//------------------------------// // Meeting the Town (Twilight) Part 3 // Story: dC/dt ≠ 0 // by I Thought I Was Toast //------------------------------// This was my first interaction with a hostile changeling other than Chrysalis since the wedding, and I wasn’t sure what to feel. He had tried to kill me, but that didn’t mean I wanted him dead or anything. I had to stick with Morpheus to see what he would do. It had nothing to do with trust. I had faith he would do what was right in the end. I just… needed to make sure he didn’t confuse the right thing with the practical thing—or worse, some needlessly over complicated changeling thing. It felt like pins and needles were pricking my frogs as I bounced nervously behind Morpheus, Spi, and Hera. They were dragging my assailant along, looking for an appropriate cell, and they poked into room after room only to reject them all—each consecutive refusal fueling my anxiety. As they turned down another corridor, I couldn’t take it anymore and began to hover behind them just so I would stop tap dancing through the halls. “Do we need to do this now?” I winced at the sound of chitin scraping over crystal. “You don’t.” Morpheus flicked his wings. “Ve, however, believe I should be present to send a message to him that I am not one to sit idly by when others threaten the progress we’ve made.” Groaning, I rubbed the base of my horn with my frog. “I can’t just leave to go help Spike handle the rest of the town when it sounds like you’re planning on torturing him….” Morpheus snorted, poking his head into another room. “Torture is never a good way to extract information. Victims are liable to— Really, more windows?! Castle?! Can you please give us a suite without windows? I get you want to be an excellent host, but windows just provide escape routes.” He sighed. “We need a nice room without windows so we can keep him trapped inside you until we know what to do with him.” The lights flickered and we found ourselves in a long hallway straight from a Daring Do novel. Fire-breathing statues, lava pits, swinging bladed pendulums, and even ceiling crocodiles stood before us, while the rumbling of rolling boulders could be heard approaching us from behind. “Yes. Yes. You’re not a prison. No need to get snippy.” Morpheus rolled his eyes. “All we need is a room with no windows for him to stay in. He’ll be free to wander as long as you don’t let him leave.” The lights flickered again to remove the traps between us and the door. “My Lord.” Hera bowed her head. “Ve don’t believe that is a good idea.” Spi arched an eyebrow. “Neither is arguing with a giant intelligent castle capable of warping reality as it sees fit.” Hera’s wings buzzed as she turned to Spi. “The castle is a known ally who is unlikely to turn on us. The prisoner is an unknown entity until interrogation. Giving him free reign of the castle is entirely out of the question.” Spi started to hiss a response, but Morpheus interrupted with a harsh clicking tsk. “Enough, the both of you. I am not planning on giving our prisoner free reign—merely an illusion of comfort and control. Ve are confident Castle will lead him indefinitely in circles should he try to escape.” I scrunched my face. “You know, if you want him to feel comfortable, you might want to stop dragging him on the floor?” Morpheus blinked. “But that’s tradition.” “What?” My face caved in a little more, and I stumbled mid hover as my wings skipped a beat. Morpheus thrummed. “There’s a fine, well-established, line one must walk when dealing with prisoners. Ve must be stiff and unyielding, yet impeccably accommodating. Our strength must not be in doubt, and our control must be undisputed. However, at the same time, ve must show compassion, honor, and integrity. Ve must be quite the quintessential host even as we bring down an iron hoof. By treating our prisoner as more than a pawn—and expressing our complete control of the situation—he will be much more likely to give us what we want.” He cackled. “Of course, said compassion is mostly an act for the other lords, but it is an appreciable set of traditions nonetheless.” Reaching the room at the end of the hall, he poked his head in. “Ah! Perfect!” There was a noticeable thunk from the assassin as he was dragged across the threshold from a bump on the floor that had no business being there. The poor thing hissed—proving he was not as unconscious as I thought—and I glared at the ceiling, because, of course, Castle just had to play along. Unlike most of the guest rooms, this one was already well furnished. Not that the others weren’t furnished, but there was an added layer of care to the room. It had several bookcases and a merrily crackling fireplace with knickknacks on the mantle. Silk-lined cushions rested near the warmth of the fire, and my frogs melted as they felt the inequine softness of the rugs. “Rugs? I rarely get any rugs. Oh, sweet Celestia, these are soft… Why don’t I get rugs like this in my room?” I shuddered. “I mean, Castle, where did you even get these?” The lights flickered and I snatched Castle’s reply from the air. “Forgive me, mistress, but I am not actually sure of the origin of these rugs. I was rummaging through my storage and noticed I’d grown a few extra rooms. One of them was a trophy room filled with the exquisite fur rugs you’re currently standing on. If I had to guess, they are only slightly likely to be real, and I’d assume they are meant to add ambiance to any prizes the griffons bring back from hunts – assuming you ever entertain any griffons. —Friendship Castle” I froze at the word fur, but relaxed as I finished the rest of the note. Summoning my notes on Castle, I quickly wrote a reminder to look into his apparent ability to grow before banishing them and returning my attention to the room. Our guest had been dumped into one of the chairs, and was currently having his wounds tended to by Hera. She was covering the small cracks in his chitin with a green mud-like compound before bandaging them in teal silk. “Umm… Why the bandages?” I tilted my head to the side. “He’s not exactly bleeding from any of those.” “Stops outside interference with the carapace cement. Without them he’d need to hold still almost the entire time.” Hera grunted as she critically examined the prisoner. Her eyes narrowed at a particularly nasty looking web of cracks on his face from where she had slammed his head into the ground, and both she and her charge hissed when she tentatively poked it, a larger chunk of chitin falling to the floor as the last few flakes holding it in fell apart. There were bits of flesh attached to it, and verdant emerald blood trickled from the wound. Hera bowed her head. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to actually break anything.” She hacked and horked before exhaling a soft green mist over the wound. “By the Azure Veil, that stings!” The infiltrator hissed through his teeth, wings whining as he tried to keep his head still. “Of course it does.” Lacing the wound with a light layer of cement, Hera gently placed the chunk back in, placing a second outer layer, and carefully patching a bandage over it. Standing back, she bowed to Morpheus—who had been watching silently as he lounged in another chair. “That should do it, My Lord.” The rods in Morpheus’ legs drummed into and out of place as he continued to stare at the changeling in front of him, brow furrowed. “Where to begin, then?” He thrummed for a moment before nodding his head. “I suppose I should begin by making it clear that cooperation on your part will make things easier for the both of us. I understand that you will want to guard your lord’s secrets, but surely you can understand that loyalty to the hive supersedes that of loyalty to your lord. Your actions today—whatever your orders truly were—have potentially caused great harm to the hive’s future.” The prisoner stared at the prince for a minute with glassy eyes, and I looked between the two of them, shuffling from hoof to hoof. Hera stood to the side, stoic and ready to intervene, while Spi stood near the door. When no answer was forthcoming, Morpheus continued. “Ah, but where are my manners? Would you care for something to drink?” The lights flickered and a small cloth covered table with a menu appeared. Our guest looked at it questioningly before picking up the menu. As he browsed it, his brow arched in surprise. “Quite the selection you have here, but I’ll be fine with water.” A flicker of the lights heralded the drink as Morpheus took the menu. “Hmm… Tempting to take the Berrysweet Bitters… but I suppose I’ll take water as well.” He lifted the menu as the lights flickered again. “Anyling else?” He nodded to me. “Twilight?” I shook my head while the others seemed to ignore the offer. Sighing, the prince set the menu down and took a tentative sip of his water. With a frown he looked to the assassin again. “Alright, on to the basics. For the sake of Princess Twilight Sparkle, would you care to introduce yourself?” The infiltrator stood and bowed to me. “Silvertongue Wyrman Flynn, your highness.” I took a step back, face wrinkling at all the formality. “You’re… bowing to me? After what you pulled in the courtyard?” Wyrman bared his fangs in a grin as he sat down once more. “It is only polite to show respect—regardless of whether or not you are prey. I regret ignoring the proper formalities earlier, but the success of my mission hinged on the surprise you cost me. I simply had no time for manners when the only option you left me was to attempt to brutally rip your throat out.” Morpheus snorted as I squirmed under Wyrman’s gaze. “Yes. Yes. Your mission. Ve are quite curious what your master was thinking sending you of all changelings on such a suicidal task. You are a Silvertongue, after all.” Wyrman turned to the prince, grin widening. “Well, if you’re so interested in my job, why don’t you tell me about yours? You surely can’t expect everyling to believe your progress is natural—that changelings and ponies can really be friends after just a few weeks.” He glanced at me briefly. “Be honest, has she tasted of your venom? That’s the least troublesome of rumors surrounding you two.” The prince briefly exploded in an emerald blush. As it faded, his wings buzzed harshly, and the prince stood to loom over the infiltrator. “Ve— I— You— I am not like my mother! Ve suppose next you’ll ask if I brainwashed her?!” “That is next on the list, yes.” Despite the leer, the rest of Wyrman’s posture was relaxed. It had me wonder whether or not he was actually trying to smile so… provocatively. I knew enough of Morpheus’ grins to tell there wasn’t any malice to the grin. At least, I thought there wasn’t. But there was simply something unsettling about, and I couldn’t help but shudder at his words. Morpheus had mentioned his venom once. It was a powerful semi-addictive aphrodisiac that could be used to quiet questions and make somepony much more… willing to cooperate… or give information… or even provide a meal…. Just a little loving nibble or bite on the ear and… I shook my head to rid myself of those thoughts. “Why is it so hard to believe Morpheus and I are friends? You can taste emotions. You must be able to sense it.” “Forgive me, your highness, but your emotions are not exactly the most reliable source of info if he’s influencing you.” Wyrman chuckled darkly. “Well then, just look at Mo’s emotions.” I frowned and gestured towards the prince. Wyrman laughed. “Mo? I must admit to being curious now, but ve could never impede upon the privacy of a lord. It simply wouldn’t be proper—worm that I am.” Morpheus’ frown deepened into a scowl. “And what if I ordered you to do so?” Wyrman tilted his head. “Ve suppose I’d have to then, not that you ever—” “Do it.” Morpheus ground his fangs as he hissed the word out. Wyrman blinked, haws opening and closing for once. “Pardon?” “Do. It.” Morpheus flicked his wings several times, almost but not quite beginning to buzz them. “I am sick and tired of all this nonsense about how it is improper for the so-called lower castes—” he hissed the words as if they burned “—to talk to their narcissistic superiors. Not counting the nymphs, it has been years since I’ve had a proper heart to heart with a changeling. It’s easier for me to get a conversation out of a pony for hive’s sake.” He barely seemed to notice Wyrman wincing at the word ‘pony.’ “With the First Father as my witness, I will not stand for it any longer! I will end this ridiculous tradition even if I need to order you all to open up to me!” Wyrman squirmed in his chair, wriggling deeper and deeper into the seat as he slowly collapsed in on himself. “Are you positive, My Lord…?” Morpheus sighed. “Do it…. If my memories in the hivemind are not enough, perhaps tasting of my feelings directly shall settle this issue.” There was a pause as Morpheus and Wyrman stilled. It was a horribly awkward pause, knowing they were talking in a manner I wasn’t sure I’d ever comprehend, but I had faith in Morpheus. Whatever passed between them must have been something good, though, because Wyrman started chuckling. The chuckling thrum expanding to chortling only to keep going into a full-belly laugh. “You... You…” Wyrman tried to speak and failed amidst his laughter. “Oh, My Lord—” He bowed his head. “—I think I may have a most agreeable proposition for you.” Morpheus arched an eyebrow. “Strange words for one in your position, yet stranger still is the taste of such warming conviction. Should ve be worried by all the steel amidst your sunshine?” “No, My Lord, for you have given an old changeling hope.” Wyrman’s grin was much more friendly this time. My brow furrowed. Old? He didn’t look old, and he certainly didn’t sound it. Morpheus gazed at the infiltrator for a long while, eyes glassy. “Hope, you say? Such a curious choice of words.” The infiltrator chuckled. “I have spent many years among ponies before my current position, Prince Morpheus. Certain habits rubbed off on me.” “Do tell.” Mo’s glassy-eyed stare hardened, and the rods in his hooves began drumming again. Wyrman breathed deeply. “I, Silvertongue Wyrmen Flynn, do serve Lord Exodus Flynn in the harsh judging light of day. I am an assassin of the highest caliber, and I was ordered to end Her Royal Highness, Princess Twilight Sparkle’s, life, yet, when day turns to night, I am still merely a father.” Wyrman closed his eyes to hide behind his haws once more. “My son, Beatlegeuse, recently emerged from his Chrysaling as a lord. He idolizes you, Prince Morpheus, and your desire for peace. Ve had had our doubts, but now…” He hissed and clicked a few words in Chitri. “The foal. He didn’t know what he was getting into. Neither of us did. With no proper lineage, he has no other option than to let his betters—” He spat the word. “—skitter all over him.” With a grimace, he looked down. “I am no better off. Ve realized a long time ago that, if I was to provide my son the chance of being a lord, sacrifices would need to be made. I have spilled a lot of blood to get: far, far too much blood.” He deflated with a sigh. “This mission was to be my… penance, shall we say…. Murder the princess, pay off my debts in full, then pass the Azure Veil to receive whatever punishment may await me for my actions.” I shuddered at his words. Spi hissed at the implications, while Hera’s stoic glower became a deathly glare. Morpheus simply drummed his hooves more, gazing on with an inscrutable face. His haws were closed, and it was more than a little unnerving to see him so… emotionless. Finally, Morpheus took another sip of water. “Something changed, though, ve take it? You hardly put up a fight.” Wyrman bit his chops, nodding. “I suppose you could say my heart just wasn’t in it after seeing the Princess for myself. She was so earnest that I couldn’t help but chance that maybe you were just as sincere.” His wings gave a little chirp. “I am… pleasantly surprised that our misgivings were unfounded.” “And your proposal?” Morpheus thrummed. Wyrman bowed his head. “My life to be yours, completely and utterly, if you give my son the chance he deserves. After all, you will need to appoint a new head of House Flynn after moving on Exodus.” Morpheus stood, looming over the infiltrator in silence for a moment. The drumming from his hooves accelerated to a manic pitch only to leave us in sudden silence. Still he stared, until the subject of his gaze began to squirm, but in the end he bared his fangs in a grin and held his hoof out to the changeling. “It seems Mother wished to send me a boon after all, then. Show me your son yourself—memories straight from the source—and perhaps we will have a deal.”