• Published 29th Dec 2013
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Obiter Dicta - GhostOfHeraclitus



A collection of short stories, vignettes, and deleted scenes, mostly based in the Civil Serviceverse and tending to be either slice of life or comedy.

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Dr. Spinning Top—Specimen Annotated Daily Schedule

Dr. Spinning Top

Specimen Annotated Daily Schedule


Look carefully.

There's an ornate clock on the nightstand, all gilt and clever scrollwork—the owner clearly devoted to the concept of beauty in all things—and it is going to ruin somepony's day in a minute or so. It's not the clock's fault of course, it's just following orders—the Nuremberg Egg defense of clocks, really—but it's going to ruin a pony's day all the same.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick.

This is going to take a while. There's bound to be something more interesting than a clock around here... let's see (you are looking carefully, aren't you?) clothes, jewelry, all very pretty but in an anodyne way. All very neat. The jewels especially, arranged on velvet like surgeon's instruments, gleaming in the dawn half-light. There's a bookshelf too, rosewood, stuffed with books in at least four languages. The books are beautiful, bradel-bound with gold thread much in evidence, but unlike nearly everything else in the room they are worn and a little bit faded with cracked spines and frayed thread.

There's a pony here too, of course, nestled deep under the blankets with only a shock of red and orange mane poking out of the covers. If you strain your ears (you should be listening carefully, as well) you can hear her snore very very gently—though she would, of course, deny this vehemently.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick—won't be long now—tock.

Click.

It is conceivable that the clock could have made a more horrible noise, if only just.


06:00—Wake up.

06:00-06:05—Stare at clock, bewildered and uncertain what the hell it is and why it is making that horrifying sound. Stare at still-dim sky. Reconsider life choices.

06:05-06:20—Shower.

06:20-06:30—The Sacrament of Coffee. News is officially prohibited from happening during this hallowed time.

06:30-06:45—Reviewing early editions of major newspapers.

06:45-06:50—Primal scream therapy.

06:50-07:50—Achieving state of sufficient equianity by way of diverse ablutions and the application of cosmetics.

07:50-07:55—Seeing if the morning editions look any better now.

07:55-08:00—Further primal scream therapy.

08:00-08:30—Morning commute. Casting aspersions on the ancestry, character, and post-mortem fate of the Transport Secretary and all 18245 ponies working under her.

08:30-08:35—Tense negotiations with the security ponies which devolve into philosophy: If you were a changeling but didn't know it, and were in every respect exactly like the original would you need a visitor badge or could you enter through the staff entrance? And what does that have to do with tortoises?

08:35-08:36—Telling the security pony about your mother.

08:36-08:40—Dodging, avoiding, and if necessary assaulting ponies blocking access to the press office.

08:40-08:41—Discovering a fresh croissant and cup of coffee delivered by the principal private secretary.

08:41—08:45—Pledging eternal gratitude, hoof in marriage, and a hundredweight of jewels.

08:45—08:50—Breakfast.

08:50—08:55—Timorously peeking at the day's agenda.

08:55—09:00—Considering self-duplication spells, mirror-pools, time-travel, cloning, and shooting Blueblood. Giving up on shooting Blueblood as unrealistic.

09:00—09:30—Meeting three journalists and a gentlecolt from Equestria Daily regarding Equestrian territorial pretensions. Explaining Equestria has no territorial pretensions. Underlining that a princess suggesting a visit does not imply bringing an army along. Pointing out that Princess Twilight Sparkle does not have the constitutional authority to order the army anywhere, even if she wanted to, which she doesn't. Providing assurance that Shining Armor now commands the armies of the Crystal Empire. A brief tutorial on the difference between the Crystal Empire and Equestria. An even briefer tutorial on the proper use of a geographical atlas. An exceptionally brief—bordering on brusque—tutorial on the difference between 'over there' and 'here.'

09:30-09:35—Primal scream therapy

09:35-10:00—Civil Service status meeting. Enduring twenty-two minutes' natter about irrigation policies in the Southwest during which the Permanent Secretary for the Weather Office felt it necessary to explain what clouds are to the Permanent Secretary for Agriculture. Hoof-to-hoof combat averted when Dotted Line gave the belligerents a Look. Approx. 6.7 on the Death Glare Index. No casualties.

10:00-11:00—Discussing terms of favorable interview for Princess Twilight Sparkle in Equestria Daily with Breaking News.

11:00-11:30—Meeting with the Blueblood Fiasco Management Group. Doomsday Clock minute hand moved to three minutes to midnight based on unanimous vote. Drafted & sent letter to Princess Celestia suggesting that Blueblood be sent as emissary to the fabled kingdom of Amarant.

11:30-11:35—Brief interruption as the Permanent Secretary for the Foreign Office broke in on account of a standing enchantment which causes a klaxon to ring in the secretary's office whenever someone says 'Blueblood' and 'emissary' in the same sentence.

11:35-12:00—Meeting of the BFMG (Motto: Ne nos inducas in interfectionem!) continues with the drafting of the General-Purpose Blueblood Catastrophe Apology Form, version 27.1.

12:00-12:15—Drafting a press release regarding the Northern Griffonstan situation. Reworking it so it is impossible to claim the statement supports either side of the conflict.

12:15-12:20—Further revisions in order to remove any hint of territorial pretensions.

12:20-12:25—Finalizing revisions in order to remove the merest hint that Equestria has any opinion on the conflict whatsoever except, perhaps, to acknowledge that it might exist.

12:25-12:30—Realizing that what with the equivocation, the qualifiers, the weasel-words and so on the press release is actually the functional equivalent of a perfectly blank sheet of paper. Giving up on further work on it in disgust.

12:30—13:00—Lunch.


"You need to do something about Twilight Sparkle."

Spinning Top looked up from her buttered broccoli—no great chore, that—to see Dotted Line wearing his usual expression—the one that put ponies in mind of a large mournful dog.

"I am doing something about it. I've already scheduled a friendly interview to change the tone the press is taking at least a little bit. Breaking News okayed it just now. We're getting Gilded Lily, and she'll softball the interview."

Dotted nodded.

"Good. Give Her Highness a chance to shine. Maybe remind everypony that they owe her their lives a few times over. But that's not what I meant."

"Oh?"

Spinning Top polished off another piece of broccoli—finding it no easier to swallow than the previous one—and waved her hoof at a seat. For reasons hidden deep in that big fuzzy head of his, Dotted absolutely refused to sit unless invited.

"The press are eating her alive," he said, worried, "I've not seen it get this vicious with anyone else. Can't you... teach her?"

"She's a princess, Dotted-dear. I can't possibly presume to..."

"Yes, she is. And what she knows about media relations could comfortably fit in a matchbox. Without first removing the matches, either. Please?"

"I can... I can offer her my help."

"Thank you," Dotted said looking at his plate—ratatouille, more pushed around than eaten—his expression grumpier than usual. "She might need all the help she can get. I can’t believe how bad it got."

Spinny shrugged.

"I expected it."

"You did?"

"I worked the foreign news desk for ten years, Dotted. By the end, I saw this thing happen all the time."

"What do they have against Princess Twilight Sparkle?"

"Nothing at all. Oh, don't get me wrong, sometimes they do a hatchet job on purpose, sure, but this time I don't think they cared about the princess one way or the other. It's all about...look. Tell me. What is the real news of the day?"

"What?"

"You are the cabinet secretary. Don't tell me you aren't informed. Let's say you are the editor-in-chief for the day. What does your front page look like?"

"Heroic Civil Service Perform Yet Another Silent Miracle In Keeping Country From Exploding. Again, " said Dotted. He flashed a grin, suddenly looking considerably less mournful and about ten years younger.

"Too long for a title. Try SERVICE MIRACLE SAVES EQUESTRIA. Also I was being serious."

"Sorry. Okay. Um. Well, there's the second round of ceasefire negotiations between the Free Gryphon Rep—"

"Foreign policy. Under the fold, at best. Also this is the fifth time it was the second round of negotiations. Ponies are bored of it. Next."

Dotted blinked, taken aback.

"But they agreed to put the Steel Shadow Eyrie Massacre claims asi—"

"Nopony knows where Steel Shadow is. Hardly anypony cares. That won't even make it into the story."

"Okay. Well. The new Securities Trading Act is coming out of committee."

"Excellent! Money. That works. Can you explain it in twenty five words or fewer?"

"I... uh... It introduces the need for a third party to verify that there is good-faith collateral posted behind offers of default-swap and monoline insurances on debt inst—"

"Well done. Only about six ponies are still reading. And one of those is probably Sky Scribe checking if they got the jargon correct."

"I—it's important!"

"Of course it is. That doesn't change that only about six ponies are still reading. Will it make ponies richer?"

"Not really."

"Poorer?"

"No, but it will lessen the impact of a potential cra—"

"Nopony cares."

"I... I guess... well. There's nothing really important going on."

"Ah. Good. Blank front page. Perhaps with NOTHING AT ALL HAPPENING SORRY on it? That's going to go down well with management."

Dotted blinked. Flicked his ears, and pushed aside his plate.

"Fine. Show me how its done, newshound," he said with a crooked smile.

Spinny speared a piece of broccoli.

"Well. You always want the same sort of story leading. The basic beats you are looking for are fear, outrage, and anger. Outrage's best of all. That explains the Twilight Sparkle story."

"It does?"

"Certainly. You take a hatchet to a well-known figure. That gets you attention. Everypony knows who Princess Twilight is. Best of all, she's new to everypony so you can invent anything you damn well please. Now, about half of the ponies like the rough treatment. They like seeing the high-and-mighty taken down a peg. Especially this Twilight Sparkle, turning her nose up at everypony, thinking she's all that! Everypony knows that something ain't right with her, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera," Spinny said, her voice turning sharp and mocking.

"Surely not everypony is like that?"

"Oh, of course not, my dear. Of course not. Then you have the other half who are furious about a national treasure like Twilight Sparkle—smartest mare in all of Equestria, she is—being dragged through the mud. So they buy the papers in order to be outraged at them and to wave them at equally outraged friends who also bought copies."

"But these ponies are angry at the press."

"So? Angry readers and avid readers show up the same in circulation numbers and that's all the advertisers care about. Besides, give it a while and they may even make a story out of the outrageous treatment of Princess Sparkle in the press, and isn't it a shame, and isn't it a disgrace and so on and so forth. The result is the same: same outrage, same letters to the editor, except the two groups change sides for a bit," said Spinny with a resigned shrug. She cleaned her plate, and finished a slice of bread. Dotted's ratatouille remained untouched, as he leaned in, ears pointed forward.

"So none of them really care about Twilight Sparkle..."

"...she's just a prop to them. Best we can hope is to move the cycle of outrage to another position: the Poor Heroic Princess gambit."

"She is heroic!"

"I know this, you know this, the citizens of Ponyville probably know this. To most of Equestria she's just a name."

Dotted sat back, ears drooping.

"I can't accept that, " he said, "surely ponies are better than that."

"The Canterlot News Nightly circulation numbers say otherwise. It's past one. I'm going to have to leave. Is there anything else?"

"No," said Dotted, who looked quite deflated. "Thank you for the chat."

She left him lost in thought tapping the edge of his plate with a fork absentmindedly.


13:00-13:30—Midday editions survey.

13:30-13:35—Primal scream therapy.

13:35-14:15—Damage control due to marital indiscretion of a Cabinet Minister.

14:15-14:20—Plan to issue mandatory libido suppressants to Cabinet-level appointees vetoed.
14:20-14:25—Brief lecture in which Dotted explains the actual effects of saltpeter and how heart disease isn't likely to help except in a very terminal sort of way.

14:25-15:30—Drafting suitably contrite apology for said minister to read out in her front garden, projecting as much content domesticity as she possibly can.

15:30-16:30—Meeting on the maximum secrecy limits for classified material with the board of the National Security News Agency. Recommending that the short-term discretionary classification powers of the Tactical Subterfuge Act be retained, but issuing a statement of censure against the head of the Equestrian Secret Service for declaring the whole city of Manehatten top secret as a joke.

16:30-16:45—The Blueblood Fiasco Management Group receives a response from Princess Celestia which politely reject the Amarant posting idea on the grounds that fabled Amarant is lost somewhere beneath the endless shifting sands of Dromedaria. The letter also preemptively vetoed the idea of making Blueblood's first act as emissary be finding fabled Amarant on the grounds that ponies who try never come back.

16:45-17:00—The BFMG unanimously votes in favor of the proposition that "It Was Worth A Shot."

17:00-17:15—Evading Dotted Line, who has taken to enforcing his views on the suitable length of a workday with a squad of palace guards empowered to eject any workaholics (that aren’t him) from the premises.

17:15-17:50—Departmental budgetary meeting.

17:50-17:55—Brief debate on whether alcohol can be classified as an expense.

17:55-18:00—A department-wide agreement is reached that it can be—specifically under the 'medical attention' heading, provided it is is consumed just after attending a meeting of a legislative body.

18:00—18:30—Evening edition survey.

18:30—18:35—Primal scream therapy, though under the effect of a conus silentii spell due to necessary stealth.

18:35-18:44—Meeting of the Parliamentary Press Secretariat.

18:44-18:45—Meeting interrupted by Dotted's Overtime Inquisition (Motto: Nemo nos exspectat!)
18:45-18:50—Being gently prodded out of the building with assurances that the crisis will still be there tomorrow.

18:50-18:55—Vain attempts to get back in.

18:55—19:15—Arranging meeting with Gilded Lily.

19:15-19:30—Traveling to Chez Radin. Renewing blood-feud with the Transport Secretary and all who stand beside her.

19:30-19:45—Terse negotiations with the maître d'.

19:45-20:45—Dinner.


The very best thing that could be said about Chez Radin was that it was fashionable. Sadly—at least in Spinny's opinion—that was also the only good thing that could be said about it. The food was selected more for sounding provocative and chic on a menu—carbonized kale? hay rehydrated in champagne? mud soup?—than for actual taste, and the portion size was somewhere between a studied insult and a bad joke. Vast porcelain seas with the odd scrap of food just to break the monotony.

Gilded Lily was well aware of all these faults, so asking to meet here must have meant that she needed to be seen above all else, and Spinning was hard pressed to refuse her oldest friend. She knew quite well what it was to climb that particular greasy pole, with everything hinging on access, reputation, and the perception of keeping up. It wasn't always like that, of course. It used to be that working for EqD meant something and—Ah, but that was a road Spinny had been down altogether too many times. Things change. What was it that Gilded Lily used to say all the time back at Uni...?

Right. Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis. Times change, and we change to suit them. And Spinny... Spinny had changed. She'd given up the greasy pole for one that, it must be said, seemed to be covered with glue. Of course, she was head of her own department—not a lot of room for promotion there, but it was still an odd feeling not to be clawing for that extra little hoof up. Was she going to be doing the same thing ten years from now? Dotted had been hinting that she was likely to be offered his job when he retired but Spinny found the idea of Dotted Line retiring to be utterly ridiculous—even death itself, it was widely thought in the Service, wouldn't be enough to divest him of his job.

Lily had changed in her own way, too. She didn't run away when things had gotten... difficult in the newsroom. She stayed on, shrugging off buyouts and political shakeups. Spinny envied her a little bit. Oh, certainly, Press Secretary was a respectable job, well paid—not that that mattered—well regarded, and altogether much more to her mother's liking. That was rather the problem, really.

Spinny sat, lost in thought, slowly settling into the comfy chair, half-blind and half-indifferent to the restaurant's synthetically idiosyncratic décor when a familiar voice shook her from her reverie.

"Spinny! My dear! It's been too long!"

And it had been. It always was. Once upon a time they were inseparable. Once upon a time they were the twin terrors of the EqD newsroom. And before that at Uni, swotting Horsace, and making up wild stories about the fate of the Hermocoltes. Now it was so hard to sync up schedules, they went weeks without so much as catching sight of each other.

"Lily! Darling! It has! So lovely to see you. How's the Great Equestrian Novel coming along" said Spinny willing herself to smile.

Gilded Lily sat and smiled back.

"Slowly. It's coming along slowly. Actually, not so much coming along as backing away. Work's hectic, as you may imagine. We miss you in the newsroom, still."

"Oh, come now. Surely, you've trained up replacements?"

"Dozens. And if we keep it up and train up a few dozen more, we might be able to equal about a quarter of you. On your off days."

From behind Spinny' willed smile the real, hidden one, flashed for just a second.

"You are too kind, Lily. I'm sure they are quite capable," she said.

"Said like someopony who's never had to look at their copy. It's like the schools simply left off teaching Equish, I swear. So? How's working for The Mare," she said. She paused to catch the waiter's eye, and held up a hoof. "What can I get you, Spinny?"

Spinny smiled, put a theatrical hoof to forehead.

"Working for The Mare? Nam Versatricem quidem Phillydelphiae ego ipse oculis meis vidi in munere pendere, et cum illi equi dicerent: Κλωθοῖ τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθανεῖν θέλω."

Lily actually giggled. Not the pleasantly tinkly giggle she used to tell you that, on mature reflection, what you said was acceptably droll, but her snorty giggle Spinny found herself missing so much.

"Well," she said, "I had no idea it was that bad! Death I can't—won’t!—provide, but let's see if we can't find something suitably numbing. Poulain! Please, a bottle of the 988 Château d'Yquem for my weary friend here."

Spinny smiled. Lily knew her weaknesses all too well. But still, the 988! That was altogether too expensive. Even for Lily. She tried to protest.

"Well that's magnificently kind, Lily, but that's really a dessert wine. It doesn't quite pair with—"

"Nonsense. You've been here before. They hardly propose to feed us here, now do they? Château d'Yquem it is! Well for you. I'm too sensible to drink moldy wine."

It was Spinny's turn to snort with laughter.

"It's delicious!"

"Moldy."

"Many things that are delicious are also moldy."

"Griffin propaganda."

"You like Pu-erh!"

"That's fermented. Not moldy."

"Spoiled, is the word you are looking for, Lily my dear."

"Hah. So. Is it really that bad?"

"Pu-erh? It tastes like something mistook your cup for a lav—"

"No, no. Work. Nam Versatricem quidem and all that. Mind. I'm not entirely sure you can hang in an office."

"It sure feels like it."

"And I see your delusions of godhood are progressing nicely."

"Oh come on! I couldn't think of another word for 'Spinny.'"

"Ταλασιουργοϛ?"

"That's a spinner of wool, Lily."

"Well? It could mean over ponies' eyes, couldn't it?"

"Ouch."

"Well, you walked into that one."

"Granted."

There was a moment of silence as the waiter approached, soundless, and poured wine. The delicious tawny-gold nectar for Spinny and something pale, cold, dry, and difficult to pronounce for Lily.

Lily broke the silence first.

"You never answered me."

"Mm?"

"Work. Is it that bad?"

Spinny sighed.

"No. Not really. It's... it's the same as it ever was. Just, sometimes I don't feel like I'm accomplishing that much. Every job has its grind, sure enough, but back at EqD you could hope that you'll write that one big story that'll change something. At the press office... you are forever treading water. If you do your job right you keep your department one step ahead of catastrophe until tomorrow. Then it starts all over again. I have to say... I envy you a bit. You can get somewhere."

"Aren't you supposed to get a shot at the big job someday?"

"So Dotted says. But that's really more of the same. You just juggle more catastrophes."

Lily swirled her drink in her glass and took a tiny bite from an even tinier portion of quail egg smothered in tarragon somethingorother.

"It's not that sunny over here, you know. The newsroom isn't as you remember it. It's all about the circulation, these days."

"So you've said."

"Yeah. But you haven't heard it. Not properly. Remember why you left?"

"Yes."

"It's ten times worse. It's not just squelching unprofitable stories. Copy gets edited from On High these days. Editorial independence is a joke, " Lily drained her glass and continued, "Yeah, you can write a story that makes a difference, sure, but nopony will let you publish it. Sometimes... sometimes I think you were lucky to get out when you did."

Spinny put her glass down carefully. It was worse than—well no. It was as bad as she had heard. But worse than she had believed. What she told Dotted at lunch was... well, cynicism. Bitterness. He shouldn't have tried to talk to her when broccoli was about. She hadn't believed it was true, not really. But now? Maybe she should have believed.

"So how are you holding on," Spinny asked.

"I... okay. I get by. Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis and all that. I'm too senior to fire just like that, but I have to be... careful. Or I'll get sent to cover flower shows and Celestia knows what else."

"Well," Spinny said, trying for cheerful, "at least tomorrow we can do some good, you and I. This mess with Princess Sparkle has to end. Thanks for agreeing to softball it."

"Yeah. Anyway, you asked about the novel? I do have some news," Lily said, reaching into her saddlebags.

They kept chatting for a while longer, making game attempts to eat the frequently puzzling and always inadequate food being placed before them. It wasn't until she was leaving that Spinny realized that they forgot to make a plan for the interview tomorrow. The conversation kept slipping away from the subject. Ah well. No need for some master plan. She could just rely on Lily, same as always.


20:45-21:15—Traveling back home.

21:15-22:00—Reading things that, blessedly, aren't newspapers.

22:00-22:15—Shower.

22:15—Collapsing in bed.

22:15-06:00—Uneasy sleep.

Author's Note:

Many thanks to the inestimable, irreplaceable, and incredible (also some things not starting with an 'i,' I'm sure) Bookplayer & Bradel for pre-reading this. Also more thanks to the splendidly pecunious Bradel for technically paying for this story, in accordance with this offer. Normally I match Bookplayer blog posts (not that anyone was much interested, it turns out), but in this instance Bradel asked for a story and... well... here it is.

Note: This story is technically a prequel to Bradel's magnificent A Filly's Guide to Not Making Headlines, however, you can read them in whatever order you wish without detracting from the experience one bit.

Lastly, this story includes the most obscure joke I ever made, and as such, I feel it appropriate to offer a bit of a crib sheet. So. The untranslated bit of Latin and Ancient Greek Spinny spouts off (Classics Majors. Tch.) is a take on a line in the Satyricon of Petronius (which if famous because it is used as an epigraph in a rather noted poem) which has been lightly modified by me. Seeing as my knowledge of Latin is... insubstantial, let's say, and that of Ancient Greek isn't even that, I may have messed up quite, quite badly. Allow me to offer a translation: "And, indeed, I had seen with my own eyes Spinner(fem.) from Phillydelphia hanging in an office, and with her ponies saying "Spinner(fem.), what do you want?" She replies: "I want to die."
(It was, naturally, originally about the Cumaean Sibyl)
One last annotation: There's a joke about 'delusions' of godhood later. That's because the word Spinny used to translate her own name in the Ancient Greek segment is 'Κλωθοῖ' (well actually that's the vocative case, but let's not complicate matters) which is, as you've probably guessed, 'Clotho,' the youngest of the three Moirai (fates).
Right. All that probably didn't make the above funny, but I hope that, at least, you want to throw things at me somewhat less.