Look, I loved to work, okay? I think I made that abundantly clear already. It was a fulfilling duty, and I was a capable pony, etc etc. Working six days a week didn’t make me a martyr or whatever. If anything, it helped fatten my coffers. Which was good. Money was good. Money money money~. And hey, my house needed the repair work, remember? That kind of stuff sort of operated on having a big ol’ pile of bits. So yeah, I wasn’t going to refuse Mr. Prospector’s generous offer to let me work overtime.