//------------------------------// // Rhythm // Story: Mancala // by Schismatism //------------------------------// Of course, that wasn't anywhere near the end of the hospital visit. Oh, no. Once we'd finally disentangled those three from one another, the six of us decided to go down the hall to a separate office, though all five of the others stared at how I hoisted up my backpack, with one loop securely around my right foreleg, and the weight across my spine between the wings. I'd made sure that everything was more or less in its proper position: my cameras were there, my remaining soda and granola bars were in their waterproof pouch, tablet and phone and laptop were there, properly sealed, and - yes - even pens, pencils and a charcoal or two, and a sketchpad and notebook. Not one of them reacted to what I'd ordinarily consider a set of alien artifacts spilling from the bag, which led me to the conclusion that either A. they were either as drained as I was, or B. they'd seen it all before. That I knew for a fact that such things weren't so sensibly arranged in the first place led me to point B. I wasn't terribly surprised that the local constabulary had taken their time to go through my belongings, but I couldn't find it in my heart to get too upset with them. Part of that was the ennui I'd been afflicted with, certainly, and part of that was... well, they were simply performing their duty. So I tried my best to still the simmering in my gullet, a prelude to the ridiculous concern that someone had, against all odds, cracked into that laptop and performed a deep analysis, magically. Then I had to chuckle as I recognized that, with five nines' certainty, analyzing a binary system that extensive, without foreknowledge of its workings, would require months, if not years. 'Good luck, kiddos, you're going to need it.' Moving the ugly stuff and weird memories aside for the moment, I followed Doctor Horse down to his office, whereupon he sat behind the desk, I sat before the desk, and the other four sat astride the desk. It was a particularly good desk, too, mahogany, with a sheen of lemon o... okay, I'll shut up about the desk now. The poor Doctor looked like he had reached the end of his rope, and was dangling by a single thread. I decided to throw him a new one. "Physically speaking," I began, drawing myself up in a not entirely sarcastic position, "to the best of your professional knowledge, am I well?" I think - felt - that he nearly broke down on the spot, but give him some credit - the good Doctor Horse is made of sterner stuff than that. Instead, he turned my question upon myself: "How do you feel, regarding that?" "There are no substantial lingering pains, though there is some residual soreness in my shoulders," I expressed, lifting one of my forehooves and bringing it around in an arc. For a moment, everypony else winced at the slight groan I let out at the 130 degree angle. "And that's just a light pain, about two on the ten scale. My wings, horn, and hooves feel entirely normal, and my chitin doesn't appear to be more than lightly buffed due to that... misadventure." Here I counted off on an imaginary hand, tapping my hooves together as though I still had fingers. "My motor control, both fine and gross, appear to be in perfect condition; I don't appear to have lost any sensory abilities, nor am I experiencing rogue synesthesia to the best of my ability to discern." Both Horse and Candy sent a pulse of curiosity my way as I mentioned rogue synesthesia, but neither reacted otherwise - not even a raised eyebrow. I suspect that I'd simply made their days entirely too long and peculiar for them to even evoke a physical response. That, I decided, would be something to look up - later. "Then for sake of simplicity," the doctor stated, "I'll give you a generally clean bill of health physically, though I'd like you to come in two weeks from now, then once a month, to determine a baseline. I probably don't need to tell you that today is... not exactly what I'd call a good baseline, considering what's been going on so far." "No kidding," replied the rest of the room in unison, myself included. An ear folded back before the doctor let out a forced chuckle, and turned to the next page of his notes. "Mentally speaking... I'm not sure what to put here. You seem like a perfectly normal pony in a stressful situation. The displacement you've suffered may have resulted in some, ah..." "Inconsistencies," I interjected helpfully, earning myself about a quarter of a glare for the interruption. "Yes, let's say inconsistencies in your normal emotional state. You did mention mood swings, which often occur under high-stress situations. We can rule out CMFS, because you're not a pony and, accordingly, don't have a cutie mark, thankfully enough." A more natural chuckle sounded from the doctor: "Those aren't that hard to treat, but they're always touchy. The stories I've heard..." For some reason, Cobalt and Candy looked like they wanted be somewhere else right now. Oh, the stories I would later get over drinks... or at least, I'd try. Here, Doctor Horse gave me a level gaze which, nonetheless, seemed to bind me to my chair. "I don't mean to imply anything by this, but do you think you're in need of mental assistance?" That, right there, was the million dollar question, and one I'd been avoiding asking myself for a while now. Were my memories some kind of Last Tuesday-ism? Well, no. The soda, the cameras, the materials, all of those pointed towards my memories being the genuine article. At the same time, my kinesthetics were entirely too polished. Simply walking, let alone using a zero-range telekinetic field, should have been beyond my capacity when I arrived. And that's to say nothing of linguistics... With a deep sigh, I looked the doctor straight in the eye, and said, "Simply put, I don't know." "First, I don't think I'm a danger to myself or others. During those fugue states you mentioned, I didn't react violently, instead shutting down... I don't remember a whole lot about those, least of all whatever the hell happened in that library." I glared at the floor for a moment, and added under my breath, "Which I intend to very definitely find out." Collecting myself, I shook my head, and added, "Plus, I did my very best to minimize any damage which could've been caused by these little baubles..." I raised my left foreleg, and chuckled, "Even if they didn't do much." Here I waggled my eyebrows at Doctor Horse, and grinned, "Second, I don't think I'm insane, though it's of course difficult to say for sure. Isn't the first sign of madness the absolute certainty that you're completely sane?" At the old joke, the whole room let out a tired groan, and I waved a hoof, growing serious once more, "I don't think that I'm likely to snap and go full Discord on anyone. That said... Doc, I do agree that I may need to come in for a meeting with a counselor, now and then." At my admission, everyone in the room sat up in shock, as though I'd suddenly declared that the sky was puce. The shock was literally palpable, and I immediately went defensive in return. "What?! I'm following an old precept. The mind's not exactly what most folks would call a battlefield, but I'll bet you three," and here I gestured at the Wild Guard, "know the rule. If you're not sure if you're going to need backup..." "You're going to need backup," they replied in unison. "There you go. I don't know what the state of my mind's going to be in a week or two. I might get angry, I might get weepy, I might devour an entire wagonload of ice cream. Having someone at hand to shrink my fat head sounds like a good option." Almost in sync, everyone's stomachs began to rumble, and I couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Okay, I think it might be a good idea to stop going off on tangents." "No kidding," the entire room responded once more. Everything went fairly smoothly from there, I'm glad to say. Prompted by the length of the day so far, not to mention the skipped meals, everyone was glad to simply fill out the last vestiges of the paperwork and arrange for the scheduled meetings; what information could be added was, and what couldn't was carefully left blank, to be filled out upon a later date. As the nurse and doctor finished what little remained, I decided to simply take that second soda from my bag and crack it open, this time just using the tip of my hoof. Thankfully, it had settled to the point where what few shakes weren't enough to cause more than a hiss, and I let out a happy sigh as the taste of carbonated liquid hit my tongue. Certainly, I was a little sad that finishing off those beverages would destroy another link to Earth, but on the other hand, it wasn't exactly like they were the world's greatest. I mean, come on. I'm not about to get all weepy about diet cola. It didn't take long for things to come to a conclusion, and while my ears perked slightly at the roiling of emotions and light whispers between the Wild Guard, I did my best to avoid eavesdropping on what was a semi-private conversation. The occasional word filtered through, but I took to my own thoughts instead. 'Hmm. Aluminium as a truly precious metal, in contrast to gold. Let's avoid the fact that I've probably got enough aluminium in my pack to drive an economist hog-wild...' For a while I explored the various possibilities, before a light cough drew my attention. "Oh, sorry! Caught up in a few thoughts, there," I explained to the five who were, currently standing. For a moment I assessed the remains of my soda, then shrugged, finishing it off with a few gulps and crushing the resultant can. "So, is that it?" "Just a signature," Horse shrugged, leading me to bring out a pen from the side of my pack and fill out the triplicate forms. "And there we go." The signature was about as legible as anyone's - a simple little scrawl, practically indecipherable, but what can you do? With a click, I set the pen back into the pocket, then looked around at the five ponies... who once more looked and felt slightly faint. "If this is going to happen every single time, this day's going to get even longer than it already is." A quick non-explanation later ('Metal quill, with an internalized inkwell'), we were finally ready to head out. Doctor Horse and Nurse Striper were, thankfully, able to take their lunch hour simultaneously, so we made our ready departure after I took a quick trip to a sink, to wash out any residue remaining in those cans. Immediately, upon breaching the stuffy confines of the hospital, there was a sense of... well, it's difficult to really describe in words, but 'cleanliness' seems to be about right. I hadn't recognized it upon admittance, but for empaths, hospitals are not a very fun place to be. Imagine the pervading atmosphere of gloom, boredom, even pain weighing down upon one; ponies might have a slight sense of empathy by and large, but for a changeling, that can really be felt. And so, when I got out into the fresh air, I immediately took a deep breath, both physically and metaphorically, before sighing with a bit of a smile. "Now that feels better." The others gave me strange looks, but I was happy to ignore them for a bit, taking a look around at the afternoon. A glance at a clock had told me that it was about 4 PM, just the right time to avoid the evening rush for most restaurants - which worked out perfectly well for me, as it also meant that the street was likely a bit less crowded than usual. "So!" I began with an all too chirpy grin, "where are we headed?" This was met with a collective shrug, to which I simply let out a hum. "Well, Hayburger is usually an option," Shamrock espoused, leading to a few mumbles from the rest. "What?" she asked. "It's cheap, fast, and close," she explained, gesturing to the titular establishment just down the road. "All good things if you ask me." "As well as undeniably unhealthy, fattening, and generally oversized in portions?" I jokingly parried. "Of course! All the hallmarks of a great meal. And I don't know about you, but I would kill for a daisy shake." She made a show of licking her chops, while the others just rolled their eyes - well, at least Cobalt and Crimson did, having heard that specific line of reasoning all too often before. Doc Horse and Candy just looked noncommittal about it, just being along for the ride. "Well, hey, I'm game, then. Haven't eaten fast food in quite a while. Do you mind spotting me for that, though?" That was, I had to admit, a bit of a concern: I didn't exactly have fungible assets just yet, and I wasn't about to throw away one of those two cans just for the sake of a quick meal. "Sure," Shamrock and Cobalt replied in unison, a similar affirmation coming from Scarlet's throat. "We'll hit up the local bank right after. They've got a metallurgist on hoof, usually; that way, we can get back to the hospital afterwards and you can pay the dues." I nodded slightly there, following eagerly as the viridian Earth Pony trotted down the way. I won't say that I didn't get the strange glance or two during the procession, but as things went, it wasn't so bad. The occasional mare or stallion raised their eyebrows at me, but I just put it down to my rather zealous escort. Speaking of which... "Say, it just occurred to me, you won't get into any trouble with your superiors for providing this escort, will you? I'm thankful, but I'd rather not get you folks a black mark or anything." All five of them shook their heads, Scarlet providing an uncharacteristic chuckle. "Not likely. When you were out, I checked with the Sarge. She's fine with us keeping an eye on you." I had to blink at that - not so much the fact that they were making sure I wasn't a threat, as much as Scarlet being as honest as she was. Still, it made sense, and it was practically a fait accompli in any event. "Just figured I'd check. Thanks for soothing that worry." There's something to be said for a dose of familiarity between home and Ponyville, and few things are as universal - or multiversal, it seems - as the fast food establishment. Same wiped-down tables, same basic storefront, same persons-in-uniforms, same pre-printed glossy menus. Really, this iteration of the Hayburger franchise wouldn't have been in any way, shape or form out of place back home - well, aside from the foods on the menu, of course. As we entered, I shook my head slightly at the change in emotional atmosphere. It wasn't as unpleasant as the hospital's, in reflection, but it still weighed a bit heavily. It took a moment to recognize, but once I did, it clicked: an air of boredom, stress, and quiet desperation, all the hallmarks of a customer service establishment. 'The English way,' I thought to myself, idly humming a riff from Pink Floyd as I looked around at the place. There wasn't much of a crowd, as one might expect, though enough colts and fillies had recently gotten out of class that there was a bit of a lineup, giving me plenty of time to peruse the menu. Sure enough, it was completely vegetarian, but thankfully, there appeared to be more there than just hay. Most curiously, I noted that the prices in bits mapped out more or less to Canadian dollars, or at least did the last time I was in a Tim Hortons. 'Well, that makes things easier...' "Any suggestions?" I asked of my compatriots, leading to that most common of arguments: just what's good, what's middling, and what's to be avoided at any given restaurant. Shamrock, of course, waxed poetic about the daisy shakes, while Candy had a preference for the apple and walnut salad. The Doc admitted, under some slight duress, that he occasionally went hog-wild on the chips, no matter how fattening -- and Cobalt, showing off his pegasus metabolism, decided upon a burger with all the fixings. Finally, Crimson decided upon the vegetable wrap. Not sure why, but I decided to split the difference to some extent: a similar wrap and a small salad of that sort. I wasn't quite sure whether I was ready to nom down on hay yet, so those seemed to be the safest options. Of course, upon taking a look at the available drinks, my eyes locked upon that deadliest of substances: yes, the black devil, the bane of sleep, coffee. Upon voicing my opinion, the collective responded with a unanimous "No." Spoilsports. As we settled around our table, I couldn't help but notice a certain measure of emotion cutting through the haze of the establishment. Much like before, it felt particularly fulfilling, and I chuckled to myself at the curiosity of the few colts and fillies. Most of them likely had, after all, never seen a changeling before, and no matter how far off the norm I might have been, I was likely still a sight to behold. One or two of them, accompanied by their parents, were quietly told not to stare, at which I felt a slight ping of frustration; some of them exchanged brief whispers, and others simply shrugged, finishing their meals and departing. "So, I don't think we ever asked, but what did you do back home?" That, from Candy Striper, in between noms and sips. "Well," I noted, "I'm actually a student back home. And before you ask, well... I didn't really have much of a focus." Here I chuckled mirthlessly. "The phrase is, more or less, 'No Major', a nice way of saying, 'undecided and probably wasting your time'. There was a bit of history, a bit of sociology, a touch of science, the arts..." Here I gestured towards my bag. "I was kind of working on a photography project when whatever hit me launched me here." A quick bite of the wrap soothed a bit of the ache in my stomach, almost daring me to wolf down the rest, but I decided to pace myself in that regard. Cobalt took a moment to swallow his mouthful of burger, and followed up with, "Do most changelings have a hard time with that sort of thing? Deciding, that is. I mean, I don't know if you get cutie marks..." I shrugged, taking a bite of the apple salad. It really was quite a nice one, with a light lemon and sour cream dressing. "By and large, most folks figure things out by the time they're ready to go for it. I was always an odd one, though. Some old guy back home once said that being specialized limits one's options, and so you should expand, so that you're prepared for anything." I figured the original Heinlein wording, 'specialization is for insects', would be more than a tad bit ironic given the circumstances. The discourse went about that way for the 15 minutes or so it took us to finish up; fast food goes quickly, even when a slightly petulant doctor orders the extra-large hay fries. Of course, I couldn't help but notice Candy sneaking one or two of them to help things along, whenever Doctor Horse's attention was elsewhere. The conversation was still guarded, though: none of them asked anything about the odd technology I had in my bag, clearly reasoning that I wasn't likely to answer in any meaningful sense. And so, before long, we found ourselves back outside, heading to the bank halfway across town. Town Square, such as it were, was a bit more packed than the rest of the streets, but so it always is. The sun, guided as it was on its way, was gradually nearing the horizon, and a few folks were closing down shop at the marketplace as we passed. A bucolic sight, indeed... Thankfully, the bank was still open for some time later, and we departed in good company from Horse and Candy, the pair heading back to the hospital to finish with their rounds and patients. 'I'll definitely have to look them up on their days off...' With a shrug to myself, I followed the Wild Guard along the way to the First Ponyville Bank and Trust, which proudly proclaimed itself a subsidiary of the Canterlot Financial Group. Much like Hayburger, the similarites here to a bank back home were about as striking as you could get. Carpeted and polished stone floors, tellers, you name it. And just like the former establishment, there was that sense of ennui, though there was also the undercurrent of... well, I'm not sure how to express it. Greed? Not exactly; certainly there was cupidity there, but very faint. With a slight clink of my bag, I shook myself, heading over to the window where a bronze-coloured stallion waited patiently. At the sight of the Wild Guard, the stallion immediately perked up, brushing the tips of his black mane from his eyes. "Hello; how may I help you today?" he asked in that polite, professional tone which, in and of itself, carries that undertone of money. As I tried to formulate the best possible response, Crimson stepped up to the plate, such as it were. All business, she nodded my way, and explained, "Our friend here has a few items of value, and would like to request the services of an assayer; would Rouge Noir happen to be in at this time?" I blinked at the name: certainly not an imaginative one, though there were plenty of possibilities for that. Aside from being obviously French, that really was the kind of name which led one to think of, say, a deck of cards, or alternately a balance sheet. Curiouser and curiouser... With a curt nod, the stallion led us to an office set specifically aside, knocking thrice upon the door with all the solemnity of an usher. A disgruntled noise was the only response, but we were ushered into a comparatively spartan office, within which lurked a unicorn stallion of some age. Even as I note this, I'm not quite sure how to classify Rouge Noir. He was one of those stallions who seemed to be as much a part of the establishment as the furnishings, who sat in his chair as though he had been born there and fused to the seat long ago. His age might have been an elderly forty or a youthful eighty; a set of gimlet-coloured eyes gazed around the room, taking in its new occupants with a combination of boredom and slight admonishment. No moustache or facial hair, beyond his burgundy coat, adorned his slightly wrinkled face; his hair was neatly parted and short in that 'gentlemanly' way, though in an odd fashion: the strands faded from an obsidian shine to a lighter currant near the tips. With a quiet 'harrumph' that nearly filled the room, he groused, eyes lidding slightly as he looked us over. "And what have you three troublemakers brought me this time?" he sighed, giving me the hairy eyeball at last. "Some damn-fool Crimson, at least, didn't miss a step, taking it upon herself to explain, "She has a few items she needs to be assessed, uncle." Uncle? Huh. "Aluminium items, she says," the mare followed up, gesturing for me to step forward. A spike of surprise shot out from the old unicorn; physically, the only real response was a slightly notched eyebrow, concealed well enough that I wouldn't have noticed were it not for that empathy. "Hrrmph," he shrugged, standing from the chair and patting down his slate-grey vest with a single hoof. "And she's a changeling, no less. Well, you did do the right thing in coming to me." At his approach, I set down that bag of mine, pulling out the two crushed soda cans... which he promptly ignored, his horn flaring briefly to set them on the desk. He took a moment to walk around me, giving me an opportunity to spot his cutie mark: a quill on a ledger, drawing a red diamond and a black club. 'Well, that was informative,' I thought sarcastically. After close to a minute, he finally settled down back behind his desk, nodding to himself as though he'd solved a minor mystery. "Very well, then," he coughed, getting straight back to business. "Let's take a look at this so-called aluminium of yours." His horn flared again, and I blinked twice at the sudden sensation. Unlike unicorn levitation, this felt more... precise, I suppose was the word. I'd absolutely felt magic in use, a sort of tingle which pervaded the air, but this was something different: an actual spell, likely tied to the assayer's cutie mark. Perhaps it was just my own imagination in this, but it felt like someone assessing a balance book with the precision of a virtuoso. Whatever it was, it took him a minute or so to scan the two crushed cans, during which I shifted slightly uncomfortably, but kept mostly quiet. The spell finished with a small snap of displaced thaums, and I let out a breath I hadn't quite realized I'd been holding. "Well, well. Just like you said. Pure aluminium metal, beneath that little bit of colour. You don't see that very often, let alone in this form." Rouge raised an eyebrow at me, his curiosity another two marks up on some indeterminate scale. "Now, where did you come across these, I wonder?" I decided to play my cards close to my chest, this time. While this stallion looked and felt trustworthy, I wasn't willing to deprive myself of a few secrets. "When I woke up in yonder wild zone, I had them on me. Granted, they were filled with liquid at the time. I figured that before I jumped to conclusions, I'd see if they would be of any value here." This time he frowned, taking a glance at the cans themselves, as though asking them to divulge their secrets. Not likely: I'd crushed them pretty thoroughly. "And what sort of liquid was that?" Here, I had to chuckle, and brought myself up, speaking in a faux-scientific demeanor, "A combination of water, some weak acids, flavours, and a psychoactive base." I suspect a spit-take might have come from someone at that, but to my surprise, Shamrock started laughing her tail off. Rouge seemed faintly amused too, though I'm not sure if it was my presentation or my description. He shook his head, and said in a slightly livelier tone, "Well, that's as good a description of a coffee, tea or soda as I can imagine. Is carrying drinks around in a precious metal quite common where you come from?" Ehhn. That was a bit of a quandary, so I gave a noncommittal 'mmn'. "It's not as precious there as it is here. There are a lot of explanations there, but I'm afraid that I've never been much for the material sciences." The assayer took my explanation with a slight grimace, but returned his attention to the cans, bringing them over to a small scale. Grams. I really, really didn't know why these measurements measured up the way they did, but that really seem to be what it was. Something, definitely, to think about. Could my estimations have somehow been toyed with? I knew that linguistically, the chances of an alternate world speaking English, of all things, was next to nil. Whatever the case, I'd have to find out later... "Well," noted Rouge, "That's 25 grams worth of aluminium. Considering the market price, purity and the state it's in..." He frowned to himself for a moment, then finished, "Twelve hundred bits." NOW came the spit-takes, or would have, had anypony been drinking anything. I looked back to see Cobalt and Shamrock with open mouths, while Scarlet took it upon herself to provide a mien of composure. Frankly, I was just as shocked myself, but I kept it together for a moment. "Well," I started, "I take it that's somewhat lower than raw market price, owing to the fact that you'll process the metal for reclamation?" This time I knew I saw a corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "As well as a brokerage fee, correct. Have you dealt in commodities before?" Here I shook my head, and gave him a grin. "Nah, but I kept up with financial news when it suited my fancy. Learned a lot through osmosis, as they say." Also true. The bank crash a few years back provided everyone who paid attention with a crash course in economics and the financial institutions... much to the regret of many. Of course, I suspected that Rouge was taking a bit of a slice off the top for himself, but I knew full well that I didn't have many options in these regards. Besides, at 5 bits for a meal at Hayburger, that was more or less commensurate with a month of rent, food and the like - all for a brief, unexpected windfall. "So, shall we conclude this transaction, then?" He brought out two sheets of paperwork, identical, and swiftly filled them out from the quill on his desk. "Here we are, then. Ah, and I do require your name in this regard." Crimson rolled her eyes at the introduction occurring this late in the process, but I wasn't surprised there: the old broker clearly had a lot on his mind. "Divided Gem," I smiled, and brought out my own pen once more to complete the paperwork. If Rouge gave any indication of surprise, it was faint; he regarded that as a mere eccentricity, perhaps. Upon finishing up, he set the cans aside, then brought us back to the lobby. Everything then went smoothly from there. The bank looked as though it were winding down for the day; the clock on the wall noted 5:30 PM. In return for the metals, I was given a small complimentary bag with a collection of bits, each stamped - though not milled, curiously - with their financial weight. Something to look into, then. A small set of five bits were given to the three in return for the earlier meal, and we took our leave after thanking Rouge and the teller. As we departed, though, Crimson stated, matter of factly, "You did know that the going rate on aluminium is about 60 bits a gram, correct?" With a pause, I performed a mental calculation - winced - and sighed quietly. "Actually, that's lower than I expected..." With the sun winding its way inexorably downwards, we headed across the street to the place I knew we would inevitably hit: the local guard offices.