Spick n Span's smile was pinched as she put the cellophane bag of oatmeal raisin cookies into her satchel. She was thankful for the gift, had even written a thank you note. (Although she hoped this time she got to eat one, at least; siblings and parents had a habit of helping themselves to treats when she left them, temporarily, on the table.) And yet she was glad the working phony wasn't home to bid farewell to. Despite loving to clean, she'd been frowning all day throughout the -- well, chore. (She'd dropped the dustpan in shock at the thought.) With one last check that her satchel contained her rags and feather duster and cleaners, she headed out.

It'd been an off day ever since she'd left home. There were more than a few familiar faces but they were no longer little, like she still was. It seemed they had grown up and she had been -- embarrassment welled up, heating her cheeks -- less than happy for them all. She hadn't been able to smile, to enjoy the day, since and she was completely baffled as to why she was still a babby instead of old enough. Or at least why she didn't have a cutie mark; she'd know her purpose since forever. She was meant to clean. And yet the spot on her derriere remained clear, naked, empty. The phony trudged home, morose, to deposit her belongings.

Upon reaching home, she sauntered right into her room and emptied her satchel (sneaking one cookie into her mouth in attempt to cheer herself up). Maybe she'd take a nap, she thought, as she flopped down only to squawk when something sharp poked into her spine. She huffed, sitting up and turning a dour glare onto the item. Darn it. It was a container, badly rusted and half covered in weird not-white, not-yellow, tinged green paint. When her brother had found it, last week, she'd attempted to clean it for hours with very little result. (To herself, she admitted it looked worse than when she'd started. She'd flippantly returned it as a loss cause and spent far too much time cleaning her already spotless room in her shame at failing so terribly.) And now the blasted box was back. Tidy burst into tears.

It was with great shuddering breaths and staccato snuffles that the phony lifted the hideous piece of junk into her hooves. There was a note on top, a (she could just see him, sheepish at shucking the cleaning because the siren song of finding was in his blood and he sucked at ignoring it) plea from her brother, asking if she couldn't finish the cleaning of this one (excessive air quotes) treasure. Of course, there was only one thing to do after reading that. The phony ate two more cookies and promptly went to sleep.

Waking up nearly two hours later, Tidy was refreshed and felt as though her mood was at least on land rather than drowning in the depths of despair. She glanced at the clock and noticed she still had about an hour and a half before she had to be home. After a quick cleaning of her room, the phony placed the container into her satchel. She left a quick note and the rest of the oatmeal cookies on the kitchen counter and set off. To where, well... That she didn't know, yet.

She ambled aimless, mind racing far ahead of her slow trotting hooves. Why wouldn't the darn box just clean up? Everything else did. As she walked, the thought repeated until she became so frustrated, she pulled the stupid piece of junk from her bag and threw it. A satisfying clunk reached her ears first, as it landed in a rather large pile of--well, trash. And then--

"This isn't the city dump, young whippersnapper! This is my yard!"

Tidy's eyes went wide, "Your yard?" It was covered in mound and mounds of--"But it's just a bunch of junk!"

The older phony's mouth went slack, revealing only a few remaining teeth, "Why, you, you! I never heard such hogwash and horsefeathers in all my life!" He bustled over to the nearest pile, hefting a tarnished green metal something up and staring at it proudly. "This, silly, is a piece of history! A long prized possession that can be sold for a fortune to the right buyer!"

The filly's nose crinkled, "It's ugly and dirty!"

"Ain't you never heard of hard work, lass? A little spit and elbow grease will shine 'er right up!"

"I tried that!" she growled, hefting up the junk she'd thrown and showing off how hideous it still looked.

The older phony considered the young one, eyes narrowed in thought, before giving a quick nod, "Follow me."

She wanted to object. She didn't even know who this phony was. And yet curiosity prodded her to follow. So she did.

While junk may have littered the outside of the phony's yard, the inside was decorated with fine beautiful items. Tidy felt her mouth drop open in shock and awe.

"Now you ain't gonna be callin' any of this junk, are ya?"

The filly shook her head, mute.

"I didn't think so. All of these came from that old pile of junk outside!"

"H-how did you clean it?"

"What's your interest?"

"My brother, he finds things like you have in your yard all the time. I like to clean it. Until this," she admitted as she showed him the hideous box. "I'm a go--no, great--cleaner but everything I tried made this worse."

"Eh, that's not so bad." A pause, "You ever think about going into the antique business?"

And like a light bulb turning on, Tidy felt all the pieces sliding into place. Muck's treasures, her cleaning, all to make valuable and wanted antiques!

"Will you teach me how to clean them?"

A grin lit up the old phony's wrinkled face, "That I will!"