Rhythms of heaven alluring the noble damned—
we the flawed, beseeching the divine!
Flesh and mists make thine monde nocturne—
open the helm—and cast our dreams asunder!
Up on a latter, with dirt covered bare feet balancing precariously on spokes long out riddled, a young slave picks her master’s peaches. Sweat on her brow, she glances into the vista—a young girl in a sundress and wide brim hat, pale fleshed, waves at her. She smiles—waves back.
That night, they cool their feet in the stream, and watch the fireflies. Little lights flickering—the eyes of God! The grace of providence! This is your sin, America; this is your sin! This is your redemption! Love is your saving grace!
Love—America—this is your salvation.
~*~
“So where the hell are you from exactly?”
“Um… Boston,” I answered flatly.
“No—where’s you from, you kind?”
“My grandparents moved here from Prance if that is what you’re asking.”
“So what the hell are you?”
“I’m a draconequu.”
“What type of pony is that?”
I have never so much wanted to snap somepony in half.
“Draconequus are not ponies, at all.”
“Well, sir, in order to sit in first class you have to be—“
“How about this, like unicorns, draconequus come, originally, from Europe. So, concerning Virginia’s seating rules, I am to be sat in first class.”
He nodded, somewhat dully, and I sat down… having to change trains in Arlington...stresses the limits of my—
And the same dull sort proceeds to yell at a poor crystal pony trying to sit down—the recipient of this abuse, of course, did not did not follow a damn word of it.
Well, I did come down for some entertainment.
“Sir—may I ask what’s going on.”
“This dirt pony won’t—“
“How many translucent earthgoes do you—“
“Doesn’t matter he ain’t got no horn or win—“
“Qual è il tuo problema? Asino!”* the Crystalian shouted.
“My good man…let me talk to him,” trying to demure the situation
“Sir, io parlo un po' Crystaliano, non hai bisogno di aiuto?”
“Che cazzo c'è di sbagliato con questo bastardo!”
“Beh ... si vede ... questo oaf non illuminato non può dire la differenza tra un pony cristallo e un pony di terra.”
“Non vediamo niente di simile ...”
“Sì, lo so, ma in Virginia, per sedersi in prima classe si deve apparentemente essere un unicorno, o almeno non un pony terra... o essere in grado di stronzate alcuni.”
“Così ora che cosa?”
I snapped my talons, and a crystal horn appeared on his brow, or, well, an illusion that mimicked adequately.
“Grazie.”
I winked, and nodded.
The oaf had stepped off to the side, now turned back to us and offered up to us a deliciously slack-jawed gaze.
It was so, so worth it.
~*~
Scoots looked uncomfortable, ah think even more than the professor and mistress. Ah ain’t never had scotch before, hits you pretty quick’er somethin. But seenin Scoots all tussed up was a treat-an-a-half. She ain’t ne’er worn anything fancier than patched up or’alls—seein her in that there frilly gown made me shine like a little bitty—
“So, Professor Sparkle,” that pink earthgro’s voice carried more than it by nature ought to, “what you say is that as long as slavery exists—“
“—Indeed, ponies have been keeping other ponies in bondage since the dawn of time—“
“—But how can we have a democratic society if some ponies are kept all up chattel?”
“Um…” That one doctor lady that works with the professor managed to get a peep in, “actually Pinkie the Greeks and Romans also had slavery…”
“Hugh… I actually never thought about that,” said the pink earthgro stroked an invisible beard, “still, fact remains, modern democratic institutions are founded wholly different philosophy.”
“How so?” asked Mistress Dash.
“Think of it this way,” Pinky gestured a hoof, “Roman society and Greek society were based on the assumption that all citizens were equal, not all people.”
“Technically our constitution is the same way,” the professor interrupted.
“International convention on what citizenship means has sense changed,” she kept at, “back then citizenship was defined as a separate status—if I we moved to Prance, we would all be citizens, no special appointment necessary, no status relevant—we swear to be loyal to Naponyon the third and boom—citizens with full privileges.
Maybe ah should run away with Sweetie to Prance.
~*~
Poor dear, I wonder how much the good professor is getting her ego and id tussled. I will confess that I never thought an earthgro could be so…
I have never fully embraced the concepts of their submission but I—
Hmph.
Regardless, Applebloom is awful cute—standing over there holding that bottle of wine like she’s a house slave. I see why my sister likes her.
She’s got such a silly smile—oh I bet it’s the liquor; Sweetie told me about the cider them slaves enjoy, but lord knows it can’t compare to whatever scotch the professor has selected. Oh bless her sweet drunk heart—she handles it well.
No wonder that Rainbow needs more sex—that mare has to be out seven thirty.
Now Rarity, where are your manners? Twilight is a good friend, and far as what I can see she and Rainbow do enjoy each other’s company—not nearly as veraciously as my sister and that sweet little mud pony—but still. Hell, ain’t nopony fuck like them little things do.
Well, maybe she’d make for a nice graduation gift—if Sweetie graduates—well regardless.
I don’t know how much I by the basis that international interpretations of citizenship really effect the philosophical grounding of a quasi-caste arrangement. Last I do recall there was some parts of Europe that still even allowed for serfs—
Barbarians!
~*~
Meaning of words,
a servant to servants.
Little virtues—twirling!
Little pieces of ourselves,
we cannot take the whole—we must divide.
Philosophies grand—
Ideals strong—
they do not survive.
Slave owners,
slaves,
patricians,
plebeians,
the system—money
must be upheld.
So they take those ideals,
and they cut the up—
shred them into little virtues,
that dance,
and dance,
to a waltz conducted from Hell.