Even Changelings Get The Blues: Meet Chester · 11:56pm July 26th
(horizon's new novel will launch on August 1. Enjoy these sneak peeks in the meantime!)
Even Changelings Get The Blues is a story set in the Equestria Girls side of MLP's magic mirror, and yet it is a remarkably non-human story. From the start, we see the world through the eyes of a human-world version of a changeling, a teenager named Chester:
"What bugs me," the rancher says, "is with everything she's accused of, she's still claimin' to be an expert on love."
His words are the faded maroon of suspicion, but there's a subtle thread of green running through them. And with that, Chester allows himself a smile. This recruitment is going to be a success, even if he hasn't quite figured out how yet.
"Oh, it's no claim, sir," Chester says brightly, trying to ignore the itching of the still-stiff suit which was bought specially for this mission. "What her detractors won't tell you is the simple truth. The Holy Mother has attained multiple siddhis"—he often tests the waters with that term; given the stirrings of creamsicle-orange now surrounding the rancher, he'll dial back the foreign words to avoid further confusion—"on her path to enlightenment. Demonstrable magical powers which serve as proof of her transcendence and wisdom."
That topic always goes in one of three directions, and unfortunately Chester's current prospect takes the baser path. The rancher's enormous outline fades into the greedy desire of amber as he chuckles, opening his front door a little wider. "An' I suppose for a generous donation she'll teach me everything she knows?" he says, passing it off as a joke but with no lilac in it.
Most of the Holy Mother's other devotees would leap at that base interest—it's enough to get the prospect in their ashram door—but because Chester can tell the difference, he has always held himself to a higher standard. The Holy Mother already has enough troubles; the least he can do is bring her prospects primed with a sincere desire for enlightenment.
Chester has a special kind of synaesthesia where he perceives people's emotions as colors when he sees or hears them. Since the time of his earliest memories, this has set him apart from the other children at the Holy Mother's ashram — except for Brother Esau, the one other devotee who shares his special senses.
Esau abruptly sat up. "Stop," he pink-said. "You're doing it wrong."
Chester fidgeted guiltily. He had initially been elated that Esau was willing to play pretend again—and had even asked Chester to play, after nearly a year of dragging his heels on Chester's entreaties since their "jungle" trip—but from the start, Esau's green had been fading pinker and pinker, like shaving away the rind of a watermelon.
Esau's face—now sprouting a scattering of wispy hairs around the lip—was growing a scowl to match. For months, his voice had been shifting through that raspy transitional stage toward a lower register. His mood spectrum, too, had shifted—much quicker to warm colors, with the cooler ones rarer and more fragile. (If that was what becoming an adult was like, twelve-year-old Chester had decided, he was in no hurry to get there.)
"I'm sorry," Chester said reflexively, projecting as much earnest guilt as he could into his words and hoping that his cream color looked as pure as it felt. "What should I do?"
Esau stared at him and then sighed, his pink slowly draining toward a more disappointed rosy hue. "Do you even understand what a drill sergeant is?"
"Yeah, you said," Chester said. "I give you orders. Make you exercise."
Esau's pink flared up again. "So give me orders!"
"I did!" Chester protested. "You're still getting upset!"
A thread of red stirred around Esau. "Because then you ordered me to stop!"
The two of them are full-time residents of a religious community in the hills near Canterlot. They pursue enlightenment under the strict tutelage of an enlightened master named Chryssy, whose devotion to the principles of love is... difficult to question:
"Ches-ter," she pink-says, in that specific inflection which means she's too enlightened to tell him he's a worthless idiot.
"…Swamini-ji?"
"You got yourself onto a first-name basis with our prospect," she violet-says before shifting back to impatient pink. "And he is as violent as the rumors said. I could care less about his freakshow neighbors." The threads of gold strengthen. "Tell me about Anton."
It's impossible to ignore the combination of that color with those words, but with a mighty effort, Chester cages his traitorous thoughts before they can break free. There's a perfectly rational explanation. From what Esau had said, the Holy Mother had been personally invested in this prospect even before being told about the strength of Anton's colors; she must already have had some idea of how unbalanced he was, and now she has confirmation. Therefore, she must have sent Chester to bring her a challenge worthy of her station. After all, doesn't true, pure love tame even the wildest beast?
Chester's deep empathy, aversion to violence, and inquisitiveness would be assets anywhere else in the world, but they're a poor match for Chryssy's needs, and get him into frequent trouble. Which means that he's primed for the adventure of his life when he stumbles across an unusually colorful woman at the Canterlot International Airport, a woman named Celestia whose odd behavior catches his attention:
"It's nothing I wouldn't do for anyone," she says in a gentle periwinkle, and Chester believes it. "I'm glad I can get something positive out of this trip, anyhow. What about you, Chester? What are you doing at the, ah, airport?"
As much as Chester yearns to dig into this strange woman's mysteries, he literally cannot ignore this opening.
"Oh," he says, and tries to force enthusiasm into his voice. "I'm here to spread the good news of the Holy Mother, of course!"
"The, I'm sorry, who?" Celestia says, peach creeping in.
"The, ah," Chester says, thrown yet again. "I assure you that for some people, when their reputation precedes them, you need to ignore the fear and negativity and get to know the real them."
"Well then," Celestia says—shifting through as many colors as her hair, dominated by a light violet curiosity—"by all means, tell me about the real her."
Every rational thought in Chester's brain is telling him not to look this gift horse in the mouth. There's the color intensity, of course. And although she's not a slam-dunk prospect, she's been directly kind to him; is giving him the benefit of the doubt; and he's been catching subtle green threads around her edges that he knows he can coax to life. Moreover, Celestia's at least famous enough for him to recognize, and given the publicity effect of celebrity, a single high-profile recruit is worth their weight in diamonds. The Holy Mother is going to burst a blood vessel if he fumbles this pitch.
And yet… and yet. There's something hidden beneath Celestia's surface. His entire life, he's been able to read people's hearts on their sleeves. And when he finds someone whose emotions don't make sense—someone with a secret—it's like an itch he needs to scratch, or a pit in his stomach which no amount of food can fill. Celestia's reactions are weird, and he knows that's significant, and he can feel desperation start to gnaw at his insides.
And then everything goes smoothly, and he has no further problems!
—telepathic werewolf mafia.
Chester is beginning to miss the times when running from a man with a gun was the craziest part of his day.
... okay, maybe one or two.
What are telepathic werewolves doing in Pedestria? Find out on Sunday, when we meet the other two members of our core protagonist trio!
Looking forward to it!
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Very much the same!