//------------------------------// // That night // Story: Princess Twilight Sparkle And Her Number Two Assistant // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// A harried day followed Twilight’s impromptu nap at her desk and now Twilight was showing signs of strain while she ate a hayburger loaded down with extra-extra-extra fried pickles and kumquat chutney, a taste sensation picked up from none other than Pinkie Pie. This was Twilight’s seventh such burger, and Spike had no doubt that she would eat the remaining five before there was even a hint of cold upon them. “Fried Pickle-Burger Kumquat!” as Pinkie Pie was fond of saying. “I spoke with Constance,” Twilight said, speaking with her mouth full in a most unprincessly manner. Kumquat chutney dribbled down from the corners of her mouth and left dark stains upon her chin. Spike tensed, wondering what Constance had said and if anything had been said about his chosen solution earlier. What had he been thinking? The east wing, a city administration repository, was enormous and it was an absolute mess at the moment because the summer records had been delivered, but not sorted and put away. “I like Constance,” Twilight continued, her lips smacking while she chewed. “I was a little bit worried at first when Raven suggested her, because of her background in the guard. I really don’t want a militaristic environment in my castle. But Constance has really surprised me.” “Yeah,” was Spike’s weak, faltering reply. “She’s great.” “Spike…” “Yeah, Twilight?” He felt the growing tension and feared whatever might have been said. “She didn’t give me specifics, or say anything bad… but she did suggest that she’s concerned for you. I was told that you came up with a brilliant solution, she actually said ‘brilliant’ and this mare, she calls everything stupid, you know how she is… but she also said it was… harsh. She mentioned that I should have a chat with you to see how you’re holding up under pressure.” “If we’re ever attacked again, she’ll be great at defending the students,” Spike said. In response, Twilight crammed the remaining half of her hayburger into her mouth and began chewing all while unwrapping waxed paper wrapper from her next victim. Looking at her, Spike couldn’t help but think that Twilight looked a bit like some mutant squirrel, with her bulging cheeks and bright, alert eyes. Yes, she had a squirrelly look about her, Twilight did. After swallowing, Twilight said, “Applejack would be proud of that misdirection, Spike.” “You think so?” He glanced down at his own food, most of which was uneaten. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Then, before Spike could answer, Twilight assaulted her next victim and bit off almost a good third of it. It bled kumquat chutney and its fried pickle innards spilled out onto the waxed paper strategically placed on the desk below Twilight’s chin. Spike knew that Twilight would spare none of them. Waddling through the halls, Spike felt bad about not telling Twilight what was going on. He had reasons—many reasons—and when he said them in his head they even sounded like pretty good reasons. Twilight was already overworked and had enough on her mind. She didn’t need to deal with his mistakes. And he had made a mistake, no doubt. In an attempt to please Constance, he had used dragonbreath to kill a fly, when a flyswatter would do. It was now the second fifth hour and much of the castle had quieted as the evening hours took hold. Thirteen hours from now, Constance would be ready to do her inspection. It didn’t feel like enough time, and he was tired already. Rounding a corner, he wondered if Talespin was still asleep. She might be. A few hours ago, when he had taken a moment out of his busy day to check on her, she was still sound asleep, secure in her chifforobe nest. When Spike entered, he found a bleary-eyed Talespin sitting on her cot. She had been reading a comic book by the looks of it, but had put it down when he’d entered. He stood in the doorway, uncomfortable, uncertain, wondering if he should have knocked, but knocking would have meant waking her up and he hadn’t knocked earlier. “You missed orientation,” he said to the filly. “I’m sorry… I was so sleepy. I had a really long trip with a long layover and I…” Talespin’s excuse trailed off into nothingness and then, after a moment of silence, she yawned. Looking a bit embarrassed, a bit guilty, she offered up an apologetic smile and asked, “Is somepony going to feed me?” “There’s a kitchenette down the hall and to the left.” “And somepony will get me breakfast?” A creeping feeling of concern caused Spike’s shoulders to go tense. “You have to get your own breakfast… but I’m guessing that you don’t know how.” Squeezing his eyes shut, Spike tried to contain his growing stress. “Apprentices are responsible for feeding themselves, but I don’t think that anypony took into account the fact that you are seven and not a unicorn.” “What’s a unicorn got to do with it?” Talespin now wore a perplexed look. “Uh…” Spike, besieged by stress, fought to collect his thoughts. “Magic. Nevermind. Look, I’ve done something terrible to you that you don’t know about yet. I was trying to protect you from Miss Kerning, but I think I goofed. It might have been better for you if I’d just kept my mouth shut. So… uh… um… I’m going to feed you and then we have a long night ahead of us sorting books.” “I can sort books,” Talespin said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Good, because there’s a few thousand books that need sorting.” “Oh.” Talespin’s jaw fell open and sat there on her cot, mouth agape. “Miss Kerning was kinda steamed that you missed the orientation and she was going to lecture you about how this does not bode well for your professional future and she’s a really stern mare and I sort of said the first thing that came to my mind to try and save you, but I’m pretty sure I made things worse and I am so sorry.” “It’s fine… I slept all day.” Talespin took a deep breath and plucky determination blazed in her eyes. Too much plucky determination was bad for pegasus ponies though, for obvious reasons. “Will you at least keep me company? I miss my mama and I’m in a strange place. Please?” The question almost knocked the wind out of Spike. Wringing his clawed hands together, he stood in the doorway and felt bad. He had planned to stay with her, but after hearing her say how she missed her mother, the importance of staying with her was, well, all the more important. Because he hadn’t answered yet, Talespin was slipping into sad-filly mode and he could see that her protruding lower lip was starting to get a familiar quiver. In the close quarters of her room, the full effect of it would be devastating to behold. “Well get it done together,” Spike blurted out before the filly’s face-magic could get any worse or gain intensity. “Right after I feed you. Come on, we have a lot to do. So much to do.” There was a muffled whump when his tail hit the floor and he realised that he was already tired. “Let’s go, Talespin.” About an hour later… The east wing was quiet, deserted. For good reason too, because the rhomboid-shaped room was a disaster. Two wagons were parked in the center of the room, each of them filled to the brim with books, ledgers, and the like. Minutes from the town hall meetings, accounting ledgers, various filing ledgers for things like marriages, births, and deaths, these were the summer records—just the summer. From the looks of things, this summer had been an eventful one. Spike reckoned that in a year or two, this room would be completely packed with records and that there would be no more room for storage. These were important things that the public needed access to, for all kinds of reasons, and Twilight was a stickler about the care and preservation of the Ponyville archives. “It’s too bright in here,” Talespin said, squinting and shielding her eyes with one raised foreleg. Spike didn’t think it was particularly bright, but what did he know? He stood akimbo, his clawed hands resting upon his hips, and tried to think about what to do to remedy the situation. This was going to be a miserable night, so anything to make it better would be nice. Candles, he realised, would work, and he knew where to get some. “Hang on, I know just what to do. I’ll be right back.” Talespin whistled while she worked, but it was unlike any song that Spike had ever heard. She warbled, which was normal enough, but she also made strange clicking and popping noises. He couldn’t help but watch her as she flitted about, swooping down to collect a few books and then zooming away to shelve them. Talespin… was a weird filly and a freaky flier. Her wings made hardly a sound at all in flight and something about her reminded Spike of Owlowiscious, who was also a stealthy, spooky flier. Spike organised the books into stacks and piles, sorting them by whatever means required. Some ledgers followed a series of dates, and so he sorted them by date, while others were alphabetical. Once the books were sorted, Talespin shelved them, maintaining their proper order. More than that, the filly knew how to shelve books, and Spike noted that she kept all of the spines aligned, a detail that was sure to please Miss Kerning. The books presented a regimental front, a unified flat, even surface. They were soldiers in formation. Even Twilight would be impressed. This wasn’t bad at all, Spike felt. Why, it was almost pleasant. It was work that he didn’t mind, and Talespin seemed to be enjoying herself while flapping around in the darkened heights of the east wing. For somepony who was supposed to be a clumsy flier, she hadn’t crashed once, or even bumped into anything. Somehow, she avoided the hanging lights, which were all turned off. Nothing was disturbed. How was she doing this? Spike had no idea, but he was impressed, because it was dark up there where the candlelight could not reach. If Spike was to ever admit the truth, he liked jobs like this. It felt like hoarding. Every dragon wanted to amass whatever they could and then spend endless hours organising their collection. But he had to be careful with these feelings, because they could get away from him, they could run rampant and cause all manner of problems. But he secretly liked to believe that the books were his hoard, and moments like these when he was organising them could be satisfying, if a bit tedious. Every book was a bit of treasure, something to secure and put on display. It was approaching the second tenth and one wagon was almost completely emptied of its contents. Spike was starting to think that he and Talespin might pull this off, though he was feeling mighty tired. By midnight, two hours from now, he would be a draggin’ dragon, but he was determined to see this through. “What is going on here?” The sudden unexpected sound of Moondancer’s voice almost caused Spike to knock over the fortress walls of books stacked all around him. He cringed—hard—and now that his heart was thumping, he felt wide awake. Even with his newfound awareness, he had no idea what to say or how to begin explaining this. “I heard whistling,” said Moondancer while tapping one hoof against the floor. “So I go to find the source and I find you sorting books with a filly… by candlelight no less. Spike, is there something you want to tell me?” Spike wanted to say a lot of things at the moment, but his tongue was tied. “He fixed me breakfast too,” Talespin said, and her words no doubt sealed Spike’s fate. “This morning?” Moondancer asked while cocking her head to look up at the filly hovering just above her. There was a squeak from Talespin and Spike could see the panic settling over her face. When there was no answer, the mental gymnastics began. “What sort of filly calls an evening meal breakfast?” Moondancer’s eyes narrowed in a dangerous way. “Unaware of social rituals, are you? I know what to do with your kind! Prepare to be—” “Moondancer! No! She’s not a changeling!” Now, Spike found himself the target of the paranoid unicorn’s baleful gaze and he suspected that she was suspicious of him, because she was a paranoid hot mess. Why, she might even think he was a changeling. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this if you’ll just give me a chance to tell you!” “So supper and sorting books by candlelight with a filly that calls supper breakfast—” “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Spike said, his claws flexing. “I have no idea how you jumped to that conclusion but I swear, I can make everything make sense.” “Well, you’re clearly on some kind of date, Spike, I get that… but with who? She seems… off somehow.” With a swivel of her head, Moondancer leveled her fierce, piercing stare upon Talespin. “What have you done with Spike? Why is he doing your bidding? If you really are a filly, a fact that we have yet to determine, what are you and Spike both doing up past your bedtimes?” “It’s not a date,” Spike said, his voice weak and lacking any sort of meaningful volume. His eyes darted around from candle to candle while he tried to understand how Moondancer had arrived at the conclusion that this was a date. Then again, Moondancer and Twilight both might consider sorting books a worthwhile date, a thought that troubled him a great deal, though he could not think of why at the moment. “It could be date,” Talespin said while shielding her face with her forelegs, trying to block out the eye-searing glow coming from Moondancer’s horn. “But it isn’t because colts are grody.” “Spike is a dragon.” Moondancer’s irrefutable logic swung into the conversation like a wrecking ball. “So he is, so he is. But if you’re going to jump to conclusions, you need to think like a seven-year-old, lady, otherwise, you’re just embarrassing yourself.” Squinting, Talespin continued to shield her eyes. “Who are you?” Moondancer demanded. “A filly whose mama told me not to talk to strangers, strange lady. Who are you?” This seemed to disarm Moondancer, who visibly relaxed and her horn went dim. “Your mother is a smart pony. That’s how they collect your voice, by hearing it. And once they steal your voice, the trouble starts. My name is Moondancer”—here, she turned and gave Spike a hard, meaningful glare—“and I am Twilight Sparkle’s Number Two Assistant.” Spike did not contest this hotly debated fact, as Twilight had quite a few number twos. He could, but at the moment, he wasn’t in the mood to be transmogrified into something, something small, furry, and helpless, like a gerbil, or worse. Moondancer could most certainly do worse. “Look, Talespin, you need to tell Moondancer the truth about how you are. It’s the only way to sort this out. And I think Moondancer will understand, because she’s an insomniac who stays up all night. In fact, she doesn’t sleep much at all, which worries all of us.” “Good distraction, Spike, but that doesn’t draw away attention from the fact that you were sorting books by candlelight with a filly. And what’s up with the whistling? It’s a weird sound. It’s not natural.” “Whistling helps me see stuff—” “What?” Moondancer took a moment to adjust her glasses, and then repeated herself. “What?” “I don’t know how it works, but whistling helps me see in the dark.” “You’re echolocating?” “What?” Talespin uncovered her face and her eyes flashed red in the faint light. “Whoa, freaky!” Moondancer began backing away and the hair on her exposed haunches now stood on end. Spike waited, not knowing how this ended, and he was more than a little freaked out by the sudden red flash in Talespin’s eyes. “I can’t tell her my secret—” “You told me your secret,” Spike said, interrupting. “There’s a secret?” Moondancer demanded while recovering her composure. “Secrets are bad, changelings feed on secrets.” “My mama told me not to tell other ponies, stupid. You’re a dragon, which is why I made an exception for you.” Talespin landed upon the edge of the wagon bed and stood atop the narrow wooden rail. “And that was a mistake because now my secret is about to get out and that’s bad.” “What’s going on?” Moondancer returned to being fierce and something dangerous glittered within her eyes. “What sort of filly uses echolocation?” “Just tell her,” Spike begged. “Maybe Moondancer can help you.” Talespin blinked and once again, her eyes flashed red in the light, then returned to their normal brilliant blue. Spike could see the struggle on her face, the pain, some shame, and a lot of fear. It must have been awful, having to hide this for seven years of her life, only to have it exposed now. Also, the Talespin that Spike saw now was a completely different pony, and not at all how she was in the day. He heard a strange clicky-warbling, which seemed like a nervous, fearful sound, and was nothing like the cheerful song he had heard earlier. “You… you just echolated,” Moondancer said, her voice firm and commanding. “I did what?” Talespin’s eyes darted to and fro, sheepish and alarmed. “What are you?” Moondancer took a step forward and her eyebrow was now a dangerous ‘V’ over her eyes. “I am the night!” Talespin responded while she took off, flapping, and within seconds she had retreated into the dark shadows that lurked about the ceiling. “Young lady, just how many comic books do you read?” Moondancer was squinting again, trying to see into the darkness overhead, but she hadn’t ignited her horn. “My mama says too many,” the filly replied, her voice eerie in the darkness. Spike longed for the tension to end, because he couldn’t take the hammer-blows of his heart smashing against his ribs any longer. Moondancer was taking this well, she took it in the way that only Moondancer could, and now that the mare’s all-consuming inquisitiveness had been triggered, it was only a matter of time before she knew everything, because that is what Moondancer did. “You look like a diurnal pegasus, but I don’t think you are.” Moondancer adjusted her glasses and continued to squint, looking for some sign of the hiding filly. “The fact that I can’t hear you flying suggests a great deal and I’m guessing that you have a unique wing structure. Come out!” “No! You sound like a creepy mad scientist that wants to cut me open and study me!” “I do not!” Moondancer stomped one hoof against the floor and shook her backside in annoyance. “You read too many comic books! I am a scientist, but I’m not a mad one!” That was debatable, but fearing for his draconic form, Spike said nothing. “I have candy—” “My mama told me not to take sweets from strangers! Especially creepy mad scientist strangers that want to study me!” Without realising that he was doing so, Spike chewed on his claws, all of them. “Spike, you have a weird fillyfriend. Wait till Twilight hears about this. You’ve found a nocturnal bookworm pegasus.” For Spike, this proved to be entirely too much. Inside of him, something broke free and rebelled against the tension. Every muscle tensed, his scales scraped against one another, his spines and frills all stood out, quivering with aggression. Claws flexing, eyelids twitching, he felt his internal inferno blazing. Every withheld emotion came out as a mighty roar, accompanied by gout of green flames.