the sort of pony who was very hard to excite, enrage, or provoke any sort of foreign response at all.

Starfire didn’t mean to be rude, but he couldn’t help himself as his gaze wandered its way down to his exposed flank. Although there was the slight possibility that it may have been covered by his long white, buttoned shirt, it appeared that there was no cutie mark on Derky's thigh.

The pegasus knew he was looking at his flank. Starfire tried to look away, but was met only with Ditzy’s eyes. He found himself in quite an awkward, uncomfortable position, not really sure which was worse to stare at.

He shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof. “I, uh... I had better get back to the kids.” With a nonchalant, “It was nice meeting you, goodbye,” that wasn’t really directed at any one pony, he walked out into the dark embrace of the cold summer's night.

It didn’t take him long to realize he was being followed. “Starfire, wait!”

The unicorn took his correct place in line. He was thankful that the children were all still there; nopony had wondered off with a stranger, nopony was arguing, and everypony was still in one piece. Unfortunately, however, it seemed the youngsters had taken his order, “Wait in this spot until I get back,” a little too literally. The line had moved on without them and there sat fifteen fillies and colts on the grass, looking rather lost. Looks like it the back of the queue for him: this was going to be a VERY long night.

“I say, Starfire? Slow down, won’t you!”

The pony in question span around at the last moment, narrowly colliding with Weatherstorm head on. “Weathe...Will you watch where you’re going? You nearly took my head off!”

Landing on all fours, Weatherstorm apologised profusely. “I profusely apologise.” His gaze turned in the direction of the children. “But these are your children, are they not?”

The student gave him a quick smile. The sort that said, ‘I really don’t have time for this right now.’ “They’re not my children, no: but I am their classroom assistant. So, if...”

He was cut off. “I thought as such. In that case, if you would like to follow me...?” The Pegasus was off before Starfire could respond.

With a sigh, Starfire herded up the schoolchildren and followed the pony he had met only minutes earlier, bringing up the rear of their little train. The kids actually DID pretend to be a train, with Scootaloo role-playing a conductor, Sweetie Belle providing the ‘chug’, Snips and Snails the wheels, and Diamond Tiara whined that she should get to drive. Dinky Hooves mooed, obviously oblivious to what game they were playing.

‘And what game is this Weatherstorm pony playing, anyway?’ Starfire asked himself. ‘For every second we waste trying to cut spaces, we have to wait a few more minutes at the back of the line.’ He began to wonder if he would even make it to the ceremony at all; by the time they would get in, it would probably be morning already.

When the children’s train chugged to a grinding halt outside of the hall doors, Weatherstorm already appeared to be having a conversation with the guard minding the door. The guardsman looked rather peeved, as did several of the ponies waiting in line. One mare, a purple unicorn with a white mane, frowned in impatience. Another pony, a young red coated colt, began to stamp his hooves in protest.

“Yer ‘olden up the line,” the guardsman growled, baring his yellowed teeth. “Are yer fer comin’ in or stayin’ out ‘ere?”

“Patience, sir, for my friend will be along momentarily.” Starfire held back a laugh at how silly this conversation sounded; the contrast between the guard’s gruff Trottingham accent and Weatherstorm’s elaborate dialect was vast. “Ah, he has arrived.”

The guard looked past the pegasus to Starfire. He gave him a long, hard stare, then to the children at his hooves, then back up to Starfire. Finally, he turned to the hovering Weatherstorm.

“’E’s yer fella who was ‘elping ‘yer move tha’ piano, ain’t ‘e?”

The airborne Weatherstorm clapped his hooves together, doing a little summersault and gliding back down to the guardsman’s opposite side. “Indeed!” he cheered with glee. “A fine observation! Very keen eyes you possess sir, and all of Ponyville should be able to rest with ease at night, safely armed with the knowledge that YOU, sir Barry Brick of the Ponyville guard, are there to prevent any harm befalling their person.”

The guard completely ignored this compliment. “’E ain’t got no uniform, so ‘e ain’t no worker.” He scowled. Starfire saw his nostrils flare, sending little puffs of condensed water vapour up into the atmosphere.

Weatherstorm shot him another gleaming million-bit smile. “Excellently noticed, sir Barry! I really must congratulate you on those alarmingly sharp griffon-eyes you possess. Nothing gets past you, I am sure.” This left Starfire somewhat confused as to whether the Pegasus was talking sarcastically, or whether he was actually complimenting the simple pony. “No, Mr Starfire here is actually the pedagogue of these charming little students.”

“I’m their teacher,” Starfire chirped in when he saw the guard’s blank expression.

He was unsure of what the guard mumbled next, but it sounded something along the lines of, “Then you wait in line, like everypony else.”

“But Barry, my dear friend,” Weatherstorm placed a hoof on the guard’s shoulder. He quickly removed it after receiving a less than friendly snarl. “This is the class I have to interview for the newspaper! Perhaps take a few photographs...” he mimed the act of clicking a camera, just to make sure that the less-than-bright pony knew what he was talking about. “Maybe a few one-on-one sessions with the children after the event. It’ll be wonderful to see the youth of Ponyville getting involved and taking an interest in our culture! But we need some extra time to set up. So, may they pass?”

The guard grunted. Baring his teeth, he gave the teacher and his students one final glare before motioning toward the open door with his head. “Go on ‘head, then.”

“Ah, many thanks to you, sir.” Weatherstorm turned to the children. “If you little dears would like to follow me, we shall start with a class photograph!”

Trotting past rows of groaning bystanders, Starfire caught up with the pegasus. Weatherstorm spoke before a word could pass the unicorn’s lips.

“I did tell you that I would repay you for your aid, did I not? I gave you my word as a gentlecolt.”

Starfire felt absolutely dumbstruck, which, being a very well educated individual, was a foreign feeling that he was quite unaccustomed to. “How did you... he did we get in?”

His answer came in the form of a laminated “VIP:PRESS” badge which hung around his blue neck like a ribbon.”Very Important Pony,” Weatherstorm beamed with pride, cradling the badge in his hooves like an infant. “I work for the Ponyville Express Paper, don’t you know.”

Starfire certainly did not know. He found it odd that he hadn’t noticed the badge before now, even in the radiant light of the town hall. It didn’t explain why he was traipsing around with a piano a few minutes earlier, but it did explain why he was the only worker not in uniform.

“But... you’re going to be taking pictures? And conducting interviews? For the paper? I... had no idea! I wasn’t told...”

Weatherstorm silenced him with his hoof. His voice was a hushed whisper, barely audible amidst the chatter of the guests in the hall. “We in the career of journalism tend to... EXAGGERATE things on occasion. Nothing more than little white lies, of course, but... try not to believe everything you read in the paper.”

Not quite sure how to reply to that, Starfire thanked him. “Thank you, Weatherstorm. Such generosity is oft unheard of these days.”

That seemed to please the pegasus greatly. Not for the first time that day, Weatherstorm’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “No thank you is required, I assure you. After all, I was not to stand idly by and watch yourself, with a class of young children under your care, stand out in the cold for no discernible reason. One could catch a cold. Now, if you would like to find a nice spot...” he ruffled his blue wing-feathers a few times before setting off. He turned and called over his shoulder, “I sincerely hope you have a pleasant night, Mr Starfire!” Then he disappeared into the crowd.

The stallion didn’t have time to return the blessing, but he didn’t have to be told twice to ‘find a nice spot.’

The smile he wore diminished when he turned back to the children. Already, Scootaloo had tangled herself in one of the ribbons that hung from the balconies, her scooter (which had not been present moments earlier) tangled alongside the filly. Her friend’s efforts to free her only succeeded in ripping the soft fabric and ensnaring their fellow crusader further. The daredevil’s strangled cries of protest caused several of the more ‘high society’ guests to peek cautiously over the edges of their balcony handrails, before tut-tutting in disapproval at the scene. He heard a remark about “Kids these days,” and their parents, “Letting them run reckless.”

The unicorn felt a sore head coming on. This job wasn’t good for his health, of that he was certain.

Starfire could tell it was going to be a long night.

There were days that Cananor hated being a lawyer.

Those were most days.

Days like today.

Looking out of that tall, stained glass window, the unicorn could just about make out the disfigured figures of hundreds of different ponies in the main hall down below him.

They were out there, enjoying themselves. He could hear laughter, and chatter, and even songs.

They were out there; free to do what they wanted, WHEN they wanted. The world was their oyster.

And yet they chose to spend their free time coming to a boring old ceremony. Why?

Why did they flock like parasprites to this town hall, eager to see a silly old sun rise up and the stupid old moon lower? It wasn’t an unnatural occurrence; funnily enough, it happened most days.

If he were one of those faceless, disproportioned figures out there, he would be doing something... FUN.

There was no fun in his job. It was all work, work, work. When he was a foal, he had always dreamed of being a lawyer after reading the ‘Phoenix Flight, Griffon of Justice’ Nann-ga comic series. That Griffon made the job seem so exciting, so exhilarating, like every case was a twisting and shadowy drama waiting to unfurl. Little did he know what an exaggerated fabrication that was. To most, the thought of a little colt yearning to become an attorney would be slightly odd, but his mother supported him to follow his destiny. He wasn’t really interested in schoolwork, but he did end up attending the Manehatton School of Law. Although his coming from a pretty well off family was one of the main reasons he was admitted, he was also a great believer in justice, eventually leading to his cutie mark: a pair of balancing scales. He still looked back fondly on the day he got it...

“Mr Acapella, if you would please...?”

The aqua-blue maned stallion sighed, gave the outside world one last fleeting glance, and returned to his place beside the defendant he was representing. The accused unicorn wiped his hooves on his greasy apron and shot his lawyer a nervous grin. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he silently hissed.

“Don’t worry; I got this.” His attorney replied, giving him a sly, if rather weary, wink.

The judge, a sour faced, middle aged mare, pushed her spectacles up to the ridge of her nose and released a long, exasperated sigh. “May we begin, Mr Acapella?”

Cananor nodded and gave her his sweetest smile. In a way, the earth pony reminded him of a vulture: old and wrinkled before her time, years of unexciting and mundane small town court cases having left her eyes lifeless and her mouth a permanent scowl. Cananor wondered if this is how he would turn out, a few years down the line. He certainly hoped not. “Yes, your honour.”

Judge Gavel, her voice flat and monotone, raised one eyebrow. “Very well. May all parties raise your right hoof and repeat after me...” she went through the Equestrian oath, which everypony present followed. Cananor tried hard not to yawn, which was proving easier said than done.

“Mrs. ‘Carrot-Top’,” the judge croaked to the plaintiff. Cananor smirked at the striking resemblance between the ginger haired mare and his friend, Derky Bells. “You are suing Mr, uh... ‘Pony Joe’, here 2000 bits for unsatisfactory and unsafe food quality.” She turned to the apron-adorned unicorn in question. “Pony Joe, you are counter suing Mrs. Carrot-Top here 500 bits for slander. Would you like to begin, Mrs...”

Try as he might to concentrate, Cananor found himself loosing focus. ‘If this was a Phoenix Flight comic, the courtroom would have exploded twice by now.’ He began to reminisce fondly. ‘Like in issue #167, “Turnabout Storm”. Or issue #224, “m-m-murder on the friendship express", when...'

He wasn’t sure how long he had been dreaming about his idol, but it must have been longer than he expected. He was brought back to reality by the defendant’s hoof digging sharply into his side.

“Mr Acapella, I said have you anything to say in your client’s defence?”

Cananor jolted to all fours and yawned. “Huh... what is it?”

The judge obviously did not like repeating herself. “I SAID, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY IN YOUR CLIENT’S DEFENCE?”

“Oh, right; the case. Of course. Give me one moment, your honour.” He shot her another cheesy grin and straightened his red striped tie. She didn’t return the smile. The lawyer threw his briefcase, a black leather satchel with a golden broach, on the polished oak table. Everypony jumped at the resounding ‘THUMP!’ it made as it connected with the wood, echoing through the deathly silent courtroom. The briefcase itself seemed to be full to the brim; random sheets of paper were sticking out of the sides, dog-eared and tattered. The little broach at the front, which held the leather flap closed, seemed strained keeping the load from exploding all over the table. In short, it looked very unprofessional.

The unicorn pulled a yellow workman’s helmet from underneath the table. “If I may, your honour...?” he inquired, glancing to the helmet wrapped in his silver aura. “You’ll each find a similar helmet under your tables.”

Met with utter bewilderment, Pony Joe was the first to speak his confusion. “What the hay do you think you’re doing? Now, I don’t...”

The judge seemed unfazed. Her head, adorned with a hard hat, was resting in her hooves as she leaned back in her swivel chair. “Just do as he says, please. Less harm will come to you if you comply.”

“Fine,” the stallion grumbled, removing the toque he wore specially for the occasion, and replacing it with the hard hat. Moments later, he was glad he did.

His lawyer didn’t have time to open the briefcase; it just seemed to burst outwards in a shower of paper. Shreds of paper, reduced to confetti, fluttered down like wisps blowing in the artificial breeze of the office fan. Everypony ducked for cover as leather strips collided with the walls, dulls slaps pieced by metallic prangs as shards of aluminium rivet corners connected with wooden floorboards. The golden broach blew off the front of the case and implanted itself in the wall behind the judge’s booth. It made an echoing crack as splinters of panelling were ripped from the wall. Then the room went quiet, and the only sound was the ticking of a clock.

When the dust settled, Cananor slowly and cautiously raised his hat adorned head from under the table. One shaking hoof appeared on the table, followed by the other. He hoisted himself up and inspected the damage. Several others rose to their hooves and did the same.

“Sorry about that.” The unicorn said, wiping a crumpled sheet displaying a graph from his face. “I brought quite a bit today.”

He began to rummage through the remnants of the briefcase, sifting through the torn and tattered papers that littered the insides. “What’s this...?” Cananor pulled a large rubber chicken from the case, much to the bewilderment of the others. “I forgot I even had that in here...”

The judge rolled her expressionless eyeballs at the beige-coated unicorn, a rubber dog toy hanging limply from his mouth. “Mr Acapella, can you please hurry this up? We all want to get this wrapped up before the Summer Sun Celebration starts, thank you.”

Through a gritted smile, Cananor laughed. “With so much royalty here, I guess you could call this... A CORONATION CHICKEN!” He fell backwards, rolling on the floor, laughing.

“MR ACAPELLA! BE PROFESSIONAL!”

A pair of pink, frilly bloomers levitated from what was once a briefcase and landed on her scowling muzzle. “Please, your honour. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

They were quickly removed after he saw the death glare, fully loaded and aimed in his direction. Gee whiz, this was a boring affair, all right.

The defendant pulled his attorney over to him and whispered in his ear. “What are you doing? Are you even a lawyer?”

Cananor jumped to his hooves and straightened his tie. “Sir, does this suit lie? Now,” he trotted back over to his briefcase, levitating a donut with purple icing and multicoloured sprinkles from underneath a kitchen sink. “Item one. Do you know what this is, Mrs. Carrot-cake?”

“Carrot-Top.” The mare corrected him.

“Do you know what this is, Mrs. Carrot-Top?”

The earth pony nodded slowly, her bronze curls bobbing in time with every head movement. “It’s a donut.”

“A donut you are familiar with, aren’t you, Mrs. Carrot-Top?” Cananor cantered over to the plaintiff, the pastry dangling in front of him like a donkey with a carrot. “Aren’t you?”

The mare nestled uncomfortably back in her booth. “I... I purchased it.”

The unicorn swept back his aqua mane in one swift swipe of his hoof. In the back of his mind, he wanted to look as much like Phoenix Flight as possible. He turned from the mare, trotting slowly to the front of the room. “And can you point to whom you purchased this treat from, Mrs. Carrot-Top?”

Carrot-Top pointed to Pony Joe sceptically. “I bought it from him, sir.”

“And the stallion you are pointing at is Pony Joe, is he not? Winner of the ‘National Desert Competition’ for 4 years in a row? You’re telling me that his donuts are not only not up to standard, but unsafe?” The lawyer smirked. “Oh, please, Mrs. Carrot-Top; don’t try to fool me! This donut may be glazed, but I am not!" He chuckled at his own joke.

The ginger maned pony pointed to the donut defensively. “They were baked bads! I had to have my stomach pumped...”

“Mrs. Carrot-Top, you’re not fooling anyone...”

“Try it!” she threw her hooves down in rage, making a dull ‘clop’ on the tabletop. “If you think they are so good, try it!”

Cananor examined the half eaten donut for a few moments. Little bits of candy wrappings clung to the bun. An aged lollipop was stuck to the underside. Cananor mentally reminded himself to clean out his briefcase from all his old tat in future... scratch that; he reminded himself to get a new briefcase.

“Alright.” He said after a few more seconds of observation. “I will. And I bet it’ll be the most super-delicious donut I've ever eaten.” He peeled the old lollipop off the side. He could keep that for later.

Judge Gavel facehoofed. This was NOT how a normal court case was meant to transpire. “Mr Acapella, please refrain from eating the evidence...”

Her words fell on deaf ears. In one quick gulp, the donut was in his mouth.

“How is it?” Pony Joe asked nervously, giving his brow another wipe with his coffee-stained apron. “It’s good, right?”

The lawyer chewed the sticky treat for a good few seconds, making wet, chomping noises with every bite. He rolled his head from side to side, taking in all the flavours that invaded his mouth at once, as if processing every ingredient that went into the cake.

“So... how is it?” Somepony from the back called.

They were silenced by a wave of Cananor’s hoof. The room fell silent again, apart from the squelching ‘nom’ of the unicorn. He gave the sticky bun a few more chews, before closing his eyes and gulping the thing down.

“How did it taste?” The Baker asked his attorney. “Pretty good, right?”

Cananor opened his eyes and smiled, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh. He then rubbed his belly and smacked his lips. A few crumbs clung to his muzzle, and a little splodge of pinkish icing remained on his nose. “Mmm...” he groaned, dreamily.

Pony Joe grinned from ear to ear. “You see, your honour, I use only the finest ingredients and most hygienic methods when preparing my donuts. Just listen to this satisfied young stallion!”

His lawyer nodded. “That tastes...” he stopped short. Cananor’s beige features began to turn a sickly green. He gulped a few more times. “Uh...” he clutched his stomach and groaned loudly. “That tastes...”

“GREAT!” The confectioner jumped in front of the chocking unicorn. “It tastes great! Doesn’t it?”

Cananor nodded meekly. He gulped again. “Oh, by Celestia’s mane... It tastes...”

“GREAT, ISN’T IT?”

The lawyer gave the judge a weak smile and gulped once more, as though he was trying to keep the donut down. “It tastes...”

“It tastes...”

“IT TASTES...”

Cananor stopped gulping and licked his lips again. “It tastes like a mouthful of heaven, to me.” He flashed the members of the jury a wink and a gaping smile, "Remember, folks: Eat at Joe's!" He hoped the endorsement would win some favours with his newest client.

Pony Joe collapsed to the floor in relief. At his age, all this drama and suspense certainly wasn’t good for his heart. “Y-Your honour... I rest my case. A-As I’ve said...”

He was interrupted as Cananor spat pieces of donut everywhere, retching and spluttering at the top of his voice. He loudly coughed up every mouthful of the indigestible treat, and a little more besides. “Ugh...” he wheezed. “That was awful! It just wouldn't stay down! And where did all this carrot come from? I don’t even like carrot.” He turned to Carrot-Top. “No offense, of course.”

The mare jumped from her seat in excitement. “YOU SEE? YOU SEE? BAKED. BADS.”

Cananor wiped the crumbs from his mouth. “Oh, come on!” He turned to the judge. “They aren’t that bad, hones...”

He had to stop himself and empty his stomach a little more. “Why is there always carrots?”

Judge Gavel placed her head in her hooves. She hated her job. “Can we please just wrap this up?” she sighed. “I want to get to the celebration as soon as possible. Judgement for the plaintiff of 2000 bits. Case closed.”

The plaintiff whooped in joy. “I’M GOING TO LOS PEGASUS, BABY!”

Cananor managed to bring himself back up on all fours. He threw one very shaky hoof toward the judge, in a far less dramatic fashion than he thought. “OBJECTION!” He bellowed, like his favourite comic book hero.

“Overruled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have the Summer Sun Celebration to attend.” Without another word, the judge slipped out of her robe, into her coat, and was out the door before Cananor could utter a single syllable. The room emptied instantly.

Pony Joe turned to his attorney, his face a deathly pale white. “You,” he spoke softly, with a tint of malevolence. “Are the worst lawyer I have ever had the misfortune to come across.”

Cananor, still picking pieces of ‘Baked bad’ from his teeth, gave a nervous giggle. “Uh huh. So, um, about my payment...”

He didn’t receive a response. Pony Joe was the last to leave the courtroom. The lawyer heard his heavy, frustrated hoof-steps on the stairs as he made his way angrily down to the main hall. Cananor was left alone, surrounded by shreds of paper, strips of leather, chewed up donut and failure.

He sighed and began to gather his scattered belongings. He picked up the rubber chicken in his mouth. The toy squeaked. He didn’t laugh.

As he stood there, bundling his broken possessions into what used to be his briefcase under the artificial hum of the fan...

... Cananor could tell it was going to be a long night.