>Be Anon
>You had to dirty your clothes and the stairs on the way up to the bathroom.
>Thinking about the mess in the living room only zaps more energy out of you. 
>Energy needed to clean this alicorn.
>Did he say his name was Celestia?
>Celestia is sitting in the bathtub, waiting for you to take action.
“Celestia”
>He looks straight at you.
“Have you been bathed before?”
>He nods.
>So he must be familiar with water, no need to introduce him to it.
>But his next comment halts any further questions for some time.
>”If it’s no trouble, I would rather be showered.” 
>You process his request then move your hand away from the tap.
>It reaches for the shower-head and slowly pulls it from its rack.
>How is he familiar with a bathroom?
>And you’ve noticed that every time he talks, he reveals something strange about himself.
>For example, why did he infer that every ‘pony’ had the same name?
>It’s not solely what he says, but what he is:
>a mythological creature you found in between two dumpsters.
>You wish you could interrogate him now while he’s with you, but your brain is frazzled and you’re too tired to listen to anything.
>Maybe in the morning - if he’s still around.

>”Is there something wrong?”
>Your eyes switch back on.
“Sorry, just tired.”
>He stares at his hooves again.
>You twist the shower-knob and wet him before lathering his dirty mane with shampoo.
>You don’t know how careful you should be, but he is handling the water really well. 
>Even when you got soap in his eyes, he didn't thresh around. 
>The colour of the water satisfies you: a disgusting, putrid shade of grey.
>The mane is left vibrant, so you apply the same treatment to his tail.
>Once finished, you face his coat; you don’t know whether to use body wash or more shampoo.
>He turns to look at you with concern because it seems you’re taking too long to decide. 
>You end up switching to body wash because there is more of it in the bottle.
>Now you need to decide whether to use your hands or the luffa.
>You point to it.
“Do you know what this is?”
>He nods.
>”Yes. It’s like a rough sponge.”
>You chuckle while adding soap to the rough sponge, and with a little water, it became a sudsy overflow.
>You emulsify his back, which required a lot of elbow grease.
>That is nothing compared to the grime concealed by his wings. 
>You tell him to hold them up.
>And he does.
>And he does so elegantly and sensitively to try not to get water out of the tub; you appreciate his awareness.
>Now to tackle that sprawling grime on the haunch.
>But upon scrubbing, you realise it gets more radiant and defined.
>Until a symbol of the sun is uncovered - and admired.
>You remember seeing the same thing on the other side, so you work to dig that out too.
>And sure enough, on this alicorn’s body are two identical suns, each on either side of the flank.
>He peeps out from his mane.
>”Do you like it?”
>He watches your eyes.
>”It’s my cutie mark, I was one of the first to get it amongst my friends.” He says, with glee.
 “So you weren’t born with it?”
>”Not at all. You have to discover what is unique about you, like a talent.”
“And what makes you unique?”
>”Well…”
>He hesitates a little bit.
>”I can raise the sun, but so could everypony, so it isn’t all that unique.”
>?
>You’re almost in shock, but he continues.
>”…But they told us we all shared the one special talent.”
>There is some silence: not exactly awkward, but something along the lines of it.
“Can you raise the sun now?”
>You ask it without thinking. Daytime now would be catastrophic, but you only want to validate at least one of his claims.
>He tenses his shoulders and looks for the feeling that will aid his uneasiness.
>”I guess I could try.”
>He stood up in the tub, wet, and shut his eyes. All focus was on the horn.
>It charged up again, but with a softer glow and a low whirr.
>And then it lit up like a bright torch-light. 
>He opened his eyes and was ecstatic to see that his effort paid off.
>”Can you check outside? I think it's day!”
>So you shake your hands dry and peer out of the bathroom door to look through bedroom window.
>It was still night.
”It’s still night.”
>He peeled his eyes off the horn.
>”Oh.”
>After some reflection, he reattached them.
>”Let me try once more.”
>So he tightly shuts his eyes and even grunts. Nothing changes but the radius of the light.
>Until it suddenly stopped and he broke into a pant.
>In between two gasps, he asks:
>”No sun?”
>You shake your head. 
>He looks reasonably disappointed in himself.
>Your sympathy lies not with his disappointment, but with his naivety that either came from pure stupidity or, more probably, gullibility from inexperience. 
>He sits back down, staring at his hooves with an odd expression, but without a hint of betrayal.
”Hey, it’s okay, we can try again tomorrow night. Maybe your horn is just busted from earlier.”	
>He looks back at you.
>“You’re right!”
>Maybe you should’ve been more blunt about the possibilities, but you are not prepared to bear the burden of sympathy at this time.
>You go ahead and wash off remaining soap on your hands and his body before drying him off with a towel.
>You were about to carry him out of the tub when you remembered that your shirt was very dirty and pants dusty.
>You wrap him up tight so that only his head and horn and a strand of hair peep out.
>”Wait here.”
>You get out while hiding a smirk.
>It stays with you as you change, and you can hear him trying to loosen up his cocoon.
>It continues as you put fresh pants on.
>The thought of him wriggling pushes your cheeks back, until you hear a thud. 
>You rush over with a shirt swinging around your neck to find that he’s laying on the bathroom floor, with both the towel and a sheepish grin on him. 
>You get your arms through the holes before letting gravity pull the shirt down, all while you move in to take a closer look.
>”Sorry, it was constricting.”
>You kneel to pick him up. He’s wet, but at least all clean.
>You bring him to the foot of the bed to not get pillows damp, then he shuffles into comfort.
>You go to retrieve the towel.
>And as you come back, you blink. 
>And the pony almost goes away. 
>Maybe when you wake up.
>You hang it on the door.

>You kick your laundry into a pile and dive into the bed.
>You swim to the back of your mind and sleep almost immediately.
>But somewhere in the limbo between sentience and space, you sense a mass closing into proximity.
>With the energy you have, there is no choice but to accept it into your arms.