//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Introduction // Story: Therapy // by Broken Phalanx //------------------------------// Roughen Tumble fidgeted on the edge of his seat, looking guiltier than a mass murderer caught red-hoofed. He had glanced at the slightly cracked candy jar several times in the last minute alone, but whether by some force of self-punishing will or the echoes of a parent’s reprimand in his mind, he never even offhandedly raised his hoof to reach for it; it was honestly getting rather pathetic, at least to Counsel. With a discreet nudge, he pushed the jar closer to Tumble. “Go ahead and have one,” Counsel said, smiling pleasantly. It was as Tumble had extracted one of the treats when Counsel added, as if it were the most natural follow-up in the world, “What’s going on, bud?” It took Counsel a moment to fully fight back the look of irritation that threatened to show on his face when the colt’s jaw clenched, brow furrowed, and face paled; it had taken Counsel a few weeks to understand most of Tumble’s non-verbal cues, but this one had taken the lesser part of an hour to learn. He was clamming up. Counsel’s smile softened in response, quietly quenching his flash of frustration. “I made a promise to you, first day, remember? I won’t tell anypony, anything, unless you okay it. Heck, you don’t even have to talk about what’s going on, if you don’t want to,” said Counsel, leaning back as he attempted to stealthily transport a home-made sugar cube to his mouth; it got about half-way before slipping out of his grasp, hitting him on the snout, and exploding into a small dust cloud of crystals. Counsel blinked a couple of times, face whitened from the sugar; perhaps the book had been right to advise against using the powdered stuff . . . He glanced towards Tumble for a moment, about to try and explain this away as something he had intended to do, but paused when he noted the colt’s reaction. Despite all attempts to hide a growing smile, the corners of Tumble’s mouth continued to twitch upwards. “You know,” Counsel murmured just loudly enough for Tumble to hear, “no matter how old you are, you’re never too old to act silly on occasion.” And then, with a chuckle, he flicked one of the poorly packed sugar-cubes at Tumble. What followed was a small skirmish in edible warfare, eventually ending with a humiliating loss on Counsel’s part; it had all started to go sour after Tumble had made tactical advancements and claimed the glass candy jar as his territory, but the final battle was nothing short of a curb-stomp. Even a reasonably healthy Earth pony would be hard pressed to avoid the telekinetically flung projectiles, particularly the ones that turned at right-angles in their trajectory to hit him. Tumble, evidently, had thought that trick was only for rank amateurs near the end; instead, he had lifted up every bit of spare powdered sugar around the room, and had advanced it towards Counsel as an unavoidable wall. “Well, that happened,” Counsel said mirthfully, shaking with laughter; he had, for all intents and purposes, been bleached, along with about half his office. “You’re getting quite good with that magic; you still wanting to join the Guard when you get older?” “Yeah,” the colt murmured with a yawn. A moment passed in silence between the two of them, before, finally, Tumble quietly admitted, “I got into a fight earlier with a few other colts.” “Oh?” Counsel replied, his voice carefully neutral. “Why’s that?” “They were picking on my sister. Calling her names and stuff.” Ever since the concept of ‘combat’ existed, there was one phrase that a stallion would ask his son after the latter engaged in some sort of fight, and it was the same question that Counsel asked Tumble in a moment of less than stellar professionalism; “. . . did you win?” It was only when Counsel got a bewildered stare in response he realized his mistake, and quickly added, “I know, I know, you’re getting mixed signals; your mom is . . . I think she’s a mediator?” Counsel asked, getting a nod in response. “And here I am, asking if you won a fight; the point is. . . the point is, I’m not sure if you need to be here, talking with me, about something like that, really. They stopped messing with your little sister, right?” “Yeah, I made ‘em stop,” Tumble replied in a depressed tone. “I’m not upset, kiddo; look, I’m not suggesting you get into fights. That sorta behavior is just unacceptable. But this, well . . .” Counsel paused for a few seconds, thinking carefully over what he wanted to articulate, before finally saying, “Fighting, by itself, is bad, pure and simple. But sometimes, fighting is necessary; if a pony dear to us is being hurt, there’s nothing shameful in fighting, but in almost all scenarios it should be a choice of last resort. In this case, it’s something you should feel proud about; you protected a pony you cared about. Did you tell your mom about how you were looking after your little sister?” “No.” “Be sure to tell her the situation next time, bud; things always seem worse than they really are if they’re not given context, you know?” Counsel studied Tumble’s expression for a moment, before finally adding, with a smile of encouragement, “You know something? Don’t tell your mom this, but this, more than anything else, makes me think you’d be an outstanding Guard in any of the courts.” For just a moment, Tumble beamed. The colt’s smile was promptly replaced with a frown when Counsel added, with a hint of mirth, “Of course, everypony starts as a potato peeler regardless of potential, so as practice you have the privilege of helping me clean up this place.” “But it’s time for me to lea-” “Yes, yes, you’ll be a little late to leave, and my next guest will be a little late to come in; I’m not cleaning this up by myself, though, and as for her, well, nopony’s so important that they can’t afford to wait a couple of minutes.” * * * * * * * * * * While this session was going on, a different conversation was taking place in a very different setting. “Really, Twilight? You’re going in disguise?” Spike muttered incredulously. “Isn’t lying going to basically defeat the whole purpose of this?” “Don’t be silly, Spike,” Twilight replied, brightly. “This is a necessary precaution; if I went there without some sort of guise, ponies would notice and likely lose trust in the government as a result. That lost trust would mean the bit would lose value as a consequence, and probably lead Equestria into financial ruin shortly before either the Changelings turn us all into a slave-nation or before the Griffons take advantage of the ensuing chaos and declare war on us, subsequently dooming vast swaths of Equestrian inhabitants before we could restore order! And then-” Spike spent a good moment just staring at Twilight, before finally cutting her off with, “Only a few strands of your mane sprang out of place, Twilight; you’ve gotten better at hiding the panic your exaggeration causes. And it is exaggeration; there would probably be a few ponies that’d hmm and haah, but I think the vast majority would probably see this as a good thing.” “Oh, Spike, you wouldn’t understand,” Twilight replied blithely. “You’re still a baby-” “Ahem.” “Okay, okay, I’m acting a bit condescending. Sorry, Spike.” “No worries. Seriously, though, you’re going to enchant yourself? Tell me you’re going to at least shed the illusion when you and the Doc are talking.” Twilight inhaled to deliver another diatribe, perhaps about how that would affect the global value of the common shellfish, before Spike muttered, “Forget I asked.” “Sorry, Spike” Twilight murmured sheepishly. “You know I can’t put Equestria in danger just because a few ponies, or even my number one assistant, think I need somepony to talk to. It’d be selfish of me; surely you understand?” For a brief moment, Spike recalled the various stories he had heard over the last few days of his visit; of Twilight walking the halls, unable to go sleep, and generally terrifying everypony that had the misfortune of meeting her at such a time; of how the purple Alicorn had looked progressively more and more drained as her first state of the union speech approached; of how, to the more health aware, her eyes had taken on a sunken appearance; and, perhaps most worrying of all, how Twilight had shuffled some of Celestia’s increasingly worried letters to the bottom of her ‘to-read’ list as Twilight’s workload swiftly multiplied in spite of hiring more and more ponies as the days went on. There were even rumors, however infrequent, that Twilight was experimenting in Dark Magic; Spike knew these to be false, if only because Twilight’s eyes hadn’t taken on even the slightest change of color, but it was worrisome that even some of her staff had attributed her rapidly diminishing appearance and health to long forbidden sorcery. “I dunno, Twilight,” Spike finally replied. “I think working yourself into the ground is more worrisome than just going to the doctor.” “Oh, Spike. . . I’m supposed to be the worrywart,” Twilight said, hugging one of the dragon’s front talons. “. . . I can feel your ribs, Twilight; you need to eat something, or you’re going to collapse.” “I will, I will. Just let me decide on my guise, first,” Twilight replied, letting go of her hug and gathering her energy to her horn. For a few moments, her horn flickered and her mane changed once, twice, and finally three times, settling on a somewhat familiar form from one of her previous adventures. “. . . Sunset Shimmer?” Spike asked incredulously. “All the disguises in Equestria, and you settled on looking like her?” “It’s not what I’d pick most of the time,” Twilight admitted, “which is the point, Spike; I, of all ponies in Equestria, probably wouldn’t disguise myself as her.” “Well, yeah, but Twilight, isn’t she sorta well known?” “Only in an immortal’s memory,” Twilight replied, her tone tired. “Besides Alicorns and dragons, only high-school students and history majors would probably know anything about her, and her image is really only found in school textbooks and encyclopedias. It’ll work out, Spike.” “Mhmm,” Spike murmured, unconvinced, before saying with a sigh, “If you’re going to go in secret, you should probably get your emergency guards dressed up as well.” The blank look Twilight gave Spike sent shivers down his scales. “Emergency Guards?” “Twilight? You know. . . The Starburs-” Seeing Twilight’s eyes widen first in recognition only to slope downwards and water in shame of forgetting was agonizing, and, not for the first time during his visit, Spike felt a sharp pain in his heart. “Yes,” Twilight said in a pained squeak, before clearing her throat and continuing in a less tormented tone, “they’d teleport with me. It was something she made me promise.” “Twilight. . .” “I’m fine, Spike! I’m fine, and I’ll be fine!” “. . . If you say so, Twilight. Let’s get some food, though, okay? Before you go? . . .my treat?” * * * * * * * * * * “Alright, get outta here, you scamp,” Counsel said, smiling, as he opened the now mostly clean door. “Stay safe, eat your fruits and veggies, and be sure to brush . . . your . . . teeth . . .” If glares were daggers, there would’ve been chunks of Counsel capable of fitting through chicken-wire; six suspiciously similar ponies affixed him with a stare that, after a silent second to get through his shock, demanded Counsel’s immediate rebuttal. “I’m hoping,” Counsel said, with the slightest hint of a sardonic tone to give his words an edge, “I’m hoping that you’re all not suffering from mutual identity crisis; I’m not really trained to deal with the after effects of cloning, really.” The judging glares remained. “There’s a professor up the street I could refer you all to, though,” Counsel said, not even trying to hide the smile on his face at this point. “Her name is Dolly; can’t miss her, she’s the only two sheep in the whole of Canterlot . . .” The glares remained and the smile on Counsel’s face endured, yet, still, in that frozen room, something changed; for just a moment, just on the edge of perception, there was a quiet cough that, at least to Counsel, seemed to mask a hint of laughter. His eyes swept across the room and found a pony that had, somehow, escaped his initial notice. The fact she was very nearly obscured by an enormous tome did assuage Counsel’s momentary flash of guilt, before he realized that meant he had somehow missed a pony-sized book; of the two, he wasn’t quite certain which was the stupider. “Autumn Flicker, I assume,” Counsel said cheerfully, hope springing eternal. Dead silence was his response; only the brief flicking of an ear gave any indication that the mare had even unconsciously heard him. He took a few steps towards her, in the spirit of investigation and in maintaining the slight glimmer of hope he still had that it was her, and not one of the six glaring ponies, that was his patient for the evening. The consensus of shifting muscles and subtle clinks of hidden metal indicated that Counsel had chosen poorly. “Autumn Flicker?” Counsel repeated, this time with a great deal more worry and dread. Again, the ear twitched. This time, however, something in his tone must’ve slipped past the preoccupation of literature, and, finally, the mare looked up. “Ms. Flicker?” Counsel said, having already resigned himself to the paltry mercies of the identical ponies, and merely going through the motions at this point. She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few moments. “Autumn Flicker?” she said, blankly. A moment passed before her eyes widened and she exclaimed, “Oh, yes, that’s me. Sorry about that; I was thinking about something else.” “No worries, no worries,” Counsel said, cheerfully; inside his head, little fireworks were going off: after all, there was no way this one could be worse than her, in all likelihood, guard-ponies. “If you would just leave the book here and follow . . . me. . .” He stared as the various guards filed back to their chairs, their expressions far more neutral at this point; the door to his office was now slightly ajar, and while Counsel wasn’t a gambler by and large, he would’ve staked a small fortune on them having checked through his office. “Well,” he finally said, as if it were a statement in it of itself; he was certain that the socially appropriate reaction should’ve been incandescent rage, but at this point all he could work up to was befuddlement. “This is certainly unique. If you would follow me into my now, I suspect, significantly cleaner office, we can get started.” She had the common decency to look sheepish, at least. “You have guards,” Counsel said, stating the obvious, as they both entered his office. “I know some ponies that’d want to be guards, you know? Albeit for one of the princesses, mind you. . .” Autumn glanced at him critically, before asking, “I’m assuming this isn’t an attempt to get an alternative employment?” Counsel chuckle likely surprised her, along with his response; “Oh, no, no, no; I’m a bit of a conscientious objector, really; part of the reason I took the Hippocampus oath, really.” Then, as he pulled up a couple of chairs, he added, “What’s brought you in today? It’s not that frequent that a pony decides to just . . . independently visit.” Particularly considering the most recent news, but that conversation wasn’t exactly kosher in most company, Counsel knew. “So you disapprove of fighting?” Autumn asked, continuing down a line of thought Counsel felt was going to be both difficult to explain, and utterly distracting from what actually needed to be discussed. “Not exactly,” he replied, “I hope my thoughts are a bit more complicated than a blanket statement could describe, Ms. Flicker. Be that as it may, however, I am curious as to why you’ve decided that now was a good time to visit.” “One of my old friends said I was stressing out, which in his opinion is normal for me, but that I was also beginning to scare some of my servants with my . . . moods,” her tone suggesting that her acquaintance was exaggerating. Lazily, with only the slightest hint of a smile, Counsel’s gaze noticeably drifted towards the door. “No, not them,” Autumn said in utter seriousness. “It’s the maids, the butlers, the patron authors, the scientists, thaumological or otherwise. . .” She listed, only to slowly trail off when Counsel failed to hide his surprise at such retinue. Then, in a somewhat embarrassed tone, “I have a number of ponies in my employ.” “I see,” Counsel replied, nodding. “What sorts of personal hobbies do you do to relax? You mentioned some friends; have you considered going for a picnic, blowing off some steam?” * * * * * * * * * * It was funny how long it had been since they had found the time to just be together not as mothers, nor fellow bearers of the Elements, but just as friends; children had ensured the near omnipresence of haggardness and the bagginess of the skin under the eyes, but had left the simple joy on their faces untouched. It might’ve bordered on cliché, and perhaps Rarity would’ve vehemently disagreed, but their uncontained happiness worked wonders beyond any simple makeup would’ve accomplished. It wasn’t one of those meetings that were heavy on conversation, particularly after eating; there was maybe a grunt from Rainbow Dash as she shifted her position on her cloud, but besides such passive noises, little was communicated. There was no need, after all; just six friends, relaxing, watching the setting sun turn the horizon all manner of colors before eventually settling into a dark, rich, blue, with small pinpricks of light just beginning to pierce their way through the sky. It was simple, something that could’ve been done at any time at any day, and almost exactly like any other sunset and moonrise. Such banality nevertheless failed to detract from its beauty. And, like a parasite that feasted on such unplumbable happiness, a dark thought lodged itself in Twilight’s mind. It first said, “All things end,” which, in all honesty, was easily acknowledged; after all, nopony can cross a river without getting wet, and in the end nothing is eternal. Twilight’s smile failed to waver even slightly at that thought; it wasn’t the nicest of thoughts, but accepting it wasn’t particularly painful. And then the dark thought added, “Well, not everything. Or, rather, not everypony.” And like that, Twilight’s smile decayed into a small frown, and, just a little, the world seemed a bit grimmer. * * * * * * * * * * “The weather is quite nice this time of year, I’ve heard. At least, the country is supposed to be pleasan-” Counsel said offhandedly, only to stop cold when he noticed the slight grimace Autumn had, and instead continue with, “Not an outdoor pony, then. What sorts of hobbies do you have, Ms. Flicker?” “I like to read, practice politics, and research various fields of study,“ Autumn said, before shrugging and adding, ”I’ve also tried my hoof at writing, but I’m not exactly good at it.” “Oh? What sorts of stories? Or is it non-fiction?” Counsel replied, interestedly. “Oh, a little of this and that,” she said, smiling from a combination of embarrassment and pride. “Most of my works are non-fiction, and about history or magic; I wrote most of them under pseudonyms, though.” “Oh? Don’t like attention, I take it?” Counsel asked, making careful notes in the back of him mind about the various factoids he could glean. “I experience enough attention in my daily life,” she said simply. “If ponies knew I wrote . . .” she gesticulated for a few seconds before continuing with “. . . The Moon Also Rises, I’d never have a spare moment to think.” “The Moon Also Rises?” Counsel replied, in a carefully crafted neutral tone. “Yes,” Autumn replied. “It’s one of the few fictions I wrote.” “With the pseudonym Earnest Hoofingway?” “Yes.” Autumn echoed, this time with gears obviously spinning madly in her brain, trying to figure out what she had said incorrectly. “Wow!” Counsel replied a broad, trusting smile on his lips. “That’s absolutely amazing; would you mind signing a copy? I think I have one somewhere here in the office. . .” The rest of the initial consultation went much the same way, all the way until Autumn departed with her honor guard and left Counsel alone in his office, with a promise of another visit being tomorrow, at the same time. About thirty minutes passed in quiet deliberation before Counsel trotted over to his office’s bookshelf, withdrew a slim novel that was right in the middle of his ‘Classics’ section, and sat down to read a couple of lines. Namely, the publication dates. * * * * * * * * * * “You told him the name of one of your stories?” Spike asked, looking alarmed. “I wasn’t thinking about when I wrote it, Spike!” “Well, uh, things could be worse; how’d he take it?” “What do you mean?” “Twilight, your most recent novel is almost two and a half centuries old!” “He doesn’t know that! Probably. Hopefully. . .” “Twilight.” “I’m not panicking!” “Maybe if you stopped trying to maintain another life while going to therapy, you wouldn’t have so many problems keeping your time lines straight. And you’re mane is going all frizzy and weird, like it always does right before a meltdown.” “Spike, I can do this!” “Just because you can doesn’t mean it’s a good idea!” “I already told you, Spike, this is the way it has to be done!” A sullen silence ensued for a few minutes, before Spike finally muttered, “Clarity, Illusion, Nidra and Turquoise are curious if you can spare a few rooms for them, Thursday.” “They’re always welcome, as long as Nidra doesn’t start snooping in my dreams and Illusion doesn’t break the glasses.” “Snooping?” “Spike, I need some alone time right now, okay? Sometimes, the only pony I want in my head is me; I swear, this idea was terrible. . .”