8. The Black Ribbon
Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green
A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance
8. The Black Ribbon
Frontpage couldn't breathe. He struggled, flailing his hooves, tail, ears and neck. His limbs and parts met surfaces he could not comprehend, planes soft and hard at the same time, edges that passed through his flesh even as he impacted them, contradictions and paradoxical contacts.
He could not interpret what he seemed to be seeing. It didn't make sense, it didn't even make a lack of sense - this was not the chaos of Discord, nor was it random. There was a terrible order to everything surrounding him, but it was an order beyond his ken, beyond his ability to interpret.
The sensations pouring into him, as he writhed, made him unable to determine whether he stood or floated or was being held somehow. Every little movement seemed to force a rotation on him, a twisting in directions he had no name for. For a brief moment he became convinced that his head, neck, and forelegs had somehow painlessly intersected his flanks and hindlegs in some manner that defied reason.
In shock and horror, before his mind collapsed, he shouted to the spinning, impossible spaces he had found himself in. He screamed for help, he begged Celestia and Luna for succor. Finally, lost and desperate, his terrified mind retreated to the memory of safety - his apartment. Nice location in Canterlot. Such fine wooden flooring. So solid and strong. Like on his grandfather's model ship. If only he were home, if only he could have lived to finish his Big Scoop...
"Frontpage! FRONTPAGE!" Crimson was shaking him, violently, with a hoof. His body rocked back and forth upon the smooth, polished wood.
Frontpage blinked, and took in a huge, ragged breath. Air! Wonderful, cool air filled his lungs, and for a while, all he could do was breathe and breathe again.
"Frontpage... oh, Celestia... I thought... I thought you were..."
The tears in Crimson's eyes barely registered as Frontpage worked to regain his composure. He wiped tears of his own from his eyes with a foreleg. Gasping, he turned to Crimson. "Wha? How?" He rolled over, his hooves flopping against the polished wood with four solid thunks. Wood. He was on wood. Planks, smooth, polished planks as far as his eye could... no, the wood surface ended at a low wall, a wooden fence above which a churning darkness streaked with color hung.
"You didn't come back, for a long time, I don't know how long. I waited and waited. It must have been at least a day, maybe two! I ate some of the meals, and nopony came back out of the doorway... and I didn't think I could make it all the way back alone, I mean that would be crazy, so I figured that going through was better than getting eaten and I was worried about you, maybe you were in trouble, maybe..."
"How... how did it change?" Frontpage struggled to make sense of where they were. It was no longer some impossible space beyond understanding. Instead, it was a ship. A sixteenth century sailing ship. An Elizabethan Galleon, to be specific, exactly like the model his grandfather had owned. It had sat on top of his rebuilt bookcase, right next to his desk. The model was old, it dated from well before the Collapse, and it had survived that, and the rigors of favela life. Frontpage, when he had been human, had marveled at it more than once.
"How did what change? Are you all right? Do you need any water? I brought our saddlebags with me..."
Frontpage gratefully downed water from a proffered canteen. "The... the everything! It was all nut-muffins in here and... what the Pistache-Fraise is that?"
Crimson followed Frontpage's gaze into the roiling 'sky'. It was unlike any sky that either pony had ever seen. To Frontpage it looked like fractal art made into abstract gears that ground against each other only... no, it was more like streams of color and streaks of light only... that wasn't right either. It wasn't hard to look at, it was there, all around them, it was just hard to define. Trying to nail down what the 'sky' was seemed impossible. It was as if his mind kept trying to reinterpret what his eyes were lying to him about.
"I have no idea, and frankly, I'm trying not to look at it. Are you alright? When I arrived, you weren't breathing, or at least it seemed like you weren't and you just lay there and..." Crimson sniffed. "It was scary, seeing you laying there like that."
"I'm alright... or at least I am now. I wasn't when I stepped through a few minutes ago. It wasn't like this, it was all... I don't know. It was crazy, none of this was here, and what was here was... I don't have the words, and that's saying something for a repor... " Frontpage blinked, several times. "Did you say you waited a day? Two days? I couldn't have stepped through more than a few moments ago. I'd be dead, there was no air!"
Crimson tried to respond, but she felt confused. "At least a day. I think two. I slept a lot. I ate three of the cast-and-eats. Pretty good Manehattan style corn and oat chowder, by the way. One time, some strange dog-like creatures with horns like unicorns came by the cave, but they wouldn't enter it. It was really scary, and they could teleport, but they didn't..."
"Time." Frontpage tried to stand up. It was a little difficult, because he felt weak, and also because the deck was slowly pitching and yawing, as if the ship rode rolling waves. "Time is probably involved, somehow. Minutes here, days there? Or maybe it's weirder even than that. Fraise Pistache magic doors... always weirdness with the fudging things. Time, space, dimension... hey... what the Tarte are you even doing here?"
"Like I said, I was worried about you. And I didn't want to be eaten in the Everfree." Crimson lowered her gaze. "If you had a choice between what we went through, and a black door, what would you choose?"
"Black door, every time. That answers that." Frontpage looked up at the rigging, at the tattered sails stowed and secured to the masts. "I think the next obvious question is... can we go back?" He looked around, turning in place. They were near the forecastle, on the main deck, near two doors. One was simply a black, rectangular void. Although shaped differently, it decidedly resembled the pentagonal magic gateway from the cave. "Is that..."
"Where I came through. Yes." Crimson tidied the saddlebags, putting the canteen back. "But what do we have to go back to?"
It was a fair question. "Alright then." Frontpage helped Crimson put on her saddlebags, then she returned the favor. "I suppose we should begin exploring our new home."
Crimson's eyes narrowed. "Don't be like that. Eventually Luna or Celestia will notice us, or we will find a way to get through to a safer part of Equestria. Have some faith. It's rational to do so here, Equestria is not an uncaring universe!"
"I don't think... this... is Equestria. Not exactly anyway." Frontpage tried to make sense of the bizarre sky once more, but it just made his mind reel.
"Oh, I think it is. Look behind you."
Frontpage turned carefully around, his legs still adjusting to the motion of the deck. On the wall of the cabin to the front of the ship was the name of the vessel, done in stylish golden letters affixed to the wood. Frontpage stared. The letters were not earthpony grainscript, nor unicorn glyphs; they certainly weren't a picture of a ship, like the pegasai would use. The letters were English letters. From earth. His mind swam at that fact as much as what they said.
HMS EQUESTRIA
"Ohhh... kaaayy." Frontpage breathed out, then swallowed, then raised his ears back up. "Didn't it used to be more green?"
"Cute." Crimson nodded in various directions. "It appears that we have several things to investigate. Another door where we are, two doors back there, and a big deck barn, or floor door, or whatever it is."
"Hatch. Cargo hatch, I think. It leads down to the hold."
Crimson looked intently at her surroundings, her gaze settling on the railing above them, guarding the poop deck. "Her Majesty's ship seems to have seen some nasty weather." The rails were broken in several places. It registered in Crimson's brain that the sails were not unfurled, and what could be seen of them appeared torn, with strips of canvas hanging down like moss. "No, worse than that. The HMS Equestria has been through Tartarus."
The two ponies carefully approached the starboard rail and steadied their nerves to look over the side. The crawling, difficult to comprehend 'sky' did not meet any ocean, but continued uninterrupted below the ship. The Equestria was essentially flying through some incomprehensible space.
"Oh sweet Luna, protector of foals..." Crimson's words drifted into silence. Much of the structure of the ship was more than battered, it was rent. Fully a third of the lower hull was nothing but a skeleton of broken wood and shattered beams. Scattered gaps and wide holes riddled the rest of the ship, exposing the interior in many places. It looked like the vessel had encountered a mine field and had only barely escaped total and complete destruction.
"We're on a wreck. If this ship is Equestria, then Equestria is a mess." Frontpage turned from the railing and returned to stand near the door where they had entered. Crimson followed him; looking over starboard had not been a pleasant experience.
"If this ship is... Frontpage!" Crimson's ears were up and pointing to the front. "You said that when you first arrived, everything was different. You said it wasn't like this, that it was crazy. How did it change?"
"How did what... you mean how did the ship get here?"
"Yes! Tell me about that. Tell me how whatever you experienced became the ship we're on now." Crimson's tail was smacking her hocks.
"Uh... I don't know. I couldn't breathe, everything was just... it was insane. Not Discord insane, not like that incident with him, it wasn't chaos. There was an order to it, but... I couldn't interpret anything. I knew it had order, but it was just... it was so totally alien, so totally beyond anything..." Frontpage, normally gifted with words as a writer, found few in his head for use now.
"You were unconscious... or something... when I found you. You were mumbling, too. I couldn't make it out. What were you thinking, when I arrived and you woke up?"
"I don't think I passed out, not exactly. I felt overwhelmed, and I couldn't breathe, so that... had an effect. But I didn't lose consciousness, not entirely." Frontpage stared at the deck. "I... was thinking about wood!"
"Wood?"
"The floor of my apartment in Canterlot. It's wood. Polished wood. Really nice. The Querier had arranged things for me, I could have gone with the marble floor place, but I liked the wood. The agent didn't approve much of my choice, the marble is more upscale, but I liked the wood. Back on earth, wood was... only the elite of the elite had anything made of wood. For me..."
"Wood!" Crimson stomped her hoof, making a hollow thump on the deck. "Did you think about ships? Sailing ships?"
"What are you getting at?" Frontpage stared at the jiggling mare. She seemed excited, like she had figured something out.
"Did you, in any way, any way at all, think of a sailing ship?"
Frontpage shook his head. Of course not. Why on earth would he... earth. Wood. His grandfather's model. He had been thinking about his apartment, wishing he was home instead of suffering in... whatever it was. He thought about his nice wooden floor - he loved to lay on it, and just soak in what it represented to him - and he had thought about a sailing ship! A wooden sailing ship! His grandfather's model of a...
"Yeah... I did. I thought about this model of an old ship, a Galleon... just like the one we're on..." It was hitting him. The awful whatever it was went away right after that. Just before Crimson had appeared. "What, you're thinking that this is some kind of... holo... room... or something? That it reads our minds and configures itself or something? This is an illusion?"
"Not exactly." Crimson gave the forecastle a kick. The wood was solid and real. "Equestria is magic. Or something. We use the word 'magic' but what does that even mean? It's like saying 'Dark Matter', back in our old universe. Might as well have been 'Magic Matter', it means the same thing. Dark. Occult. Unknown. Magic."
"So, we're on a magical holodeck?" Frontpage had loved those silly old sci-fi shows.
"I think... more than that. Holograms are illusions, projections, theatre. Magic, in Equestria, does real things. Transforms solid objects. Makes physical things out of nothing at all. And what magic does... isn't false. It's really real. It's buildings and towers and roads and rakes and shovels. It's mane clips and telescopes that you can hoof down to your grandfoals." Crimson knocked the deck again with her foreleg. "What if there was something beyond a holodeck? Something that didn't make illusions at all, but which manufactured real things with the same speed?"
"A Krell Machine?" Frontpage was half-testing Crimson here. She knew holodecks, so she had somehow come across some of his old shows back when she was a child in Antarctica. She probably had a lot of time back then to watch video, considering what she had said of her lonely life. It was rare to find anypony who shared all of his interests, and Crimson was starting to grow on him. She'd make a Fritter of a reporter, that was certain now.
"A what?"
Frontpage sighed, inside himself. She had only been on earth until she was twelve, after all.
"Wait!" Crimson smiled. "I know that movie! The planet thing? With the saucer and the invisible monster? Krell. The Krell. It was a machine... a machine that could do anything! It made the monster!"
Frontpage felt like dancing, despite the bizarre circumstances. "Right! Forbidden Planet. The Krell Machine would manufacture reality based on thought alone. You think it, it becomes real. Easier than magic, actually. That's what killed the Krell - they never invented idiot-proof requesters that asked 'Do You Really Want To Do This? Yes - No.'. Wow. I am so glad you know that movie!" He could feel himself grinning. He was grinning hard.
"I didn't have many friends growing up. Any friends." Crimson found her hooves interesting for a moment. "I guess books and movies were my friends. I watched a lot of things. Science Fiction wasn't my favorite - I liked musicals, mostly - but there were a few I thought were good. I remember that one."
Crimson raised her head and slapped her tail against her hocks like a crop. "Hey! Now that's a thought! What if Equestria is a big Krell Machine?"
"The original Machine was twenty miles on a side, it was already big. But... I see where you're going." Frontpage scratched his ear with a hoof. "You think that the Equestrian Krell Machine picked up on my thoughts when I was distressed, and made a real earth ship from my memories of my grampa's model... and my apartment. And that is what saved me, and provided a place that was safe for you when you came through."
Crimson faintly bounced on her hooves. "Exactly! Like that. Not a fake anything, a real ship. Made of real wood. The machine saved you... and me, too!"
"Doesn't work for me. Not entirely."
"But... ship!"
"No, I get that. The coincidence is too great. But the Krell Machine didn't care. It just made whatever any Krell thought of. And the emphasis is on Krell - ordinary minds were too puny to even register on the thing."
Crimson studied the tops of the masts. "Okay - not Krell Machine. This isn't a movie. Maybe we're dealing with something that does care, and works to make environments that keep ponies alive. Maybe it does respond to smaller minds! Try thinking something up!" Huh. That was odd, up at the top of the mainmast.
"I've already tried. The moment we started talking Krell Machines, I was conjuring Pony Altaira. Nothing." Frontpage was trying to figure out what to do next. Talk was useful, but he was a pony of action. Or misadventure, at least.
Crimson glared at Frontpage. "What, I am not interesting enough for you?"
Damn, she knew the movie pretty well. "I... I uh... well..."
She smiled. "We're on a pirate ship. Was that your idea?"
"W-what?" Crimson felt almost as disoriented as he had been when he had first stepped through the dark doorway.
"A pirate ship. Look!"
Frontpage followed Crimson's gaze into the rafters and on up. At the top of the mainmast was a black flag. On the flag was the skull of a pony, with two crossed cannon-bones below it. "The... bones?"
"Oh! I hadn't thought of THAT!" Crimson's ears dipped and flicked. "Discord wasn't supposed to see the 'bones', right? What if that flag is what he isn't supposed to see?"
"Skull and bones, pony style. No, that didn't come from me. My grampa's model was a ship of the line, and had a British flag on it. He didn't like pirates. Of any kind."
"Then... if it didn't come from you, then it's trying to tell us something. But what?"
"Crimson? Tell us something?"
Crimson walked to the door next to the one they had entered from. "Let's open this one! We'll never find out what's what just talking. Open the door!"
Frontpage half smiled. He couldn't remember getting married, but what the Hay. "Yes, dear." He used his most downtrodden voice.
"I... I didn't mean... I just... " Crimson blushed, under her coat. "If you would be so kind, would you care to attempt opening this door? It is my belief that we should explore further." Her body language had instantly become reserved and stiff.
Frontpage's ears fell and hung to the sides as if their plugs had been pulled. Blew it. He blew it. Flan. "Uh... yes. I think that's a good idea. Investigative reporters... investigate." Muffin, muffin, muffin. And she'd just gotten the stick out and everything. He'd already sussed that she hid behind being proper and prim. Before he'd gone out to the Acres Plantation, Puffpiece had given him a run-down. She was supposed to be quite the rough-and tumble country mare. That wasn't what he had found. Crimson Acres had retreated into herself, back to her Antarctic childhood. He'd met her type before. Something bad had happened, and she had put her armor on.
He'd almost gotten her out of it. Double Bran Muffin.
Frontpage took the handle of the door in his teeth. The grip had been designed not for humans, but for ponies. That was interesting. He set a foreleg against the wall and pulled. There was resistance, so he applied a little earthpony power.
The door sprung open and Frontpage tumbled back. Crimson barely got out of the way in time. From within some chamber in the forecastle, something sprang out.
The something was black, impossibly dark, just like the strange door in the Tree of Harmony. It was a band, a great ribbon, twenty-four hooves high, and it just kept spooling out, writhing and curling and whipping about the deck.
Crimson and Frontpage plastered themselves against the forecastle wall and tried to avoid the rushing fence that was the black ribbon. It frightened them, not just because it was unexpected, not just because it was utterly alien to their experience.
Something was wrong with it.
The end of the vast ribbon was ripped... or torn... or damaged. The nigrescent substance of it sparked and flickered and licked the air like some wounded tongue. It hissed and sizzled as though it were the end of a live wire, energized with deadly amperages. The length of the ribbon had faults, spots and tears where bolts of horrifying, lightning-like energies tore out and attacked the deck and anything near. The ribbon was broken in some manner, and the thing that made both Crimson and Frontpage certain of this was a deep and powerful feeling of unnameable dread.
Finally, the ribbon of darkness finished unspooling from the opened doorway. It settled down, coiled across the entirety of the ship's wooden deck. It was still, now, except for the constant sizzle from the broken end - happily hidden from view by several coils of the dark band - and the odd bolt-like discharge from the tiny nicks and perforations that were scattered along its length.
Frontpage caught his breath, and stood up, near the door. It was no use trying to close it. He didn't feel safe even trying. "Surprize!" It seemed funny in his mind.
To his astonishment, Crimson laughed. "And it isn't even my birthday!"
Frontpage smiled. Maybe he hadn't blown things entirely. "It feels wrong."
"You get that too?"
"Like its... broken. Like its damaged. How do we even... this is something we've never seen before. Nopony's ever seen before..."
Crimson watched one of the small rips in the ribbon discharge jagged branches of bright, burning energy to the deck. Small, dark spots were starting to mar the planks. "I wouldn't say nopony. The princesses must know about all of this. And Discord too."
"Somehow, I can just tell there is something busted about... whatever that is. Just like the whole ship." Frontpage was busy jotting down notes in shorthoof. He replaced his pad and pencil back inside his saddlebag. "Dumplings!"
"What?" Crimson looked wildly about. After so much strangeness, her imagination was offering her the unwelcome suggestions that they might not be alone, or that something else might pop out suddenly.
"We can't get to any of the other doors now! I'm not even sure about the hatch - look!"
Crimson followed the curving ribbon of darkness with her eyes. It snaked across the deck, right across one corner of the hatch to the hold, and ended in a coil right next to the port railing. It walled off access to the two doors that had been across from them. The ribbon was far too tall to jump over, and far too scary to approach in any case.
"That is... problematic."
"Oh yeah, I'd say so. If we can't open that hatch..."
Crimson stepped forward. "Then, let's try the hatch. Help me. How does this open?"
Frontpage gave the hatch a tap with a hoof, and followed along it, inspecting it. "Hinges. We lift it. From this side."
Frontpage and Crimson worked together to lift the large hatch cover. A far corner was covered by a curve of the strange black ribbon. Shrugging with their ears, the two ponies lay down and slipped their forehooves under the rim of the cover. Pushing up in unison, the cover lifted. The black ribbon slid off as if it were frictionless and essentially weightless. The ribbon danced for a while, as the curves and coils resettled themselves. It was bizarre - and intimidating - watching a twenty-four hoof high ribbon of darkness and lightning snake and writhe, settling into place at last, like some enchanted, evil slinky.
The cargo hatch was nearly upright. Crimson pushed from low, and Frontpage from high, until the cover passed the half-way mark. Only then did they realize that the falling cover would slam into the side of the weird ribbon. Fears of upsetting the thing so much that it might whip across the entire deck filled their minds. Crimson ran to the door they had entered from, followed closely by Frontpage.
The cargo hatch fell, it's hinges squeaking. It slammed to the deck, full half of it crossing the upright plane of the fence-like dark ribbon.
Frontpage felt his jaw hang open.
The hatch had collided with the side of the ribbon. Or rather, it hadn't. Half of the hatch cover was now simply... gone. The hatch cover ended at the ribbon, as if sawed off precisely to meet it. It had passed through the side of the ribbon as if the ribbon were nothing but a shadow, an illusion.
Or like the door in the Tree Of Harmony, Frontpage thought. The look on Crimson's face suggested she thought the very same thing.
"It's... a door. The ribbon is a long... door, isn't it?" Crimson marveled. "It's a doorway, just like there..." She gestured with her foreleg at the entrance portal. "...and it's broken somehow." She thought for a moment. "Or it was cut. To make the door in the tree..."
Frontpage goggled. He was a science fiction fan, but this was a novel notion even for him. "The... ribbon... is a length of... doorway... a space-time door, a wormhole, something like that... and it can be cut and sections assigned entrances and exits? Is that what you're saying?"
"Well, the end is all broken or cut... I wish I could get a look at it again, but it's wrapped up in coils of itself... and we have the feeling it is damaged, right? And it's just like the Tree door, because the hatch went right into it, so...?"
"It's a theory." Frontpage walked to the open cargo hatchway. "But I'm not stepping into it."
Crimson's ears twitched at that. It had struck her that if the cargo hold didn't pan out, there weren't many options left. "What's down there?"
Of course it was the only thing it probably could be. A flat plane of absolute black.
"Another weird black portal." Frontpage sighed.
"Or another cutting from that ribbon." Crimson rather liked her theory. It seemed strangely practical to her.
"Wormholes by the Horse Length? Doorways cut by hoof-measure? Do you need dimension scissors to cut bits off?" Frontpage snorted.
"Dimension sci-fi-ssors, I should think." Crimson giggled at the groan that resulted. "So, just jump in? The space-time is fine?"
"I thought you said you preferred musicals." Frontpage did not relish jumping down through a flat plane of darkness.
"Doesn't mean I didn't watch my share of weird stuff." Crimson approached the hatchway. "Hoofstand Reverse with two Somersaults in the Tuck Position... or just Bellyflop the Darkness?"
"I feel more like we're Magic Missiling the Darkness." Frontpage noticed the confused expression. "Dead Alewives? No?" Frontpage sighed. "That was a long time ago even when I was young. "How about 'There is no darkness but ignorance.'?"
"Shakespeare?"
"Somehow I'm not surprised you'd be learning Shakespeare before the age of twelve." The sort of life that Crimson had lead on earth had gradually been sinking in to Frontpage. It didn't appeal to him in any way.
"Of course. I was paraded around at dinner parties by my parents. I was quite the 'Smart Little Lady'. Quite the showpiece to display." A wave of sadness washed over Crimson's features. "It's amazing how some things never quite vanish." She raised her ears. "Stop dawdling, Amaryllis!" With that, Crimson Acres hopped over the threshold and fell through the Stygian shadow.
Frontpage was shocked. Just like that, she just hopped right in! "Huh. I guess she does like musicals." There was nothing else for it. More than a little uncertain, Frontpage stepped close to the edge of the cargo hatch. It was all so absurd. A broken, battered pirate ship sailing through... nowhere. A damaged ribbon of darkness that had some solidity at the edges, but acted as a gateway along its length. Her Majesty's Ship 'Equestria'. The 'bones', whatever they were. Luna and Discord and frozen bunnies from the Everfree and some threat of some kind. The Everfree getting worse. And Crimson's dead sister. Doors within doors. All the answers were somehow supposed to be inside the Tree Of Harmony? Perhaps.
"I'd better get the Przewalski Prize for this."
Then Frontpage dived into the tenebrous hatchway.
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This chapter is a little hard to wrap my mind around. But... I have seen Forbidden Planet. o.o
Should be "breathe." It's in there twice.
Beyond that, yes, a confusing chapter, but I think it's going places.
curiouser and curiouser indeed! I have an inkling of what this all is, but then I'm also not quite sure it is what I think it is... one thing I can say for sure is that the chocolate sauce has definitely hit the muffin batter mixer
The universe broke and the warranty expired.
4778531
FIXED! Thank you.
Why do I have the impression there's a ticked-off Krawlni not far away?
4778897
*Cough*
Blink dogs, maybe? I don't remember them having horns.
it needs to be capitalized. And either eliminate "lead" or change "leads" to "must". Those are my suggestions, at least. :3
4778973 The idea of meeting another one of those gives me the creepy-crawlnies.
I was kinda wondering when something like this might happen. It will be interesting to see what happens, and might be fun to see the ponys exploring the verious verses thy can run into.
I'm a bit surprised it's not the TMS Equestria. As is, it raises the question of which Majesty it belongs to.
Hmm. Well, that raises interesting questions. Either Frontpage has gotten eyewitness testimonies or Discord went off his leash at some point over the last century. Or had a sanctioned day of chaos, but that's both a contradiction in terms and something Celestia would have trouble countenancing.
In any case, our heroes have almost certainly come to the wrong conclusion. This isn't a machine that makes dreams real, it's a form their mortal minds can fathom. Something their senses can process, a symbol, a metaphor. Equestria is damaged somehow, but it's not something that can be fixed in some extradimensional drydock. Well, not in a literal sense.
Looking forward to more, especially any consequences of leaving the portal ribbon hanging out.
The ship reminds me of the Borealis from Half-Life 2 and Portal 2 (though apparently it is nothing of the sort).
Ohhh I like this one, especially like the the first part, it sounds like a "Departure from Flatland" kind of thing to me. Which leads me to believe they are "Outside" Equestria now. The rest is still pretty puzzling though.
So then, in Equestrian space they have two dimensional ribbons instead of one dimensional strings. Is Equestrian space then four dimensional (not counting time) and our own universe is a three dimensional holographic projection of four dimensional Equestrian space.
Proof:
i1063.photobucket.com/albums/t510/lmclecm/6bde50479ae8e3c1880457e7ffca6ff0_zps8a94b377.jpg
OMG! We are the black ribbon !
Well this is obviously a black ribbon worn for mourning because any idea I had about this story just shriveled and died.
'doddling' should be dawdling, right? or is that another spelling variant?
Also, this chapter in general is both weird as all swirl, and FASCINATING as all get out.
... I wanna cast 'Magic Missile'
Why are you casting Magic Missile, there's nothing to attack here...
I... I'm attacking the DARKNESS!
Except, somehow, I think Luna might be annoyed if that actually happened.
4779624
Discord with a sanctioned day of Chaos... Discord's version of the Purge... hoo boy.
4782508
Apparently yes. I just checked the OED. That or it's actually an entirely different word that happens to have one of its meanings coincide with a similar word. The etymology of daddle, doddle, dawdle and a number of words with similar meanings are obscure.
Chat is rather fond of obscure or obsolete words. Fairly often I'll find variants that haven't been used since the 19th Century.
4782508
4785504
I was away in Hillsboro, in Oregon. House and moving stuff. I fixed 'doddling' to 'dawdling'. Reason? The original text for 'The Music Man' uses that spelling, rather than the older one. I... gained a very large vocabulary at a very early age (and it keeps expanding) but many of the words I gained were from very old books. The result is that, yes, sometimes use more ancient versions of words. Like Don Quixote, my mind has been addled by too many ancient romances.
So... FIXED!
Dang, except for the lack of oxygen it sounds like Frontpage took a pretty awesome ride. I'd love to physically go to a space like that instead of only dreaming or hallucinating it (assuming, of course, I could rent some air tanks beforehand).
Really like the idea of a "roll" of door. It'll make me look at electrical tape with new eyes. It's pretty creepy to think it's just sitting right there, though, since unlike the length of it used to make the door in the Everfree, it might not yet be connected to anything...
This ship metaphor is really cool, and I'm intrigued about the damage. Great use of "sufficiently advanced" ideas in terms of the Krell Machine as well—Not only is that a great film, it grounds magic in terms of the rational universe you've otherwise established, and that hidden core of realism is one of the things I really like about these stories.
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In fairness, it still works. I'm just used to 'dawdle' instead of 'doddle'.
I'm always a chapter or two behind this story because I read it after my internet day when I download it. The D&D references were beautifully nostalgic.
But this is me. You know what makes me fawn and coo and swoon.
Dog and Pony love. And yes, it is shown to be such lovely love. I'm just so delighted by it.
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I was so hoping you would like it... Peony and Tumble's relationship is a bow of thanks to you.
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Their relationship, every kiss and lick and touch and warm word fills my heart with sunshine and cheer. They, so clearly, are the sign of Equestrian peace and happiness. To get along is to be happy. To date is to he happier still.
I have nothing new to add other than I miss you and I hope you're okay and just in general, you're a good person and I like you.
Mother of pearl it's an exact 1:1 ratio of 100+ on a what I see as a well-written fic... man that hate brigade is a lot bigger than I thought.... and more hateful than I thought. Meh, I'll break the tie.
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Thank you. You are kind.
I want to apologize for the fact this story is still unfinished. I will return and finish this story one day. I always finish everything I start - I consider it a sacred trust between author and reader. But... it may be a little while. I am sorry for this. I've hit a difficult patch in my life, and finishing this story is... for later. Please forgive that.
Thank you again for your kind thoughts.
5698616 Jaja, just don't expect me to comment, favorite, follow etc., I'm just browsing through some of the more prominent TCB's to make sure I got some of my facts straight.
One day this'll be finished, one day...
Hoping stuff's going alright!
Nevermind the above two deleted comments, just some irrelevant late night madness I had at the time...
Whenever this is revisited, I can tell it's going to be something real special. Both looking forward to and dreading that day. I don't want your TCB stories to end, and yet I also want to see how they do.
4686180 This could very well be one of my favorite comments on this site.
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Faving your own story, at least back then, acted as a backdoor which permitted easy access to anyone before the story was actually published. It was (and possibly still is) a fantastic hack that allowed, say, an editor or friend to easily access a work-in-progress without the need of passwords or other hindrances. They could just go straight to the story with one click. Easy-peasy.
It also helps should one be so prolific as to have more stories than one can keep track of - just go to the faves and the story is there, at the top, easily accessed to work on. That usefulness has been removed, since, but at the time, it was very helpful - especially if accessing from a fondleslab without a keyboard, or if one was returning to a story after a long hiatus and had forgotten which one.
Reaps real purpose was to be a troll and cause trouble, a task he did very poorly.
But, fair is fair, and if his comment had occurred on a website where self-faving wasn't actually useful for something and if it was legitimate to trash people out of the blue for no reason, and if being an asshole was ever something good to be, then, in that case, yeah - his comment would be fucking hilarious!
Sadly, none of that was the case.
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Heh... I still fave my own stuff for the same reason. My default loading page for FimFiction is the favorites tab (unread, most recent) because I get all my updates at once. Throwing unfinished stuff in there became a habit and, gosh darn it, a good one.
*Hits the stop watch* Two hours and twenty minutes to read these eight chapters again.
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Good Job! I would expect no less.
Sadly, there are people who read much, much, much, much more slowly. But, perhaps I gave my readers a little bit too much lead time. I don't know.
*sits staring at the page image*
I knew it I knew it sometimes I really hate being right...
So the ribbon portal ship dimension thing is damaged. Not just torn at the end, but all those years a long it's length. I didn't even know it could be damaged. Knowing what it really is though, this can't be good.
How can it be fixed?
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Things - might - just get a little... uh... cosmic... from here on.