"Gah!"
His quill shot through the air faster than an arrow, leaving behind a faint contrail of ink before burying its tip in a wooden post on the far side of the room. It wasn't the first of its kind embedded there, and he guessed it wouldn't be the last.
This will not work!
He rose from his seat in front of the cluttered worktable and stomped over to the narrow stone window. There wasn't enough of a breeze entering the library's workroom to stir his matted black mane, and the light from the setting sun cast a stripe of sickly orange across his gray-green coat. The frown that creased his homely face fit perfectly with the rest of his disheveled appearance.
He scratched at his itchy chin as he stared at the sunset.
He stood there lost in thought for some time before a buildup of new magical energy crept into his awareness. A rustle of paper and a surge of light behind him made his ears perk up, but he didn't turn around.
Again?
He continued to stare out the window, ignoring the flickering light which was growing steadily brighter. A crackling hiss filled the room while flashes of lightning strobed his shadow against the stone wall. He swished his tail impatiently, shaking out the tingles caused by stray magical currents. He'd seen all this before—no need to turn around.
The light and noise ceased abruptly, leaving only the sound of disturbed papers fluttering to the ground and the faint creak from the floorboards as the newly arrived visitor shifted position.
"You are giving up," said the elderly voice behind him. It wasn't a question.
At first he planned to deny it, to insist that there were still avenues left to explore. Before he could bring the words to his lips, however, he realized that he had given up. He'd been chasing dead ends for weeks now, and no option left to him looked any better than the others.
Of course he knows I'm giving up now and he knows the answer to my problem. He's just waiting for me to ask for it. He never gloats—how could he—but it rubs me the wrong way every time he does this.
"You may not like taking 'the easy way out,' as you once put it, but there is a reason behind all that I—that we—do. You should know this by now," said the visitor.
They'd had that conversation before—more than once. This is the sixth time he's come to me! That didn't make this any easier, however. He sighed and turned around.
An old unicorn stood hidden in the shadows of the darkening workshop, one hoof lit by the stripe of sunset light that angled across the floor. He wasn't doing anything in particular, just watching the settling dust flash as bright little motes in the sunbeam as it drifted back to the ink-stained floorboards. Damn him and his casualness!
The beard was longer than it had been last time but just as gray, and he still had the same silly hat.
The elderly visitor looked up and they stared at each other for a moment or two, examining the differences that time had made to them both. Then the older one said simply, "It is a problem of topography."
A snort of derision came in reply. "I know that much already!"
The elder tipped his head to the side. "I see you have stopped shaving."
The younger touched his fuzzy chin with one hoof. He had stopped worrying about the beard recently. It was slightly embarrassing now considering how emphatic he was at their last meeting about remaining beardless. He didn't want a beard, but of course, that—like this conversation—was apparently inevitable.
He sighed again and picked up one of the larger scraps of parchment from his desk, its surface densely covered with his tight little scrawl. He shook it in the air. "This! It isn't possible to complete the sequence from within. The feedback it would create couldn't be dampened without rupturing the whole spell. The center must be inherently unstable—the laws of magic demand it!" He threw the paper down on the floor between them.
His visitor merely nodded slowly as if in perfect agreement, a green shimmer forming around his horn as the parchment rose into the air before him. "You are not wrong. The feedback would be disastrous." The paper started to bend and fold, taking on a three dimensional shape as he spoke. "All the power will be drawn inexorably towards the center point of the spell until... pop." He chuckled quietly before his horn flared and the paper twisted in a strange and unnatural way. He floated it over to land lightly on the worktable.
The younger stared at the old unicorn for a moment, wondering what he was up to, then turned to look at the paper.
It was a torus—a doughnut shape. He stared at it and at its empty center. This is the answer! A stable shape with a center outside its own volume. But how did he—
A white glow was beginning to surround his guest, building slowly. This visit was over. He had what he needed to progress with the spell now, or at least he had the direction in which the answer lay. It was a topological impossibility and something he never would have thought of on his own, but he was sure he could make it work—given time.
It was inevitable, after all.
He squinted into the brightening glow. "Goodbye, Star Swirl... the bearded," he said sarcastically.
"Farewell, Star Swirl the Unshaven," said his older self with a chuckle as he faded away.
The younger Star Swirl turned to look again at the folded paper as the light vanished... with a pop. He brushed a wayward lock of dark hair from of his eyes.
"I swear I'm never going to invent this time travel spell. That'll teach him."
[end of preview]
The whole story, to which this is a very minor scene, has been chewing at the inside of my brain for months. The scene is almost as old. The story attempts to describe who Star Swirl was, and why. His origins, his driving needs, and some of the deeds—known and unknown—that led him into the limelight of history. I'm afraid Twilight would be rather shocked at some of what her hero did along the way. He was not a perfect pony, but he might have been more influential in pony history than even she could guess... good and bad. His heart was definitely in the right place and his goals were good goals, but Celestia was absolutely right when she said he didn't understand friendship. With his background—this background—how could he?
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