It was still dark when Luna landed on the front steps of Canterlot Castle. Fillydelphia and Manehattan had provided no end to potential scares, and the clocktower belted out the three-quarter hour. A quick glance at it told her the sun would be rising shortly. The night guards stationed on either side of the door saluted her. She nodded at them, lighting her horn to open the great doors. She could have easily flown to Celestia’s balcony, but as the Princess of the Night, she was still in charge so long as the sun remained below the horizon, and there might have been business that needed tending to since her departure. She made a round to the great hall to check for visitors.
As it happened, a mare sat on one of the stone benches lining the great hall atrium—mid thirties if Luna had to guess. She was a plump, grumpy-looking thing. A wool houndstooth sweater hung about her like linen wraps about a mummy. Keeping in spirit with the season, it seemed; though, Luna couldn’t decide whether or not the white-and-green pattern did better or worse at accenting the pale green of her fur. The cane leaning against the bench had seen lighter days, and laugh lines abounded on her face. Or perhaps they were scowl lines, given the massive scowl she had fixed upon Luna. Any larger and it wouldn’t have fit, even with the extra room her jowls provided.
“Good morning, dear citizen,” Luna said. “May I assist you with something?”
“Where’s the princess?” She rested a hoof on top of a cream-colored box beside her, as if warning Luna it wasn't for her.
Luna did her best not to appear offended. The question was to the point, something she could appreciate despite her poor observations. Perhaps she simply forgot to wear her glasses. “Dear citizen, I am Princess Luna, Regent of the Night. Did you come for a hearing?”
“Where’s the real princess?” Somehow, she managed an even bigger scowl.
Luna’s mouth fell agape, but she recovered. One of Canterlot’s ‘finest,’ it seemed. She wondered what festering underbelly she had crawled out of to find herself here. Sewer rats made better acquaintances. And Luna hated rats. “Celestia will begin day court shortly,” Luna said, stoic. “She will be in after the sun rises.”
The mare humphed, turning away. Luna pursed her lips, glaring death upon the ungrateful swine. The desire to turn her into one wormed into her head, but Luna instead made for a side hallway before doing something she might have regretted. Better to simmer before bed than reignite old fears in the citizens. There was no changing some ponies. Some simply held onto their hatred till the very last.
The hallway took a roundabout path toward Celestia’s chamber. Portraits, doors, and suits of armor marked arbitrary distances along each bend. Though it had been two years, Luna still wasn’t familiar with her new home. She could have strolled through the old castle blindfolded, but Canterlot’s had been designed with servants and other personnel in mind. Too many side passages, not enough prank traps.
A few minutes found her before Celestia’s room. She rapped her hoof on the door and listened patiently for hoofsteps, though pretty certain they wouldn’t come readily. The sun still hadn’t risen yet, which meant neither had her sister.
She tapped her hoof on the marble floor. The sound echoed down the hall, and the pegasus guard stationed at the door—a wall of muscle, rare among pegasi—glanced at her. It was a quick glance, so quick that she wouldn’t have noticed had she not been idly staring his way.
All guards were supposed to maintain a fixed gaze ahead, barring sudden intrusions. He had broken protocol, and by the tightness of his face, he knew she had seen. Celestia hardly cared for minor slip-ups, but Luna had built herself a reputation for running a tight ship. Even the quietest noises readily echoed through the castle halls, censure moreso. She again knocked on the door, but held her gaze upon him. There was always time for a little bit of fun. Besides, she could wait. A thousand years could do that to a pony.
She kept her face calm—stern, but calm—chin slightly raised so as to appraise him down the bridge of her nose. Give the air of discontent, yet also the hope of questionability: had she really seen? Never had a guard stood so still, so exact. He could have passed for one of the suits of armor lining the hallway, except for the fact he was sweating rather profusely, and his lips were starting to crack at the edges under the pressure.
Finally, the door creaked open, and Celestia stepped out, yawning. The guard gave a sigh of relief, but snapped to at Luna’s returned stare. Slowly, she shifted it back to Celestia.
Celestia rubbed her eyes and made a rather dramatic show of smacking her lips. Her aurora of a mane seemed more a solar flare for all its split ends. “Ungh, Luna, what are you doing here so early?”
“It is seven twenty-two,” Luna said. “The sun was scheduled to rise nine minutes ago.”
Celestia raised a tired brow before looking over her shoulder at the mantelpiece clock. She jumped, and the hairs of her nape reached for the stars.
The door slammed shut in Luna’s face, and she had only a moment to blink before a blinding light flooded in through the stained glass at the end of the hall. Within, something heavy and wooden jostled, and dishware clattered to the floor. Luna heard a muttered curse, then: “Philomena, pick up your trash!” The door opened, and a fully-dressed Celestia poked her head out, all smiles, voice like bells. “Come in, sister.”
Luna had to squint when she entered, so bright was the sun through the open balcony doors. That wasn’t so much new as the fact the sun itself seemed a little too bright, as if making up for its nine-minute absence. The morning breeze drifted in, chill, and it fluttered the doors’ sheer curtains.
Wrappers gathered around a small box of chocolates on the floor like ponies around a stage. Philomena poked her head out, the box’s pink ribbon draped over her beak. A purr, a cock of the head, and she dove back in, the lid shutting tight. Luna could hear her gnawing on something.
“I apologize for the mess, Luna,” Celestia said. “Philomena isn’t always the cleanest phoenix in Equestria.”
That might have been true, but Luna noticed only a hoofful of the wrappers were covered in crumbs and beak bites. She smiled. “It is no concern of Ours, dear sister.” She took a seat at the near end of Celestia’s tea table. Celestia sat on a cushion opposite her. “But for what We have come to speak with thou is.”
It was Celestia’s turn to smile. “For who to speak with whom?”
Luna rolled her eyes. “For me to speak with you.”
Celestia nodded approvingly. “I was going to ask why you are still up, Luna. Usually you are snoring away in your chambers by this time of the morning.” She lifted a tea kettle toward a cup in front of Luna, who waved it away.
Celestia’s raillery would have ruffled Luna’s feathers in their younger years, but she had learned fighting fire with fire fared better. Keep a running tally. When to even the score depended on the situation. On its rare occurrences, morning tea time often sufficed.
“I am sorry, dear sister,” Luna said as Celestia filled her own cup, “but it is by thine own snoring that I know when to sleep.”
Celestia smiled warmly after a sip of tea. Whether from the tea or the retort, Luna didn’t know. Judging by the lumps of sugar Celestia then added, she assumed the latter. She set her cup down. “So what is it I can help you with, Luna?”
“Mere hours ago, I paid a visit to Ponyville. And I met the little Pipsqueak.”
“Oh, your friend from your first Nightmare Night?” She took another sip of tea, this time smiling without a retort to confuse it with.
Luna nodded. “The very same. But he came to us—me—with distressing news. There are some who wish to see the dissolution of our most sacred Nightmare Night? I mean, such an outrageous claim surely couldn’t be true, could it?”
When it came to information, Celestia did well at casting a wide net. True to her social knowledge, she closed her eyes, smiling. She nodded, an ‘mmhm’ on the tail end of another sip of tea. “Yes. I’m afraid so, Luna. It’s the P-B-WAY-F-C.”
“The… what?”
Celestia looked at her matter-of-factly. “Ponies for the Benefit and Well-being of All Young Fillies and Colts. New group. I know they aren’t official yet, but you haven’t heard of them?”
Luna frowned. “I apologize, dear sister, but I cannot say that I have.”
“Hmm.” Celestia took another sip of tea. “I heard about them myself on Wednesday. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but haven’t been able to catch you before Lights Out.”
“Sister, you and I both know crises such as this supercede Lights Out.”
Celestia raised a brow. “Luna, do you remember what happened the last time I came to your room while you were sleeping?”
Ears flattened, Luna slanted her mouth, looking away. It was a rather expensive vase. “Th-this would be different.” She pointed her ears forward, her sense of urgency restored. Celestia chuckled.
Another sip. “But since you’re here now, I can tell you what I heard yesterday: they’re organizing a petition.”
Luna stood, her voice rising with her. “A petition? So Pipsqueak spake true? And thou didst not think it of import to notify us immediately?”
“Luna...” Celestia said in her ‘you’re doing it again’ tone.
Luna huffed. “You did not think it important to notify me immediately?”
Celestia smiled into her tea, content. “It's all pretty silly if you ask me. I really don’t think it’s anything you should be worried about. Besides, the SPCCPANA is already poised to counter-petition. And as far as I know, they have a perfect track record." She brought her smile and an eye up to Luna. "They'll buy you some time.”
“Buy me... Who—" Luna sighed, rubbing her temple.
"Dearest sister," Luna said flatly, retaking her seat. "Please refrain from these... absurd acronyms. They are hardly informative.”
“Of course, Luna,” Celestia said, her smile turning into more of a smirk. Though learned in her art of annoyance, Luna didn’t think she would ever become accustomed to Celestia’s brand of humor. She still had a few hundred years to catch up on.
“But as I said,” Celestia continued. “The Society of Ponies Concerned for the Concision and Precision of All Names and Acronyms will be petitioning against them.”
Luna blinked. “And what, pray tell, will they be petitioning, exactly?”
“The name, of course. It’s far too long.” She took a sip of tea.
Luna sighed, closing her eyes. “Forgive me if I do not appear amused by this, sister. But what of this Fillies and Colts—” she twirled a hoof in the air “—organization?”
“Conglomeration.”
“Con…glomeration?”
“Or they might be going for an LLC...” Celestia tapped a hoof to her chin, then shrugged, muttering something about ‘ponies’ and ‘political correctness.’ Silence hung heavy between them for a moment while Luna gathered herself.
“These ponies,” she continued. “Why is it they are petitioning?”
Celestia refilled her cup. “I believe it’s because of all the candy. Foalhood obesity, diabetes, cavities, that sort of thing.”
“And they believe the candy to be the source?” Luna heard her voice climb. “Surely, this cannot be the case.”
Celestia shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s true, Luna. I received the papers yesterday morning. That’s how I heard about it.”
Luna gawked at her. “Thou hast received the papers? Nightmare Night is Our holiday. Those papers should have come to us.” She stood, the muscles of her legs too tense to remain seated.
“Luna—”
“It should be Our call. Our say. And We say nay!” Philomena poked her chocolate-caked head out of the box.
“Luna.” Celestia held up a hoof. She waited, letting the air drifting in from the balcony cool the tension in the room. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Please, Luna.” She gestured at the floor across from her.
Luna complied, but was no more comforted. “There is far too much tradition in Our…” she cleared her throat. “My holiday to simply dissolve it.”
Celestia nodded. “I understand Nightmare Night is special to you, Luna, but the choice isn’t ours to make.” Luna’s gaze hardened, but she said nothing. Celestia continued, “Nightmare Night isn’t a holiday by legal definition. It’s a festival, and under national law is subject to each individual settlement’s jurisdiction.”
“Nightmare Night is not a holiday?” Luna stared at her as if she had six heads. “If it is not, then pray tell what is.”
“Oh, you know,” Celestia said. She started counting on her hoof. “There’s Hearth’s Warming, Labor Day, Winter Wrap-Up, The Canterlot Confection Carnival, National Random Holiday Party Day, The Summer Sun Celebration, The Winter Sun Celebration, The Sunny Sun Celebration, National Sleep-In Day—my favorite—The Harvest Sun, Arbor Day, Dawn Wednesday, Holly Day, All Sun’s Day, All Sol’s Day, Nothing of Particular Importance Day, and Ugly Sweater Day. Oh”—she brightened at the thought—“and don’t forget, that’s tomorrow.”
Luna’s ears drooped. “But... thou hast named every celebrated calendar day except Nightmare Night.”
Celestia’s smile deflated at the sight, shoulders slouched. “Luna...”
Luna gazed back, numb. “Thou art serious when thou sayest Nightmare Night is not of equal or greater import to Ugly Sweater Day?”
“Of course not, Luna, I would never say anything like that.”
“Then why, dear sister,” Luna said, voice rising, “in the last fifty-score-and-two years hast thou not made Nightmare Night a holiday?”
Celestia gave her that motherly face again.
Luna growled, cursing the heavens. “Why have you? Honestly, sister, my speech is not the problem here!”
Celestia sighed. “I’m sorry, Luna, but the ponies themselves came up with Nightmare Night, not me. I never thought I’d have to declare it an official holiday.” She shrugged. “They were happy, who was I to object?” Another sip of tea. She set it down and stared into it, ears flattened back.
“Then let us declare it a holiday now and be done with it,” Luna said, stamping her hoof. Celestia slanted her mouth and set her eyes. “I meant that as the two of us, sister.” Luna pointed between them.
“We can’t, Luna,” Celestia said in a tone that screamed ‘you should know this by now.’ “It’s in the rules.” She pointed a hoof at her bookcase. On one of the shelves sat the offending book, titled The Rules, whose single spine spanned half the wall. Its shelf sagged to the point of giving the impression it was smirking at her. “We can’t amend or create new laws without having first established a clear and appropriate resolution to a defined problem.”
Luna's expression turned sour. “What kind of a rule is that? So we are not allowed to take appropriate measures before a problem arises? How does your phrase go, ‘nicker in the butt?’”
Celestia, in the middle of a sip of tea, snorted it all over the table. She held a hoof up to her lips, swallowing what she had managed to retain. Coughing laughter, she wiped the table clean with a nearby handkerchief.
Luna grimaced. “What did I say wrong, sister?”
Celestia tried and failed to hide a smile. “Nothing, Luna. But yes, while that may be true, hindsight is twenty-twenty.” Her smile turned bittersweet. “That was a lesson I learned the hardest way.”
Luna opened her mouth to reply, but refrained. The sentiment was there. Whatever the case, Celestia was after something. Luna knew her well enough to see it from a mile away. Her games twisted like the roots of an old tree, her prior levity merely a staged rough patch for her to smooth over in one fell swoop on the tail end of their conversation. Tie it all up in a neat little bow of her choosing. The proposition was short to come. Well, Luna could play that game, too.
“You know how much Nightmare Night means to me, ‘Tia,” Luna said, returning to her seat, hopeful the nickname would find effect.
“I do.” Celestia raised her cup from its plate, but seemed to think better of it. She set it back down, closing her eyes. “There is much behind the season that ponies respect. Most still do.”
“But calling for its removal because they believe the candy is at the root of the problem? Do they not understand moderation? The lessons—my mistakes—they would lose to the passing of time?”
“Luna, everypony sees the world through a different lens.” She turned her gaze to the sun, which sat squarely in the middle of the balcony doors. “And sometimes, it’s hard to see what’s fogging it when you’re looking so hard to find the cracks.”
“Sister.” Luna set a hoof on the table, leaning forward. “Don’t tell me you are actually siding with their argument.”
Celestia shook her head. “Not in the least. I would never do something at your expense. Like I said before, I’ve learned my lesson.”
Luna slanted her mouth. “I apologize, but part of me still can’t help but believe you had a hoof in this.”
“Now, Luna, that’s just ridiculous.” Celestia chuckled, a hoof waving away the notion. “I would never sell myself out—”
Muffled shouts came from the hallway, followed by a heavy toll of metal. Both princesses turned in time to see the door burst open. The plump green mare from the great hall atrium strode in, cane in hoof, box swaying on her back. Somehow, she had turned her scowl into the largest smile Luna had seen since meeting Twilight Sparkle’s pink friend. The door guard instead wore her scowl as he stormed in after her, rubbing his forehead.
“Princess Celestia!” the mare belted in the worst indoor voice Luna had ever heard.
“Pea Body,” Celestia replied cheerfully, extending a hoof in distant welcome. “You’re looking well.” To the guard, waving, “It’s fine, Stone Wall.” Stone Wall looked between Celestia and the mare. He saluted and turned for the door, grumbling under his breath.
“Oh, you’re too kind, Princess.” Pea Body strode up beside Luna without so much as a glance.
“I assume things are going well for the P-B-WAY-F-C?” Celestia offered the mare a cup of tea.
Luna’s face darkened at the conversation. She made no attempt to hide it. Anypony fraternizing with this nefarious scheme deserved their own place in Tartarus—this mare especially for her earlier rudeness.
Pea Body laughed, waving away the kettle. “They most certainly are.” She set down her box. Little Bite's Bakery had been inked around the lid in a manner resembling a pie crust. Philomena perked up from within her chocolates box.
Celestia put a hoof up to her chest, regarding the box like a little treasure. “Is this for me?” Philomena flew over and perched on her shoulder, leaning dangerously in toward the box.
“Just a little something for our number-one supporter.” The mare’s smile practically outshone the sun.
Celestia opened the box, and her eyes lit up like fireworks. She shut the lid, hooves greedily shielding it from sight, a wild grin on her face. She exchanged the look with Philomena, who had raised her crest feathers in her own form of a grin. “No... you shouldn’t have.” She peeked inside again. “Is it—”
“Banana cream, your favorite—I know, I know.” Pea Body waved away her gratitude.
The forced generosity in the air could have throttled a manticore. Luna was lucky enough to escape with a scowl. “Sister, she is with—”
Celestia took a deep whiff of the cake, Philomena pantomiming. They each sighed and purred, respectively, melting in bliss.
Luna raised her voice. “Sister, do you not see—”
“It smells heavenly, Pea Body. Did you make it yourself?”
Luna bit her tongue, glaring ice between them. So that was their game. Ignorance and conspiration. Fine. She would wait. Patience would find her turn, and hell would be paid soon enough.
Pea Body blushed like a school yard filly. “Well, I would love to take credit, but Cookie Dough was running the shop today.”
“Well, I’m sure it will be just as wonderful. Thank you again,” Celestia said in a voice warmer than the sun.
Pea Body curtsied, blushing anew. “It’s an honor simply to speak with you, dearest Princess.”
Luna’s eye twitched, and a sensation grew in her stomach, much like her first and only experience with raw Nickeraguan turtle eggs. She had refused the role of emissary since.
“I must be off,” Pea Body said, heading for the door. “I still have to collect Bushel Brow’s signature before we can continue the petition. I do hope to see you cast your vote at the proceedings!”
“You’ll see me there, for sure.” Celestia waved her off. “Best of luck with everything.” The door shut, and the princesses sat in momentary silence.
“So… Pea Body.” Luna turned to Celestia. “A form-fitting name.”
The motherly stare returned in full. “Luna, stop.”
“Ugly Sweater Day arrived early.”
Celestia tried holding back a snort, a smirk growing despite her attempts. “Luna, please. Why do you have to be so dour?”
Luna narrowed her gaze. “Because thy knife in Our back is longer than thine horn.”
Celestia took a breath, looking down. “I told you, Luna, I’m not selling out.” A knife and fork levitated toward her from a china cabinet along the front wall. The knife cut a slice of cake, set it on a plate, and the fork brought a piece to her mouth. An invisible wave seemed to wash over her, and the room practically sparkled in the warmth of a brighter sun. She savored the bite as if it was the last she would ever eat. “I’m capitalizing.”
“I hardly can see the difference...”
“Luna, you—” She held up a hoof to catch an escaping cake crumb, then swallowed. “—You really need to lighten up.”
Luna gawked at her. “I should lighten up? She is the one who should lighten up—doubly so.” Celestia glowered at her, but she ignored it. “Have you not said yourself what they desire? Nightmare Night stands for more than just candy and scaring children. There is tradition in its very name. We do not want to see the lessons learned from Our mistakes forgotten.”
“And they won’t be.” Celestia dabbed her mouth with a napkin between bites.
“Yet thou sit there and gorge upon their offerings, making promises to this mare who loathes us for the very thing We represent?” Celestia raised a brow over deadpanned eyes. Luna rolled hers. “I cannot see why you would parley with somepony of such… consistent perspective.”
Celestia cleared her throat, wiping away a smear of icing. “If I recall, Luna, not long ago, you yourself had been rather single minded.” She took a bite of cake. “I have my ways.”
“Clearly.” Luna eyed the cake, despising all it stood for. A most distasteful bribe with a most distasteful motive. Whatever the cost, Nightmare Night had to be preserved. She needed information.
“So she mentioned a vote?” Luna asked.
“Hmm?” Celestia regarded her with wide eyes, plucked from a waffle-cone canoe floating down a river of banana-cream frosting. Even Celestia’s dreams—both day and night—drifted on the tides of Luna’s soul. “Oh, yes. The P-B-WAY-F-C has convinced the Board of Trustees: they’re going with a layland vote.”
“As at the founding of Equestria’s borders,” Luna added, nodding. Each city-state—or city, as they had become—chose a representative to cast a ballot on behalf of its citizens. It was all or nothing, which simplified things. Either every city continued celebrating Nightmare Night, or none did. Still that brought up concern on the integrity of the vote.
“Sister,” Luna said. “Are you not worried they may try to elect their own representatives to the vote?”
Celestia let out a quiet chuckle. “Dearest Luna… As I was going to say before…” She leaned in, a mischievous smile peeking up the corners of her mouth. “I have my ways, and you have yours.” Another bite of cake. “You’ll figure it out, Luna.” She winked. “You’ve always been the smarter one.”
Luna unfocused her gaze, thinking on her words. A layland vote meant the organization must convene to voice its petition, as was customary. Organize a party, voice a petition, appoint representatives, cast ballots. The four main steps to any layland process. If Pea Body had yet to speak with Bushel Brow, then the representatives hadn’t yet officially been appointed. The papers Celestia had received must have merely been a notification, and, given the mare’s parting words, a request that she be a representative on behalf of Canterlot. Hence, the bribe.
But Celestia knew of the constraints their office placed upon them, that they as rulers of the realm weren’t allowed to partake in layland votes. Certainly, then, her snake tongue had merely been for the cake; she had stated twice she had no intention of actually voting.
Split the difference, earn her cake, refrain from offending anypony. That meant Celestia banked on her ability to disrupt the vote itself. If Celestia believed that their weakest link, then she had no reason to doubt her.
The organization was working fast, however. If Bushel Brow in the Laws and Corrections office was Pea Body’s next stop, then that meant they must have elected heads of their organization-to-be and were ready to request the right to be officially declared a political party. Or something like that. It was all rather wordy and confusing.
“So, sister,” Luna said. “If she is heading to Bushel Brow now, then how close at hoof is their petition?”
“Pretty close, if I had to guess,” Celestia said through a chunk of cake. She dabbed her lips with her napkin, taking the time to swallow the morsel. “All they need is a signed petition for party rights, and they’re official. Knowing Pea Body, I’d expect them to be ready by tomorrow.”
“And if they were to obtain this documentation, then what?”
Celestia shrugged. “Then they’re free to petition for petitioning powers.”
Curiosity got the better of her. “Petitioning powers?”
“Mhmm.” Celestia had taken an unflatteringly large bite of cake. Her cheeks resembled those of a squirrel. “They have to petition for the right to petition for petitioning powers, and then they can petition for their layland vote.”
Luna nodded. Very slowly. So it was true: the ponies had indeed gone insane. She wished for the simpler days when laws were written in blood, sweat, and or common sense—when a hoof stamp held the equivalence of an inked stamp in this day and age.
No matter. Adapt or die, went the old adage. She could play this game.
“Sister,” Luna said in a hopefully introspective tone.
“Hmm?” Celestia had completely forgone the fork, banana-cream icing caked to her muzzle like a mud mask.
Luna blinked. “You mentioned an organization intent on stopping them?”
“Yes, the Society of Ponies Concerned for the Concision and—”
“Yes, yes. That one.” Luna struggled not to roll her eyes. “Where can I find them?”
Celestia looked up in thought. “I think Rhetorical Rhetoric III was in charge. He lives on Andalusian, in the Hackney House.”
Luna peaked her brows. “Rhetorical Rhetoric? The one who spake down the Bloodbeak tribe from attacking the northern homesteaders last spring?”
“Mhmm.” Celestia nodded, busy chewing a mouthful of cake. She swallowed, then said, “Best tautologist Equestria has seen since Hoodwink the Hoodwinker.”
Luna stared blankly. Tautologist? Did she earnestly mean that? “Right.” Anyway. If the PBWAYFC were wasting no time, she had no reason to, either. Best get to it. Luna stood and bowed. “Thank you, sister. This has been an invigorating chat, but I must be off.” She headed for the balcony. The sun seemed to have redoubled its efforts upon setting her hoof on the railing, and all things crystal and gold below flashed in its brilliance. She squinted, already feeling the headache coming on.
“Oh, Luna,” Celestia said, her voice trailing out sing-song, like a mother’s final reminder to a child.
Luna turned to regard her sister one final time. “Yes?”
Celestia lifted the empty box of cake, Philomena poking around her shoulder, bearded with frosting. “Could you pick me up another? That was really good.”
Luna glowered at her. “You can raise the sun itself on a whim, sister. Surely you can raise the servant bell beside you.”
She leapt over the edge in a sweep of her wings and was off, silent as a shadow.