Therapy

by Broken Phalanx

Chapter 4: Irritation

It was difficult to miss Twilight’s reappearance in her castle, if only because of the heap the Starbursts made when they, too, were teleported back. She glanced at them for a moment, eyes wide as she realized that she hadn’t warned them in the slightest and that they had very likely been nearly seen; this, conveniently for one of them, meant she had absolutely overlooked the pilfered security camera clutched in his hooves.

Twilight groaned, rubbed her eyes, and walked over to Spike’s chamber slowly, grumbling all the way.

“These sessions are throwing off my routine. . .”

The portcullis to the dragon’s room trembled for a moment before shrinking to pony size. Twilight pushed it open.

“Did you have a good visit?” a sleepy voice from the darkness asked, before a snout, hazy with smoke, emerged from the shadows.

A grumble was his only response.

“That bad, huh?”

“I’m telling you, Spike, I don’t need this nonsense.”

“Uhuh,” the drowsy dragon replied, laconically asserting his disbelief in her assessment, before yawning and murmuring, “I’m glad you’re taking a break from that book of yours, though; all work and no play doesn’t do anypony, any favors.”

“Why are you acting so tired?” Twilight asked reflexively, before her eyes widened and she made a strangled squeaking noise.

“Had to transport about two hundred packages today after you left, then I ate a bit too much crystal for dinner and put myself into a-” Spike interrupted himself with a yawn, “-a food coma.” He glanced a Twilight for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before he asked with more than a hint of lethargy in his voice, “Did you misplace your book?”

“Yes,” she muttered, before adding, perhaps a bit more sharply than she intended, “I wouldn’t have forgotten anything if it weren’t for these wastes of time.” Then, angrily sighing, she muttered “I either left it in the trans-dimensional space created by that Maze spell they were working on in Sub-basement level three, somehow mis-shelved it into the Library, or left it at my doctor’s office,” with a clear note of irritation at the final few words.

“Didn’t that thing have all your drafts for your speech? And a whole bunch of other stuff about your domain?”

“It’s warded, so I don’t have to worry about tampering. All I have to do is find it, preferably before it either gets torn apart by the things that live in the Maze or attains sentience in the Library. When are the kids supposed to get here?”

“They said around nine-ish. Though, really, they aren’t exactly what a sane pony could call punctual . . .”

“So, all I need to do is traverse a trans-infinite amount of space-time, or hope the Library has finally stabilized after that ‘Knowledge equals Power’ spell went haywire, or, if neither of those two places have it, go back to my psychologist’s office. All in, let’s say, six hours.”

“Twilight, you’re mane’s getting all-”

She disappeared in a flash of magic, but the slight jitter that always came to her eyes while on the verge of utter insanity was more than visible in the instant before she left.

“ . . . crazy. Again.”

Spike blinked hazily for a couple of seconds, before he sighed, tried for a few futile minutes to hold a quill in his massive claws, resorted to dipping the tip of a talon into the ink and writing with that, before breathing green fire on the hastily constructed note.

“That should help a bit,” he murmured to himself drowsily, before falling back asleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” Counsel muttered to himself, having finally surrendered in his search for the security camera. “There are nice tables here that are only a bit scribbled on, and fine cushions that only have a few scrapes, and somepony goes after the ugly lump of metal affixed to the corner. Madness, I swear. . .”

But most worrying of all was the fact his video records had been wiped. Counsel had only heard of such things occurring in terribly made spy films, so either he had the grave misfortune of being the unwitting accomplice to Golden Pie or something far scarier and deeper was going on around him; for all intents and purposes, he might as well have never had a camera. Which, frankly, removed any possibility of calling the police; telling them a story about a phantom camera, a robber polite enough to plaster the wall behind them, and suddenly non-existent records would only get him laughed at in all likelihood.

And then there was the Book, which entirely deserved capitalization. A towering tome that cast a quarter of the waiting room in shadow, it had taken roughly fifty minute of extensive pushing to move the thing about twenty feet into his office, where it probably wouldn’t topple and crush anypony walking by. It had something scribbled on it, probably a name, but somehow Counsel’s gaze slid across the letters without truly reading them, despite his efforts to the contrary; the fact the book probably weighed more than twice his own weight and that Flicker had lifted the damned thing on a regular basis with simple levitation spells did nothing but unnerve him even further on the entire matter.

He glanced at the Book once more with a mixture of awe and irritation before retreating behind his desk and withdrawing, with astonishing care, the checked out catalogs. He’d have to replace one due to its crumpled corner, but the other four were still in mint condition; all in all, it’d only cost him forty bits, twenty of which he could probably compensate with by selling the slightly tarnished copy. . .

Of course, this planning was rather spoiled when a gout of green flame spontaneously erupted in front of him, scorching a small fraction of his desk and lightly singeing the collection of catalogs in his hooves; his brain, deciding that discretion was the better part of wrath, wisely let this detail go ignored as he flung himself behind his desk in the vague hope that it would protect him.

A minute passed peacefully. Counsel started feeling foolish.

He rose from his crouch, only to stare blankly at the crisp note that sat in the middle of scorch zone, entirely unharmed. Had Counsel been in a more poetic mood, it would’ve appeared to him like a black chrysanthemum with a white disk floret.

As it was, he was too busy muttering foul curses underneath his breath as he swept up the note in his hooves; the anger he had saved for later had returned in full force, and he was starting to tremble from barely repressed emotion.

The note was simple, short, and to the point, just the way Counsel liked correspondence; not that he particularly cared much at the moment.

My friend might’ve left her book there; I’m not sure when she’s going to be able to make it there, but if it is there, could you hold onto it for her?
Thanks, and sorry,
Spike

The letters blurred in and out of focus for a few moments as Counsel desperately reminded himself that Hanlon’s Razor was well in effect: just because whomever had sent the letter had probably cost Counsel roughly two hundred bits, the action itself might’ve just been due to rampant stupidity and/or ignorance. It didn’t really change anything, but it helped drain some of the anger away.

Cheerlessly, he locked the office door behind him, and, the seared catalogs cinders tasting bitter in his mouth, trotted over to the local library; if gravity were anything to judge by, it wasn’t like the Book was going anywhere anytime soon.

* * * * * * * * * *

Twilight’s skin still smelled vaguely of fish, but considering how dangerous experimental Maze spells could get, only being stuck with a bit of funk for a few more hours was getting off lightly, in all honesty.

The scales had, after all, only taken a few minutes of careful spell manipulation to remove.

At the moment, however, she was looking forlornly at the yellow-black barricade tape that had marked off the library; it didn’t really bar her entry, of course, but there was a very good reason why Princesses, despite being more powerful than most ponies simply as a matter of fact, did not just jump into the middle of a magic clean-up squad’s work; for one, it distracted the other ponies, and if there happen to be, say, Manticore figments lumbering about, accidents will happen as a matter of course.
On the other hoof, she really, really needed to know if the book was inside, and it’d be faster and safer if she was able to enter by herself.

She bit her lip for a moment, before finally signing in defeat, even as she lit her horn up; it Thuam-ed rhythmically, a series of magical heartbeats, before suddenly basking the entire room in a flat light that left no shadow. For a few seconds, half-dozen shades formed in the light, nothing more than fuzzy circles at first, before eventually refining into distinctly pony shapes. The darkness deepened for a few more seconds, with almost alarming swiftness, before the void spluttered out six distinctly alarmed ponies with a distinctly phlegmatic noise.

Slowly, they rose, looking slightly flummoxed. One in particular was dripping a blue, viscous, peach-scented fluid.

Twilight’s inner-scientist briefly did battle with her inner-princess, but quickly conceded a truce, albeit a conditional one.

“I’d like a sample of that liquid in Laboratory C by sundown,” she quickly said to the pony in question, before changing mental gears and intoning in a no-nonsense voice, “I’m afraid I have need of the Library at this time.”

“But we’ve yet to banish most of the Meta-”

“Four PM? We’ve not even gotten started on the Dues Ex Machina that’s been patrolling-”

“-the royal biography sections, if we’re going to be honest, aren’t exactly safe-“

“-but even that thing’s nothing compared to the Plot-”

“Language!”

“-she’s talking about the literary device, Touchy, not somepony’s-”

“As the case may be,” Twilight interjected into the maelstrom of conversation, “I still need to enter. I’ll be out soon enough.”

Five pairs of eyes exchanged a look, before finally nodding, however grudgingly. The last pair of eyes, however, the one’s belonging to a certain drenched pony, had been slowly going cross-eyed during this entire conversation.

“Uh. . . see that he gets treated. I’ll be back soon, my little ponies,” And with that, Twilight trotted into the library, past a couple of bookshelves, and was swiftly lost from sight.

“Paradox must’ve gobbed on him,” muttered one of the other ponies in an amused tone. “Way I see things, we’ve got about a minute and a half before he starts going into an existential conniption fit. I say we get a bag of popcorn and see how this plays out-“

“For science?” one of the other ponies said sarcastically, in irritation.

“-or we grab a lasso and drag him over to Lab B and hose him down; I’m not heartless, you know.”

“Just a few trees short of an orchard.”

“Hey! I-”

“Just grab a rope, will you?”

* * * * * * * * * *

“So, what do we got on this Stallion’s background?”

“Is this something we really need to be talking about?”

“Hey, I haven’t exactly had the time to read the memo; I’ve been knee-deep in magical wiring, removing data, and other, ahem, matters of state security.”

“Fine, fine. . . Lieutenant’s going to have my head if she figures out I’m bailing you out, though . . . Family of musicians. Parents are still married. Middle child; one older and two younger, being twins. Only Earth one amongst them; everypony else either had wings or horns. Original name was Harmonious, err, Strain.”

“Lemme guess; they weren't exactly feeling jolly for the most part after he popped out looking like the local mailstallion?”

“Right in one; a few years after everything is said and done, the marriage is on the rocks and the, err, band, is on the verge of breaking up. Evidently, both're suspecting the other of infidelity, wouldn't you believe it?”

“And then our chap finds his cutie-mark and saves the day?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“I thought they were still married, to this day?”

“They are. Strain, aha, isn't the one who does anything, though; both the parents grab a counselor, file here says her name was Frolicsome Guidance-“

“Used to be a dance instructor?”

“-used to be a dance instructor, yes, and after a couple of paternity tests and a few months of talking the hatchet was essentially buried.”

“Seriously? That seems overly simple.”

“Yeah, well, it must've been a really good day for her or something, because they're still together. Anyway, our ‘Harmonious Strain’ happens to overhear some of this talking and stuff, and finds his calling.”

“Huh. Seems kinda boring.”

“Eh, must've made an impact on him. Not everypony makes a Sonic Rainboom, or discovers how to hatch dragon eggs, or what have you; I mean, I found mine when I was, er, bully hunting, for lack of a better word.”

“Well, I suppose that's just because you're a scrub. I mean, I found my calling when I suplex'd an adolescent manticore.”

“Really? Was this before or after you carried the weight of the world around your neck, was abducted by space-ponies, and used a fire-demon to cook that horrifying concoction you called a salsa?”

“. . . You're using sarcasm, again, aren't you? I hate it when you use sarcasm.”

“Yeah, well, don't lie about how you got your Cutie-Mark.”

“What are you, the Cutie-mark police? It's my business how I tell my story.”

“And if it happens to be completely erroneous, so be it?”

“It's called Artistic License.”

“It's called bullshi-“

The Lieutenant entered; the only noise that followed was the clanking of armor as the two rookie Starbursts rose to their feet and saluted.

"Why is it that I'm hearing stories about Cutiemarks, rather than the sound of two idiots hard at work?"

“Sorry, Ma'am. Got side-tracked, Ma'am. Won't happen again, Ma'am.”

"See to it that it doesn't." As she leaves, "Neither of you are getting dinner, by the way."

“. . . is she gon-“

“Shhh!”

“. . .”

“. . . yeah, she's gone. We got off light, right there.”

“Doesn't seem like it.”

“Hey, it COULD'VE been no food until lunch, tomorrow.”

“Still. . .”

“Yeah, well, it doesn't matter that much; finish what you were going to tell, and let's finish peeling these dratted things.”

“Not much else to say; Strain gets inspired, finds his mark, and decides to pursue a career in counseling. He changes his name, eventually, after one too many jokes about musical aptitude or about how 'Dr. Strain' sounds more like a laxative than an actual doctor.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Foals are little monsters, and a pony doesn't stop being a foal until, eh, mebbe twenty? Anyway, long story short, that's about it. He was a contact of Dr. Husna, evidently, and was a third place runner up for the position Dr. Husna eventually took, and still has. And Mister Second-Place passed away a couple of weeks ago from old age.”

“Dr. Husna? Wait, are we talking about Farasi Husna, that Zebra stallion who was in the papers for, like, a month?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. Isn't he, you know, with Luna?”

“. . . you missed the briefing, didn't you?”

“The one three weeks ago? Yeah, I was ill. You can't blame me for that.”

“Hrm.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Wait, the Flicker house’s lineage died out how many years ago?”

“Well, the last known descendant was Sunset Shimmer, and she passed away a little ways after the third generation of Harmony wielders came into their own. In other words, a little over three hundred years ago,” the reference librarian replied, her final sentence carrying a small amount of bite with it.

Not that Counsel felt the irritation was undeserved; the mere fact the reference librarian (a harsh looking Pegasus) hadn’t simply tossed him back outside when he had stumbled through the doors, dripping a grey slime from various facial orifices (which at that point had likely contained more charred reference material than mucus), spoke volumes (and shelves) about an uncalled-for streak of generosity.

The fact he smelled like singed books and looked more akin to an anarchist’s, or worse, a book burner’s caricature than an actual pony also indicated that she had something wanting in the common sense department, but that was neither here nor there; not all innocence needs to be smashed into oblivion, after all.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she said, after waiting for Counsel to reply for a moment.

Counsel, eyebrows furrowed in genuine frustration, finally muttered, “How am I not surprised? Okay, I recently got a letter, well, more of a note really, but it appeared in a ball of fire. What, err, happened?”

The reference librarian gave Counsel a flat stare, and said, in an almost condescending tone, “A real ball of fire, sir? Are you joking?”

Counsel merely glared in retort.

After a moment the librarian shrugged, muttered something under her breath about crazy ponies, and said, coolly, “The only fire-borne messages are from either The High Princess Celestia, or Dragons. Or rather, the one pureblooded dragon in Equestria’s employ. The once-assistant of Princess Twili-”

The librarian’s discourse trailed off to silence as she stared at Counsel. She waved her hoof back and forth across his eyes. She carefully noted the number of pulses the vein in his forehead made within a minute, and briefly pondered calling an ambulance before Counsel somehow managed to make an about-face while only moving one knee and promptly walked out of the library.

* * * * * * * * * *

Travel, for Alicorns, is an interesting prospect; the Solar and Lunar generation obviously had preference for being escorted via flying carriage, but even they had a tendency to occasionally vary their travel with solo flights and teleportation, with the rare train ride simply for varieties sake.

It seems absurd, of course, and such variation was something few ponies had even bothered to contemplate, but, much like being ambidextrous, the sheer amount of selection threatened to become overwhelming in some situations. Adding to this issue was the subject of exercise, both magical and physical, which even Alicorns needed to do if they wished to remain at peak capability.

It was very clear that Twilight was the very epitome of magical aptitude. It was a barefaced lie to say the same of her physical health, however, and what should’ve been a simple flight to recover her tome and clear her mind had devolved into a series of pit-stops and forcibly altered teleportations to avoid dragging the Starbursts with her.

Thus, it was with a great deal of weariness that Twilight finally opened the door to the office with a flash of magic and slipped inside.

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light, blinked again as she realized what that meant, and slowly turned around.

“Ms. Flicker? I think we need to, ahem, discuss the nature of my employment.”

Author's Note:

Computer crashed, took everything I had with it. Sorry to leave you folks hanging for so long, I'm hoping this won't happen again.

Comments

[Sethi]

Huh, it lives. Great chapter

[Broken Phalanx]

5495986

Indeed, so it does.

Thanks for the compliment.

[JBL]

This has been an excellent read so far. Keep it up.

[Broken Phalanx]

5512982

I hope to! Thank you for taking the time to comment.