He never had so sweet a Changeling

by Gabriel LaVedier


Together, Alone

“You did a fair enough job, Vanilla.” The next day. After the bath and Vanilla binding the bundles of skewers to Dee Dee’s leg as a makeshift splint, she had opted to sleep on the stripped bed. It seemed unusual for a Canterlot pony to so easily choose something so plain and lacking in refinement. But it made things easier. The next day Vanilla had made the call bright and early, the only way to get to the doctor with any speed. That doctor, a pale green unicorn with a bright white mane and a surgical mask as a cutie mark, was looking over the job done. “Suffices for a temp job. Normally I’d suggest we get her to the hospital but that’s just too long of a wait. I brought the supplies to make a cast, so I can get right to it.”
“Thank you, doctor. Sorry about the trip you had to take. I know I’m not exactly… centrally located in a friendly position.” Vanilla looked over the doctor’s shoulder as he gently probed Dee Dee’s leg, cringing a bit when she winced.
“Mister Torte, I service a rural community. We are nominally Canterlot-located, but this is very informal and spaced out. I am quite used to a long jaunt to see a patient. But, I must say, seldom a patient this elegant and lovely.” The doctor smiled to Dee Dee, and very carefully laid her broken leg on sterile gauze which was placed on a pile of white paper upon a pillow.
“Oh my, thank you doctor. You flatter me.” Double smiled exactly as appropriate and waved her uninjured leg in a coy, coquettish gesture, a small blush artificially placed over the bridge of her snout. She could tell the doctor was the shameless flirt type, and perhaps a trifle goatish, but in no way a lust-drenched sort. Lonely, but satisfied in the main. Probably very common in the area. Very subtle activation of her horn let her draw in the ambient emotion. It was dross, the mere dregs of edible emotion as far as she was concerned. But she had been in Canterlot society and fed on far less pure feeling as a matter of course. Innocent flirtation outweighed directed lechery, even if the strength of such forceful lust made it more filling overall. There was still a savor to be considered. “I’m nothing special. Just a temporarily-displaced mare.”
“Well, while you are so displaced, this little pseudo-community is richer for your presence.” The doctor chuckled softly and turned to the materials he had brought with him. He first started to massage a packet, mixing some chemicals together within and turning them from a collection of liquids into a sort of flowing putty. “Mister Torte, if you would, please cut me long strips of gauze. I need them… about lasagna-noodle length, if that helps you.”
“I did pastry, but I was around plenty of chefs de cuisine that made Cavallino food. I know exactly the size you want.” Vanilla used his horn, to maintain a semi-sterile environment, taking up a roll of gauze and angled scissors, unrolling and cutting the filmy fabric. “This sure cuts easier than puff pastry or phyllo. I don’t need to worry about it falling apart.”
“Very clean and precise. Perhaps you should consider nursing work. You don’t need to be a crossheart mare, you know? That’s just common, not required.” The doctor chuckled and then turned back to Dee Dee, lifting her injured leg slowly and wiping it slowly with a dark, sharp-smelling liquid. “Sorry for the smell but you need an antibacterial coat beneath the liquid resin that will be underneath the cast. I’m not sure if you have experience with this, but it’s how we’ve been doing this in the modern day.”
“I’ve never had a break like this. It was something of a shock.” The swarm was not… coddling. Injured drones and workers were easy to replace, and consumed without producing. If they could not make honey, or could no longer perform internal hive duties, there was no recourse. It hurt to see some being that had been a friend killed because they were injured. But the swarm had to remain strong.
“Thankfully, she is taking it well. Though is there anything you can give her for pain? She was very battered up by the whole ordeal.” Vanilla continued to cut strips while he regarded Dee Dee. She had taken everything very well. It would have spoken well of her had she been more honest.
“Of course. For bodily harm like this, I can certainly give her something.” The doctor brushed on a slightly-tinted fluid that did not drip or flow too much. Once the entire broken segment was covered he wrapped the coated region in an aura of magic, the liquid solidifying and darkening somewhat. “Some waterproofing and rubbery protection. Don’t worry, it comes off easily.”
“Say, how many of these strips do you need? I’d hate to use up too much of your gauze.” Vanilla had a good pile of long gauze strip stacked neatly beside the pillow. It was like he was making a pastry with it.
“Looks like somepony misses his old job, wouldn’t you say, doctor?” Double laughed softly and examined Vanilla to gauge his reaction. He didn’t seem to react too strongly, merely turned back to the gauze.
“Looks like you are correct miss Dee Dee. That should be enough for now.” The doctor cut open the pouch of flowing putty, carefully smearing a portion of it over the rubbery covering. With the area coated he began wrapping the gauze strips securely over the covered area, the material flowing through the holes in the gauze and soaking into it. He built up layer on layer until the gauze no longer became soaked. He wrapped it in a magical aura and applied the rest of the liquid, adding more layers. “Thaumatic-reactive rigid composite. It works so much better and faster than plaster. Honestly I wonder how we ever got on without it.”
“How long does the cast have to stay on?” Changeling education was limited. Speaking, covert operations, quick excuses, general history, sciences, social structures, math and geography, somewhat like pony foals, but with far more hours per day. They could pretend to be a pony and move in society but they knew almost nothing about the little things. Financing a home, arranging social situations, or anything health-related. Illness was not an issue when non-productivity was a death sentence.
“It was a simply fracture, thankfully. But a fairly big bone. The range for one of your general health is around a month and a half to three months. Outside a hospital setting I’d say your best bet is to go the full three months, then call me in to remove the cast.” The doctor started packing his things back into a large box marked with a red cross.
“Anything special I need to know? I mean, she’ll be staying here for the whole time. I don’t want to get anything wrong.” Vanilla looked… somewhat flustered, but not overly much. His worry was tempered by the natural chill in his bearing.
“Nothing much beyond common sense issues. Keep her off the leg, have her remain reasonably active, good nutrition is a plus, keep her mind engaged to stave off cabin fever. Besides that, there’s this…” The doctor took out a cylindrical red bottle of pills with a white label, a pen levitating over to fill in information. “Two pills every eight hours if there is pain. I know I shouldn’t have to say this, but don’t overdo the dosage. Addiction is NEVER good and overdose is a death sentence.”
Vanilla took the bottle in his magic, eyes scanning over the information written on it. Detailed, clear, easy. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the help, and sorry for bringing you out here on such short notice.” Vanilla rose with the doctor, following him out the door.
“Oh yes, and she really should contact family or other acquaintances, just to let her know she’s alright. I know there was a big to-do up there. And there’s probably a lot of panic going on for the missing, especially in the case of an airship incident. If you’re lucky some family or friends could come and get her. They’re likely to be more hospital-proximate than you are, mister Torte.”
“I understand. And you’re very right, doctor. For her sake on many levels, I need to get that taken care of.” Vanilla showed the doctor out and helped him to load his cart and get things situated before waking him off with a small, cool smile. Once he was out of sight the off-white stallion turned back to the house. With the stranger resting, helpless and mendacious, in his guest bedroom, filled with unknown secrets and alien intents. But even so, he willingly went back inside and closed the door, sealing both of them in together.
Double looked down at the cloth-and-resin band on her leg, the surface reasonably smooth thanks to the pressure of the doctor’s magic acting on the resin-soaked gauze. She gave it a gentle tap with her other hoof. Solid. Deep inside her body was healing itself. If she were to change she might be able to keep it on. It was sized so exactly she was not sure what would become of her holes if she went back to her true body. This was what ponies knew. Comfort for their pains, and compassion for their weakness. And while the swarm prided itself on strength, the weak ponies on which they callously fed had won…
The shutting of the door drew her attention to the fact she had pushed away initially. She was in the house with a complete stranger. She was cut off from her own kind, caught up with food that would not feed her, knowingly or not. The coldness and distance in him made him feel somehow familiar, but he could not drop his form and approach her as a fellow Changeling, to fill her with the comforting security of the hive interconnection. She would need to do something to improve her situation or somehow get out of the place and into more familiar localities.
“The doctor had an excellent suggestion. You need to contact your family and friends, to assure them that you’re alright.” Vanilla came back upstairs with a pad of paper, a quill and an inkwell. “Just give me a phone number and I’ll get them for you. They can come to get you. I’m sure you’d rather recuperate in your own home, closer to a hospital.”
The disguised Changeling looked to the paper with a cool disinterest, while she was internally panicked. She had been caught off guard, again. Perhaps she wasn’t such a good Changeling after all. She was being thrown by the most basic things that larvae were taught. She took up the quill and dipped the tip in the ink, slowly levitating it towards the paper, but halting halfway through. “I know you are attempting to help, and I do appreciate it greatly. But I do not believe that the issue is as terribly serious. It can wait for a time.”
Vanilla mmmed softly, looking at Dee Dee for a moment, then taking the paper and writing implements away. “You HAVE had a very trying time of it. And the doctor advised some portion of rest. I’ll bring in some fresh sheets for you. Might as well make the space comfortable.” Vanilla took the implements out of the room, not seeing his houseguest slump down in relief.
Her breath panted out in gentle puffs over the bare mattress. Even stripped and smelling faintly of stray drops of antiseptic, it was like a cloud. And she needed that comfort. She had no freedom to wander away from a pony that had seen her weak cover story for the flimsy tissue it was. In normal circumstances there was a fluid dynamic, the ability to trot on to greener pastures and away from prying eyes. She’d need to be more careful in the future.
She could not afford to be lulled into a sense of relaxation because it was so isolated. It was a reason to be worried, in fact. Out there, no creature could help her if her host was unkind. The doctor seemed to see the stallion as pleasant, and he knew she was there. But he was not there all the time. And he could well be in on some kind of conspiracy. ‘Double… such conspiracies do not exist. They live only in the horrid movies viewed by those with no taste, such as the pony you imitated so long ago.’ She sighed a bit. Her internal self was correct. She only needed to worry about pointed questions and thorny moments, not knives and needles.
“I know you want to rest, but I thought a fine lady like yourself would want some sheets.” Vanilla came back into the room, holding a full sheet set and two fresh pillows in his horn’s grip. “Don’t worry. I washed them first to get them soft, and stored them in a watertight place.”
“I DO wish to rest. But you are quite correct. I would much prefer a fully dressed bed.” It took a little bit of shuffling and twisting, but three hooves finally his the floor, leaving the stripped bed bare and ready for covering.
The bedding started with a slightly-padded under-sheet, a plain white thing stuffed with a bit of foam. Over that the fitted sheet, in a very pale robin’s-egg blue, stretched and settled smoothly over the mattress. A matching sheet was spread out and tucked under, topped by a light comforter in pale cream with a floral motif. The pillows were covered in cases that matched the comforters and set gingerly at the head. “I trust that is acceptable to you?”
“Acceptable. Very acceptable.” Double looked on the bed, working extremely hard to suppress her desire and adoration. She focused on the coldness she was receiving and gave it back in kind to help with that suppression and the maintenance of her Canterlot detachment. Appearance was reality, as far as a Changeling was concerned, at least in the majority of cases. And that was what sold even the thinnest cover.
“May I bring you anything? You must be getting hungry now.”
‘Give me your love. Give me your lust. Give me your lechery. Give me something but your frosty formality, you Canterlot icepony.’ “I would very much enjoy a large, crisp salad with cress and escarole, drizzled with red wine vinegar, a plate of timothy hay and sparkling purified water. If you don’t have it all, then as near as you can get. I recognize that circumstances are somewhat reduced.”
Vanilla nodded lightly and left the room. “You harmed my crops a little bit but I have some of those things. I, too, grew to enjoy the flavor of such things and learned to cultivate them.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Double alone to slowly slip back under the covers, a shiver running over her seeming skin, a low, pleasured sigh emerging from her lips. The run-up to and the preparations for the invasion had involved even more sparse conditions and rigorous treatment in the swarm. To simply have time to lay, in luxurious softness and joyous comfort... it was so indulgently decadent. She did need to get away. But there was no real harm in taking advantage of the surroundings in which she was caught.
Downstairs, Vanilla was out in the garden. Along around the other side of the house from Dee Dee’s landing place were the carefully-maintained patches of higher-end and more flavorful bits of vegetation. Thanks to the lack of earth pony natural skill, and the necessity of using the natural mana flow and the presence of nutrients, he was forced to grow in carefully controlled areas in rigidly enforced grids with a very careful regime of fertilizing, watering and weeding.
Each harvestable bunch of each crop would suffice to feed a pony, if not for one day then at least for a fair-sized meal. He carefully cut one bunch of escarole and one bunch of the cress, levitating them into a basket he had with him. He then carefully dripped some concentrated liquid fertilizer into the bare bases and roots, to give them the strength to draw on mana while the leaves were growing back.
Back inside the house he rinsed them off, carefully, getting between the leaves, and even making sure the curls of the escarole were clear of debris. He wielded his larger chef’s knives with his magic, the leaf vegetables also held up, allowing him to made grand, graceful chops and swings, swiftly cutting the leaves into salad-sized pieces. He was in no wise a chef de salade, but he had filled in for them before and had done salad work during his initial training. He still had it.
He carefully mixed the greens in a large bowl, tossing them together to get them evenly intermixed. While he had them in the process of mixing he took up his red wine vinaigrette and sprinkled it carefully over the leaves, letting them be drizzled but not drowned. It was a very imprecise thing; everypony had their preference. The norm was to allow the customer to pour themselves, as it also let the chef off the hook. But she had asked, and he was not about to demand she dress her own salad. His own taste was fair, and so the amount he preferred would likely be sufficient.
He had a batch of timothy that had been freshly hayed, sitting in the small dry goods pantry. He measured out the salad onto two plates and then set a plate out, moving a small pile of the hay onto it, trying to get the dry stuff to fall in an artful manner. It was slightly more hoi polloi than haute cuisine, the ingredients notwithstanding, but it might be enough to satisfy the lady above.
He did not have sparkling or carbonated water, but he had plenty of fresh water, clean and pure. He even had a deep, wide glass, very like a snifter, sufficient to provide a good amount of water. To be sure, he included a stoneware pitcher of water.
One bowl of the salad was placed on a large, silver tray, a parting gift from his family, probably intended to make him long for return to the finery of the upper terraces. Beside it was set a salad fork, a cloth napkin, and the glass of water. Lower was the plate of hay and beside it the pitcher. The whole thing set, Vanilla levitated it up and trotted his way back upstairs.
Back in the guest room he found Dee Dee snuggled into bed, looking blissfully happy. Typical. A comfort-seeking Canterlot lady burying herself in all the luxury she could scrape up, even despite her situation. He brought a side table closer to the bed, the soft thump of the legs hitting the floor grabbing her attention. “As you asked. I didn’t have the sparkling water but I think it’s best that you get lots of regular water. I trust it will be to your liking.”
“It will suffice, I am quite certain. You were a professional, after all. I would imagine that your skills have not deteriorated.” ‘I’m not a statue and I’m not your boss. FEEL SOMETHING. Shed an emotion for me. You care enough to keep me alive, show me that caring.’ Double smiled pleasantly, levitating over the bowl and the fork.
“Very good. I made a portion for myself and it’s downstairs right now. I will give you a chance to enjoy your meal in peace. I’ll be up in a bit to clear away the dishes.” With a nod and bow so slight it was almost a mere implication, he was out of the room again, leaving Double alone with food enough to fill her belly.
Double looked around the room as she sullenly levitated her bowl over to herself. The side table that had been used as a resting place for her tray was a polished mahogany nightstand with a single drawer and an empty storage space beneath. The floor was polished wood, already wiped up and cleared of the mud from the previous night. Besides the nightstand and the bed, the room was very bare. There was a matching mahogany chest of drawers, an armoire, a chest at the foot of the red and a closed sliding door that was most likely a closet. It was sufficient for a guest room. But he room was almost as frosty as Vanilla himself. The matching furniture was so formal and stuffy, and it was perfectly polished and clean, lacking any nicks and scuffs from real living. She had been in ordinary homes before and seen what a real, lived-in home looked like, a place of great emotion.
The fork levitated and stabbed into the vinegar-drizzled greens. She pulled them up and into her mouth, chewing passionlessly on them. Her features softened and a small smile crossed her features. Her grinding may have been passionless but her feelings were certainly moved. The peppery mustard greens and crisp endives mixed together with the seasoned vinaigrette that had been perfectly applied to the meal. There was such… care in it. Not passion. It was still largely rote. But there was a taste to it, something only a Changeling might have noted, the tiniest bit of care sprinkled into it.
Emotions, at least the components that were edible by Changelings, could be cast into things. But while most of it was only accessible as a kind of scent or feeling, when infused into food it became a delicious bonus in the meal, a seasoning AND a way to take in empowering nutrition. Food made with passion and care was delicious and bracing. And, as she remembered, even sloppily-made dishes made with a real passion for the consumer, like an anniversary meal or romantic dinner for two, was almost as delicious as stolen love. In fact, it was stolen love, a love for a pony that was not really there. It fed the Changeling body on both fronts.
Down on the ground floor, Vanilla was in his den, eating his salad while considering everything. The bare floor with a round rug, the several bookshelves stuffed with thick books of many subjects, the low backless couch that providing another bit of seating besides the thick, comfortable chair, the side table on a stand holding his salad and water, the cold fireplace needless in the comfortable day. Familiar surroundings. Changed somewhat by having somepony else in the house.
He shouldn’t have felt any differently. She was a liar. Somehow she was a liar and he knew it. Refused to write to or otherwise contact somepony, changed her appearance in some manner, held him at a practiced distance. She was too smooth, too perfect. Nopony would be that dismissively proper without a reason. It wasn’t his business… but she was making it his business.
It hadn’t necessarily been her fault that she had crashed into his yard. But she had done something that made her tumble to the ground, and she HAD hit his property. By intention or accident, she had thrust herself into his life in the most direct manner possible. He had to care for her, because it was the right thing to do. As much as he might have liked to have been left alone, he knew it was no excuse to simply throw her out into the world to some impersonal hospital. It would have been extremely un-Equestrian. It felt right to have her there. Yet it was still a burden.
He munched on the salad and hummed to himself. Tasty. Suitable for serving in a good restaurant. Properly dressed, the greens crisp and well cut, everything looking right and smelling right, the bouquet rich and full. No matter her status as a snotty noble, it would probably suit her taste well. She was getting for free what would normally cost a fair bit.
He considered the salad, chewing more slowly on his mouthful. It was good for a light meal. But for healing there needed to be more substance. It needed tomatoes, and olive oil, soybeans, perhaps some cheese and chopped olives… he caught himself as his horn’s glow enveloped one of the books on the shelf, with the picture of several vegetables on the spine.
“No…” He took a drink of water, washing the flavor out of his mouth and leaving it bare. “No no… changes aren’t that easy.”