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// Diplomatic Immunity 
// Story: Common Ground 
// by LunasCaptain 
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	"Your mane is beautiful.  I've never seen that color before.  Is it natural?"

Carapace resisted the urge to lick her lips.  The flood of admiration coming from the mare who had been sent to "clean her up" (she took that as "make sure she didn't escape through a window") was pure and saccharine, the best meal she had had in days.  Not as good as honest-to-Queen love, but pretty darn close.

"Oh," she said, realizing that she was probably expected to keep the conversation going, "yes.  Yes, of course.  I ha--was born with it."

"Such a lovely color."  The mare, an earth pony with mud-colored locks, stepped forward to get a better look.  "But, hmm, these braids--"

"Don't touch those!" Carapace snapped, swatting away a cream-colored hoof before it could touch one of the random microbraids in her otherwise-loose mane.

The mare drew back.  Frantic, Carapace ran through a mental checklist.  Had her coat darkened?  Fangs reappeared?  Eyes flashed back into opacity?  No.  Her form was under control.  Which meant that this could be fixed.

"Sorry," she offered.  The apologetic smile she then attempted must have worked, because the pony smiled back.  "They're...a custom."

"Ooh, how interesting," the mare enthused.  "Where are you from?"

"Er...a tribe in the mountains."  Carapace followed her as she headed into another room.  "The braids make me a--a wisemare."

Not technically a lie.  After all, she was much more intelligent than the rest of her species, even if her braids didn't symbolize that.

The mare was exclaiming over her fake tribe's 'culture' now with genuine interest, but Carapace was busy examining this new room.  It was the third and last in her suite--quarters that may be lacking by royal standards, but not to her.  The first room was for receiving guests, filled with tapestries of the heroes of this country and crystal furniture, cleverly sculpted so that it caught what little light came from the narrow windows.  The second was clearly intended for sleeping, judging by the thick rugs on the rosy floor and the canopied nest in the center.  But this third chamber...she didn't know what to make of it.

The cloudy pink crystal here was polished to an unprecedented glossiness.  There was a basin big enough to hold half the current Swarm set into the floor, and a much smaller one embedded into a bank of cabinets.  There were no windows, but mirrors had been bolted to every wall.  Not the kind that saw through magic, thankfully.

The mare (whose name Carapace had learned and then promptly forgotten) must have noticed her confusion, because she launched into a long-winded explanation of what every single fixture in the bathroom, as it was called, was used for.  Carapace really couldn't have cared less about the toilet, seeing as a member of her species had no use for it, but the bathtub (the huge basin) intrigued her.  Soaking in hot water sounded like a much better way to get clean than having Gossamber groom her.  It always got nervous when it got to her wings.

"So why have you come to the Crystal City?" the mare asked, breaking into her thoughts as she turned a knob at the head of the tub.  Steaming water poured out of the faucet with a thunderous roar.  Carapace jumped, glowering when the pony laughed.

"My tribe wants to be recognized as a nation."  She dipped a hoof in the water as it rose steadily.  The heat sent a shiver of pleasure through her; it was such a contrast to the frigid dungeon.  In fact, as steam collected on every surface and the air grew heavy with humidity, she was reminded of home.

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard," the mare said encouragingly, twisting the knob again to stop the water and trotting over.  She started tugging at the padded leather straps that held the heavy bags to Carapace's sides.  "After all, the princesses just recognized the seaponies as a separate race, and gave them half of the islands in the southern ocean.  Princess Cadence is very generous."

Carapace held back a laugh, about to tell this pony that the princess wasn't all that generous when it came to her, but the bags thumped to the floor before she could speak.  Her flanks were uncovered, and the other mare gasped.

Twisting her head around, Carapace mentally cursed herself.  It had seemed like such a good idea to mock her captors by morphing into something that resembled her real form.  She hadn't even thought to remedy things before who didn't know what she was saw her.  And it was too late now--a blank flank on a grown mare was one thing, but a cutie mark hastily appearing as somepony watched?  She knew enough about her prey to judge that that was more than a little unusual.  

Besides, it wasn't as if she could think of one right now that wouldn't give her away.

"Um...well, you know...some ponies are just very, very...very late bloomers."  The mare, whose cutie mark happened to be of some sort of delicate woven mat, had kicked the bags into the corner and was now pouring scented oils into the bath water.  Trying to cover up the awkwardness.

She didn't suspect?  The Old Queens must be pleased with her, for whatever reason.  "No one in my hi--tribe has a cutie mark."

"Really?"  Intrigue overtook the mare's embarrassment.  "Why?"

"I have no idea."  Carapace reached up and flicked one of her braids with a forehoof, scrambling for inspiration.  "But we're going to try and use that to make a case that we're a different species."

"I have to admit, politics have never been my forte.  But I hope you get what you want, Miss..."  She trailed off expectantly.  It took several moments for Carapace to realize that she was waiting for her to give her name.

Would her real name give anything away?  Just like with the cutie mark, she couldn't think of any plausible pony names right now.  So it would have to do.

"Carapace," she said.  "I'm Carapace."

It felt strange, saying it out loud.  She had never had to before.  The Queen, Gossamer, and Elytra had always known her title, and there had been nopony else in the hive capable of asking what her name was.

The mare made a sympathetic noise.  "That's a mouthful.  Nothing like mine, of course--'Lace Doily', ugh."  She rolled her eyes.  "At least you can tell ponies to call you something cuter, like Carrie."

"Hm.  Yes.  Carrie."  She was paying just enough attention to tell how stupid that sounded.

"Well, you can hop in the tub if you want.  If you traveled all the way from the mountains, I'm sure you must be itching to get the dirt out of your coat."  She flicked open one of the cabinets, reaching inside and pulling out a sponge.  "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

"You're going to groom me?"  Carapace wrinkled her nose.  Partially out of revulsion for the thought, and partially because this flexible new face was fun to play with.

"I guess you could put it that way."  Lace picked up a bottle of soap, smiling brightly.  "I'll just shampoo your mane and tail, scrub your back, trim your hooves--all the stuff that's difficult for a mare to do on her own.  My job is just to make you more comfortable."

"Want to know how you could do that really well?"  Carapace sank one foreleg into the water.  Conversely, the heat made her shiver.

"How?"

"Leave."

Lace just nodded and trotted out.  The basic affection coming from her soured somewhat, but Carapace didn't care.  She had already eaten her fill.

Submerging herself entirely, she shuddered with pleasure.  The thin layer of flesh covering her wings vanished, and they floated free, barely more substantial in the water than the iridescent streams of oil around her.  Involuntarily, the holes of her hooves returned, just reinforcing her decision to kick Lace out.  The sensitive areas inside flooded, and she closed her eyes.  If Carapace ever went back to the hive, she--no, it, the disguise was totally gone now--was never letting Gossamer's fangs near it again.  This was the way to groom.

A faint fluttering sound disrupted its peaceful thoughts.  Carapace's stiff, ragged ears twitched in irritation, and it opened its eyes--the only part that still looked equine after the relaxing effects of the bath.

There was a butterfly perched on the tip of its horn, slowly opening and closing its wings.  Carapace moved its head, trying to get a better look at the insect, and it took off.  Narrow blue-and-green wings, with irregular holes along the edges...oh.

It wasn't a butterfly--it was a hive moth.  Though not technically a Changeling, it was still under the influence of the Queen.

Carapace pulled itself onto the submerged bench that ran around the side of the bathtub, lifting a hoof out of the water for the moth to land on.  They regarded each other as water drained out of the holes in the Changeling's hoof.

Then the moth's mouthparts twitched, and it spoke in the Queen's voice.

"You're still alive," it said.  "My, my, Carapace, that's much better than I expected."

"I think I may be done here soon," Carapace replied, ignoring the jibe.  "Princess Cadenza agreed to ally with us."

The moth laughed, so loudly that Carapace glanced at the door out of fear that somepony would hear.

"Princess Cadenza," it mimicked.  "You sound like one of her subjects."

Carapace said nothing.

"And what is wrong with your eyes?"

"I forgot to--I forgot to change them back."  It wasn't as if it was easy for it to notice.  Just like organs, eyes didn't change physically with the morph.

The moth's wings twitched irritably.  "Half the swarm is lying in a stupor so that I may concentrate enough to speak with you, and you can't even greet me with your real form?"

Carapace allowed the last of the illusion to dissipate.  It had to work hard not to snarl viciously, as it would if a pony were yelling at it.  Evidently, so much time away from the hive had crossed its instincts.

"Cadenza wants an alliance," it reminded the Queen, hoping to change the subject.  

"I'm sure," the moth replied, flicking drops of oil off of its tiny feet.  "If I remember correctly, Cadence hates our kind with a passion.  Did you save her life or do something else to change her feelings towards us?"

"Then she is lying, and you are a fool and a prisoner."  The moth tilted its head, making a show of staring at the windowless walls.  "I'll come back when they have you on a longer leash."

Carapace dipped its head, keeping its hoof steady.  It felt strange bowing to something so small.

"Pity Elytra's dead.  It was always so much better at infiltration."

With that, the moth took flight, and then dove into the water, drowning itself.



	A/N: This chapter almost didn't make  the final cut, being mostly a fluff piece about Carapace.  But I felt that the end was slightly more conducive to the storyline, and I had one of my rare "Eh, what the hell" moments, so I ended up posting it.

Please, comment, and tell me what you think.  I really appreciate all the wonderful feedback so far.