9. A Twinkie The Size Of Manehattan
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
9. A Twinkie The Size Of Manehattan
"Would sire and dam care for more Southern Ocean?" The waiter was still on edge, desperate to please his divinely sent customers. "O-or I could bring a bottle of Northern Sea? On ice?"
Equestrian physiology was very different to that of any creature that had ever walked the long vanished earth. Alcohol did not naturally exist within the new universe, but even if it could, it would have no effect upon a pony. Equestrians were inebriated by salt, but not damaged by it. In effect, Equestria was bordered by literal oceans of wine.
"No, no thank you Cameriere, I think we've had enough, actually." Frontpage nodded, somewhat clumsily, at the finished bottle of Elegant Surf resting on its side upon the table. "Bring us some cola. Cherry cola. Lots of it. Please." Sugar acted to sober ponies, which had no fear of diabetes... or any other serious ailment. Equestrian biology still astonished Frontpage, even after a century.
"Of course, sir. Is milady...?"
"She's fine. We've just had... a bit of an adventure. A little sugar will perk her up. Great meal, by the way!"
The waiter, Cameriere, gave a brief half smile of pride and snapped to attention. He offered a nodding bow and trotted off sprightly to attend to the order. Crimson snorted, then raised her head from the tablecloth, a tiny line of drool curving up from where she had been snoring.
Frontpage and Crimson, after passing through the dark ribbon, had found themselves stumbling through a tapestry hung over a large hole in a brick wall. The wall was part of a basement store-room crammed with barrels and crates, shelves and racks. There was a red carpet with golden borders and fine detail work under their hooves, leading away from the tapestry. The tapestry depicted a night sky, in which was rising the Equestrian moon - unmistakably the moon as it was before the return and redemption of the princess Luna - a Nightmare Moon. The tapestry was very ancient, as was the carpet. They had both been arranged with reverence and care.
The storeroom was part of an Italian bistro run by Newfoal immigrants, in the Little Terra section of Greater New Manehattan. Like Ponyville, Manehatten, formerly the largest city in all of Equestria, had expanded since the age of the Bureaus, and the later contact with the Exponentials. Being the primary hub for all trade and commerce, Manehattan had vastly changed over the last century. The Exponentials offered many goods, and direct connection to them had quintupled the size of Equestria's one, and only, experiment with a pony industrial revolution. Now, Manehattan had boroughs and even a gentle sort of ghetto, in as much as such a thing could exist within a cosmos defined by friendship as a fundamental force.
"Come on, don't be difficult. Drink your cola. It's good for you." Frontpage briefly looked askance at the cola carafe - only in Equestria could sugar be a health food. "We're supposed to be representing princess Luna, remember? I don't think being salt-snockered gives a good impression!"
"Awww... I got the distinnnt feelin' tha waiter was espec... especking... quite prepared... to slurve... serve Her Majesty... a whole salt mine there. Back there. Then." Crimson swallowed more of the dark soda pop. She blinked for a while, and gradually began to straighten up as her gaze became more focused. "I... norally... normally..." She burped. Loudly. For an astonishingly long time. "Sorry. I normally do not indulge in salt. It's just that... after everything we've been through... I..."
Frontpage chuckled. "No need to explain. I'm a reporter. Goes with the job. If you don't need a drink to calm down, you suck as a journalist." Frontpage got Crimson to down some more cola. "At least true addiction is impossible here - though psychological addiction definitely is. Reporters are a hard-drinking lot. Welcome to the profession."
"So, will the Koo-Koo Cloud Gazette cover my tab?"
"We're on Luna's payroll, as far as anyone knows... and that's all they should know."
Crimson burped again. She looked much more alert now. "Right. That's right."
When Frontpage and Crimson had exited the storeroom basement, they had been greeted at the top of the stairs by the head waiter, Cameriere. He had initially acted flustered and surprised, but by holding their tongues and observing carefully, both Crimson and Frontpage had caught that only one pony ever arrived at the bistro though the basement - Luna, Diarch Of The Night. Apparently, the newfoal-run Italian eatery was a secret favorite of hers. Occasionally she would bring a few friends, all dressed in long cloaks, very hush-hush.
Frontpage had been impressed by Crimson's growing reporter skills when she had carefully allowed the waiter to believe that they had been sent by the princess. After all, how else could they have arrived from beyond the - quite forbidden - tapestry? After that deception, they had instantly become honored and very important guests, worthy of only the best, and a private dining room as well.
Over a simply marvelous Puttanesca Sauce with Fried Capers on Linguine, Ribollita, Ceci e Carciofi Marinati, and far too much bread dipped in olive oil, balsamic and parmesan, along with several bottles of exquisite Southern Ocean, both had finally conquered their vast hunger. Properly fed, and with a little too much to drink, Frontpage had fallen into a stupor, and Crimson had simply laid her head down on the table. Both reporters, and those they reported on well knew: nothing made a meal more memorable, nor delicious, than a narrow escape.
"We have a decision to make." Frontpage downed the last of the cherry cola himself.
"Decision?" Crimson dabbed at her muzzle with her napkin, which she had discovered just under one of bottles of seawater which had fallen on its side. "You mean... whether we count ourselves fortunate now... or go back?"
Frontpage nodded. The mare was sharp. "The smart thing would be to walk out the front of this feedbag and toddle home with our tails between our legs. Even I have to admit, we're in way over our polls here." He checked the carafe, to see if any cola remained. "We've nearly been eaten by monsters, we've cantered through forbidden spaces, and steeplechased through Wormholes-By-The-Hooflength. I can't say it hasn't been fun, but..."
"FUN?" Crimson began to sputter, but then settled herself. "Actually, in retrospect, sitting over this wonderful meal... safe at last... I would be dishonest to say I haven't found our adventures fascinating. Horrifying, nightmarish, and utterly mad, of course... but fascinating. Stimulating. I feel more alive than I have in... Hmm... honestly, I am both surprised and... not surprised by that. Perhaps I have spent too many years on mother's plantation and..."
"Crimson!" Frontpage placed his forehooves in front of him, on the table "I get it, I do. I've seen it before, in rookie reporters, I see it now in your eyes. There can be thrills digging up a story - but it's also possible to end up digging your own grave. Maybe my job, and your sister... are better left buried. I'm serious. We're meddling in cosmic-level stuff here. I thought, maybe... I don't know what I thought. I know I wasn't expecting any of this. Frankly, I'm starting to wonder if Gotchararzzi wasn't right."
"Maybe there are things no pony was meant to know?" Crimson leaned forward, studying the eyes of the reporter. "I don't think you really believe that. I know I don't. Not now. I've seen behind the curtain, mister Frontpage. And I've lost my sister. This isn't just a job to me, this is a rescue mission. I intend to get my sister back."
"From the dead."
Crimson nodded, solemnly. "Oh yes, mister Frontpage. From hell itself, if I have to." She hadn't used the human word 'hell' in half a century. It felt strange dredging up such a concept with Equestria.
"This is Celestia's cosmos. If your sister's anywhere, she's got to be in heaven, Crimson. Celestia wouldn't create a hell. She's not the type. If there's a pony heaven, it's going to be even better than this - " Frontpage gestured widely with his hooves "and this is already basically heaven as far as I'm concerned. Given that..."
Crimson was quiet for a while. Two whiles. Finally, she looked up. "I have to know. I have to at least know that she's somewhere good, then. The bottom line is that... I have to know."
"Fair enough, I understand the drive - but we don't have to take the fast path. She's still going to be there in, say... two, two and a half centuries? We'll all find out then. Guaranteed."
Crimson's face struggled to settle on an expression. Finally humor won out. "Cute. And true, as far as it goes. But two centuries is an awfully long time, and finding out then doesn't help anyone here and now."
Frontpage's ears twitched. "Swirl. You've caught a bad case of the journalism from me, Ms. Acres. That could be a real problem for bo..."
There were screams and shouts beyond the door to their private dining room. As Crimson and Frontpage turned to look at the doorway, it burst open. Cameriere stood, his cannons shaking. "Please! Call the princess! Oh, sweet Luna! Call her now!"
Frontpage looked at Crimson, then back to the waiter. "Of course, of course. If it becomes necessary." He glanced again at Crimson, she was clearly on board "But before I do that, I need to know what is going on. Can't just call her majesty over every little thing, you know!"
Crimson nodded sagely, repressing a smile. Somehow, playing along with Frontpage's schemes in order to learn things had become delicious fun. Even when there were terrified shrieks emanating from the next room.
"See for yourself! Look! Hurry! Look!" The waiter shrank against the wall and cowered.
Frontpage and Crimson blinked at each other, then stood. The cola had helped; they did not feel shaky or woozy. They followed the screams and sounds of pony horror. After everything they had just been through, neither was overly surprised at their own calmness as they passed beyond the dining room door and turned the corner to view the bistro proper. After Everfree monsters and hyperdimensional sailing ships, it was hard to take the fears of ponies safely ensconced within a restaurant seriously.
The bistro was in shambles. Tables suffered messily scattered dishes and food. Padded pony benches lay on their sides. Against the walls, patrons huddled, occasionally screaming in fear. Initially, it was difficult to tell what was frightening them so. Then Frontpage and Crimson saw the cause.
There were quite a few strange new guests entering the bistro. Some were ponies, some were very definitely not. Those that were ponies were dressed oddly, in styles that were fashionable centuries ago. Those that were not ponies were griffons and one medium sized dragon, and they were dressed for the sorts of battles that had occurred long before the Pax Equestria.
The most interesting part of their arrival was not that they were unfashionable, nor that they were translucent and shining, like luminescent walking mists - rather it was that they did not seem to need the door to enter, nor were they bothered with the solidity of tables or seats. One diaphanous, yet very fierce-looking armored griffon tried to sniff at a plate of orecchiette. Its glowing, pellucid beak passed through the plate, and the table entirely.
Crimson's eyes went wide. Her withers began to rise, along her spine and neck.
Frontpage slowly closed his open muzzle. He swallowed. "Who...."
"Who...ya..." Crimson spoke nervously, but she was able to make sounds.
"...gonna call?" Frontpage began backing around the corner. Crimson followed, unable to turn her back on the scene. Frontpage's tail impacted the doorframe of the private room. "Not me, that's for sure."
"B-Basement?"
"Basement."
Uncle Tumble and Aunt Peony had been forced to grab and hold both Jinx and Clover. Jinx desperately wanted to run and play with the ephemeral deceased bunnies, while Clover had gone from a demanding state of anxiety to a place far past worry; somewhere just beyond the corner of fear and terror, she had taken the turn-off that led to unhinged panic.
Both were busy hyperventilating for opposite reasons within the crushing grasp of Uncle Tumble's massive troll-arms.
"Lemme go, bad smelly Unca' Tumble! I wanna PLAYYY!"
"They're GHOSTS! Specters! SPOOKS! Oh Celestia! Oh Luna! just like in those books!"
Uncle Tumble paid neither filly any attention. He simply held the two young ponies in his iron grasp, close to his chest. Peony already had the door to the basement open. Tumble's heavy paws stomped down the stairs. Peony scrambled after him, her heart pounding in her barrel.
At the bottom, they immediately rounded the storage shelves and went straight for the alcove that held the glowing, pulsing Bevelmeiter tube. Tumble and Peony collapsed with their backs to it, as close as they could possibly get. It was their last hope, and their last stand against their own rising fear. The fear was not without basis. The yard, and now the house itself, was rapidly filling up with phantasms.
While Equestrian culture had already possessed the concept of a ghost, the pony notion of such an entity was fairly tame. Traditionally, spooks and spirits, if they existed at all, could be banished easily with laughter and joy. They could do no real harm to anypony.
Somehow, despite Celestia's strict campaign to carefully control what earthly media entered Equestria, an uncomfortable number of prohibited books, films and recordings had somehow been smuggled in and disseminated. Many ponies now knew about terrifying, viscerally disturbing human-styled horror stories, including dark and murderous ghost stories. Tales of deeply frightening and destructive apparitions had gradually become a part of the culture, ruining the sleep, and the peace, of many gentle ponies young and old.
The day had started out innocently enough. A spot of roughhousing near the blackberry bush by the well at the rear of the plantation house. Some quiet time while Peony fixed Tumble's torn vest. Then the fillies had found the yard filled with long-dead spectral bunnies. By evening, a strategic retreat into the house seemed wise when more than bunnies began to show up. The outlines of barely-visible unknown ponies appeared from out of the banana stalks, moving eerily in the fading light. But worst were the great impalpable wyrms silently gliding overhead. As the dark of night encroached, the etheric dragons could be seen in detail, and their glowing transparent forms wore ancient armor and tail-mounted war blades from long ago. They seemed drawn towards Canterlot mountain, but to get there, they chose to pass above the plantation.
For a short while, the plantation house appeared to be a sanctuary. Clover pressed her muzzle to the window, trying to see the bunnies, Jinx hid behind the sofa for fear of the empyreal dragons. They finally dared eat dinner. During dessert, much to the delight of little Clover, the first bunny scampered through the walls, darting through the furniture. Quite soon, the house was filled with gossamer, glowing bunnies from beyond. The arrival of the shade of a soundlessly snarling griffon warrior sent the four of them to the basement in desperation. Tumble offered the faint hope that the fearsome power of the recently installed Bevelmeiter might repel the increasingly terrifying shades.
And it seemed to work. Several times phantasmic entities attempted to approach Peony, Tumble, Clover and Jinx, where they huddled close to the softly glowing, spinning Bevelmeiter tube. The apparitions invariably halted, shrinking away from proximity to the tube as if it were some burning star that seared and blinded them. A nightmare creature, almost certainly an abomination from the Everfree, held ephemeral claws up to its large compound eyes and turned, as if somehow stung, before slinking back through the shelves and crates it had originally arrived through. It passed beyond the basement wall, and into the surrounding soil. It seemed the shadow of something not insect, nor bear but somehow both and neither, yet with fangs alien to either.
Even Clover, by this time, had forgotten bunnies, and pressed her face deep into the armpit of Uncle Tumble, heedless of any smells. She no longer wanted to see bunnies, for fear of seeing everything else.
Peony curled around and partly over her canid husband, doing her best to comfort the fillies. "I...I think we're safe, here." Thinking again of poor anxious Jinx, she worked to sound more confident. "We're very safe, as long as we stay here, by the light of the tube. V-very good plan, Tumble, you always find the answer to all of our problems!" She did not feel even half the assurance she was trying to project.
"Incorporeal invaders present problematic ontological concerns for poor Tumble. Me unsure about many previously held understandings about world. But good that tube keep haunting wraiths at bay. Me much glad this work." The diamond dog gently scritched the polls of the two fillies clinging to him for protection. "Little pony pups take heart. Bevelmeiter keep safe. Phantasms not like concentrated thaumatic energies. We safe here." He patted them and stroked their quaking backs.
"W-why do you think they don't like the tube?" Peony wished she had brought snacks and drink with her when they had made their hurried descent to the basement. There was no way to tell how long this strange phenomena would last - and worse, it had started during the day. There was no guarantee that the dawn would somehow banish the occult terrors.
"This part of ontological problem Tumble is having, dearest wife." Tumble nuzzled Peony, which greatly comforted them both. "If spirits exist, they must be magic. Bevelmeiter is powerful magical engine. Me originally think - bright spinning engine use magic for fuel. Ghost not want to come near, because engine maybe steal lifeforce away. But specters act blinded, they shy like burned by fire. Bevelmeiter push ghost away, not suck ghost up. Me wonder why this? Is ghost not magic? If not magic, then what? Why magic hurt ghost, if ghost made of magic?"
Jinx was whimpering again, Peony spent some time nuzzling and grooming what parts of her she could reach. Both fillies seemed intent on pressing so close into the front of poor Tumble that they were already almost behind him. Clover and Jinx also needed comforting attention, which Peony dutifully provided. Eventually they seemed to relax somewhat. Peony attempted to gain what comfort she could from joining them in squishing into the muscular diamond dog. Eventually, Peony almost felt calm. She found herself considering Tumble's questions.
Peony watched one of the long-dead bunnies make a run straight at her, only to stop, cover its eyes, and back away through the walls again. It did seem as if it were being harmed... or at least greatly inconvenienced... by the pulsing light of the arcane tube. "Maybe... maybe it's too much? Maybe the tube radiates something... maybe it feels hot to them... wherever they are?"
"They right here!" Tumble studied the last of the etherial bun, as it vanished into the wall.
"Not... entirely, love. I think the ghosts, if that is what they truly are, are partly here... and partly somewhere else." Peony wasn't entirely certain of what she was saying, but it felt less frightening to imagine that these strange events might be somehow be understood with enough talk.
Tumble nodded, as if with approval. "Ah, clever Peony invoke multiple-world theory! Pony smart, Tumble always know this. Ghost exist in other dimension, tilted outside normal plane of reality. Old theory, Tumble come across in book from Peony homeworld long time back."
"Oh yes... you tried to learn about earth for me, oh, goodness, that must have been seventy years ago now!" Peony was ever surprised at Tumble's amazing memory. Talking was helping. She felt much better now.
Tumble smiled. "Yes. There is dimension beyond all known. It dimension vast like sky and timeless like infinity. It middle ground between light and shadow. Between science and superstition. It lie between pit of fear and summit of knowledge. It dimension of imagination. Area called..."
But before Tumble could finish, both he and Peony found themselves gasping in horrified surprise.
Before them, shielding her eyes with a hoof, stood the lab-coated, ephemeral shade of Crimson Acre's recently deceased sister.
Plantain Acres.
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7571073 People always say they hate you. Any idea why?
I don't think you're that bad. I'm kinda indifferent.
Nice cover art, too. Who made that? Did you make it?
Holy flock, it lives, yay!
7573799 Internet hate sometimes just happens. Folks pile on - they think it's funny, or they want to belong to something, or they just figure that if others think something it must be true. I've endured everything from death threats to server attacks, and threats against my family - it was a bunch of kids who incited a mob and the whole thing got out of control.
I am not the first person who had this happen to them, I won't be the last. It's pretty nasty when it happens, but... life sucks, and then you die, right? No biggie.
I do all of my own art.
I hope... you enjoy something about my last novel here... if you are reading it, of course.
7573818
It took me two years to get here, but I used the time to write three other novels and a bunch of short stories... so... maybe not a complete waste of time. Sorry for the delay, though.
It lives! It has risen, as the prophecy foretold!
Interesting that alcohol can't exist naturally in Equestria (or at least your version of it), and that sugar sobers Ponies up. And Plantain's ghost is about ... protecting her family, I'm guessing.
Finally, the saga continues! Looking forward to many more great chapters!
And so we resume... and boy did the good ship Equestria just spring one heck of a leak. Pony the ecto-bilges! Load the proton cannons! Start up the catchy theme song!
Or, you know, do something less silly and just try to find the source of the problem back on deck. That could work too.
Still, I have to wonder if Crimson is somehow responsible for the ethereal leak in reality. After all, she got what she wanted. That may mean she's the only one who can fix it. I suppose I'll have to wait and see.
This is brilliant, I am so happy to be reading this story again, with new content
... Restaurant at the End of the Chatoverse...
[Muffins, I'm a day late catching up. Oh well, I'll comment on this chapter before reading the next one anyway.]
Oh dear. Piecemealing things together: if Luna is Charon, but the ferry is broken, and the hold is already full, souls are backing up into Equestria again. Things were tolerable before the Newfoals came, but now the ferry is overloaded. Not sure exactly how this involves the new Everfree monsters, unless Equestria itself is simply bulging at the seams, and things are leaking in from Outside.
(Hey, since it's only been a century, and they got married to stay in Equestria proper, I wonder if we'll run into Caraway and Dropspindle?)
I see Luna's Bookmobile has sprung a leak as well. I wonder if that's intentional on her part, an accident, or hostile action by the remaining soulless HLF agents and their Bluebloodesque offspring?
7577539
Let's just say that the mysterious and still unexplained availability of scary ghost-related earth media has made Nightmare Night one of the - if not THE - most popular and high profile annual celebrations in all of Equestria. As a result, Luna, seen as a psychopomp and keeper of all the scary things, has enjoyed a massive - truly massive - upswelling of support and respect. Even adoration. "Please Luna, princess of the night, protect me from what gives me fright!"
A very fortunate coincidence. Surely.
I forgot to track this story. ¡Oops!
I wonder how that is supposed to end. [ cough ] the Twilight Zone [ / cough ]
Tumble is very intelligent, but has underdeveloped speech-centers. It makes his speech-patterns very interesting.
Their Paglia e Fieno is absolutely divine. I recommend the Southeast Bay to go with.
The Sparkle Zone?
Well, I was close.