//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: It's a Hell of a Town // Story: Tempest Shadow: Mooby Road // by Captain_Hairball //------------------------------// New Ponk City left Tempest in a constant state of agitation. It was inconceivably enormous. Canterlot was the biggest city she’d ever seen before, and three Canterlots would fit into this place with room to spare. Far overhead, video billboards anchored to the sides of towers flashed seizure-inducing advertisements. The streets swarmed with cars, half of them bright yellow taxis that never stopped for anything. The crowds on the street were shoulder to shoulder. People constantly bumped into Tempest from behind or lunged past her peripheral vision. None of them knew it took a conscious act of will on her part to keep from reflexively crushing their trachea. Her lack of sleep didn’t help. Pinkie and Rarity had driven through the small hours of the morning, two of them taking turns at the wheel and passing a thermos of Sugar Cube’s super strong coffee back and forth while Tempest half-dozen in the back seat. They’d parked their car in a garage where the attendants stacked the vehicles on elevators like a box of children’s toys and had eaten breakfast in a snooty café that served espresso that could take paint of walls. Tempest was wide awake, but at the cost of frayed nerves and a sour stomach. “Why are we here?” said Tempest. “Because New Ponk City is one of the most sophisticated places on earth!” said Rarity. “It smells like a sewer,” said Tempest. “It’s really fun, here!”Said Pinkie. “There’s a toy museum and sex museum, and there are people in costumes, and… Oh, can we go to the M&M store?”. “We may stop at the M&M store after we get Tempest something decent to wear,” said Rarity, Tempest frowned. “We already got me clothes.” They’d been shopping from the moment the stores opened. Exercise clothes, tunics, soft canvas shoes, more of the tight but surprisingly comfortable twill leggings, all to supplement the one outfit the mirror had given her. One of her new tunics had a cartoon version of alicorn Twilight Sparkle printed on the front, which was confusing. “We got you street clothes,” said Rarity. “We are going to the Ponypolitan this afternoon. You cannot go in there dressed like a ragamuffin.” “Mmmm, muffins,” purred Pinkie as Rarity lead them off the street into a little boutique. “It’s full of pretty dresses,” grumbled Tempest, slouching. “Yes,” said Rarity. “We’ll need something that will compliment your skin tone. Now, what goes well with purple?” Pinkie fell asleep in a chair in a back corner while Tempest, Rarity, and the shop girl wore a path between the racks and the changing room. Tempest had never before been unhappy to disrobe in front of two attractive females. Even Rarity was at a loss. Nothing looked quite right on Tempest’s tall, narrow, muscular frame, and of course Tempest hated all of it. “I’m so sorry,” said Rarity after an hour of this, putting her hands on Tempest’s shoulders. “I’m sure I can design something for you when we get home, but off-the-shelf dresses are just not working.” Tempest was about to assure Rarity that it was really all right and not to worry about it when she glanced out the window and saw a vision of everything she wanted to be walking past. “That,” she said, grabbing Rarity by the shoulder and pointing. “I want that.” “You want an angry businessman yelling in into a cell phone,” said Rarity, knitting her brows. “No. The suit. I want the suit.” Tempest preferred to yell at people in person. A sour little look flashed across Rarity’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a dawning look of joy. “Oh!” she said, stamping and clapping her hands. “It’s perfect!” They sent Pinkie to play at the M&M store, and an hour and a half later Tempest stepped out of a tailor’s shop wearing a light blue-gray suit, with Rarity draped off her arm. “I find there is always a solution to these problems,” purred Rarity, straightening Tempest’s tie. “How do you feel, dearest heart?” Tempest smirked down at her. “Like a million bits.” She’d better. The suit hadn’t cost quite that much, but Tempest was sure there had been at least four digits on the receipt Rarity had signed. She hoped Rarity’s father really was as loaded as she’d implied. “So what’s the Ponypilitan?” † The Ponypolitan was an art museum, and there were plenty of tourists dressed like ‘ragamuffins’ there, so Tempest didn’t know what Rarity had been so worried about. It didn’t matter; Tempest felt good in her suit. She also felt good in the museum; it was calm here; so different from the frantic rushing city outside. She hadn’t had time to explore Canterlot — She’d been there for the battle and had spent most of her time there in the palace dungeons. But this felt like a Canterlot place. Quiet, open, beautiful spaces full of wonderful things. Art wasn’t something she’d had much time to think about — what education she’d had was martial, and largely self-administered. But art was an excellent source of intelligence about a civilization, it turned out. Here in one building was a wealth of information about this world’s major cultures. Far more than she had time to interpret. But she could see from the weapons on display that the humans were more violent than ponies. They kept slaves, hoarded wealth, rode… horses? Rarity assured her the ones in her world didn’t talk. She especially liked the stern grandeur of the Egyptian artifacts and the idealized perfection of the Greeks and Romans. They apparently had been similar to the ancient Pegasopolans, whose culture she had always admired. She was so caught up in the exhibits that she didn’t immediately notice Pinkie’s increasing agitation. As they moved from room to room, Pinkie sat down at every opportunity and was constantly looking at her phone. She looked flushed, tired, bored and annoyed. And Tempest didn’t know what to do about it. She went through what she knew about Pinkie Pie, both human and Equestrian. There wasn’t much to go on, but nothing of her brief acquaintance with either suggested a long attention span or an interest in high culture. Tempest taped Rarity on the shoulder. “Pinkie seems…” said Tempest. “Look at these brush strokes. So meticulous!” said Rarity, stroking her chin and gesturing at a painting of a man with a pencil thin mustache standing arm in arm with an overweight crossdresser. Tempest was surprised at Rarity’s mention of brush strokes; she’d assumed the painting was a photograph. Tempest tried again. “But Pinkie…” Rarity had already moved on, a trancelike expression on her face. Pinkie and Rarity were tired and full of caffeine. All three of them had been eating from Pinkie’s massive bag of M&Ms all afternoon, and they hadn’t really stopped for lunch. A friendship problem was coming, and Twilight hadn’t prepared her enough for it. And she was exhausted, too. Rarity was walking close to the bench where Pinkie Pie was sprawled like a martyr awaiting execution. Battle was imminent. She was trying to work up the nerve to intervene when a painting caught her eye. Brutal strokes of paint depicted a battle. Rifles were little more than sideways slashes. Red and white flags thrust forward at aggressive angles. Gore stained the field of battle red beneath an autumn sky. Everything in between — soldiers, a horse, even the flags — was torn as though fed through the blades of a thresher. It was like a window back to Canterlot — Raiju shamans felling whole waves of royal guards with lightning bolts. Lt. Grubber’s head lying on the pavement, severed by a pirate’s cutlass. And her, always at the front of her forces, her hooves soaked in pony blood. Why had Twilight pardoned her? Turning traitor on the Storm King didn’t seem like enough — in Tempest’s mind, a traitor once might be a traitor again. If she were Twilight, she wouldn’t trust her. The thought of her own treason made her stomach churn. Had the Storm King deserved her loyalty? He had not. But that wasn’t how a warrior should live. Warriors lived in a world of ‘ought’, not of ‘is’. They lived by a code of honor. The sound of young women shouting pulled Tempest’s head out of her own navel. “We’ve done nothing but what you want to do all day!” said Pinkie, waving her arms in the air. “Nothing! Just boutique after boutique after boutique and then this… huge… echoy… house of boredom!” Rarity glared at Pinkie, arms crossed over her chest. “There’s no need to make a scene. We discussed our itinerary this morning. If you had any objections, you should have voiced them then.” The other museum-goers were staring at them. The security guard was staring at them. Tempest strode towards them as quickly as her long legs could take her without breaking into a run. She wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders and herded them out of the gallery. This could have gone any number of ways, most of them bad, but Rarity and Pinkie were apparently both so startled by the gesture that they went along with it. Tempest heard twin intakes of breath as of two young women about to protest. She spoke as quickly and firmly as she could. “Rarity. You’re more tired than you think you are. You need to sit down and have a couple of glasses of wine and something to eat. Pinkie. We can’t always do what we want to do. Rarity promises that we will do something you want to do tomorrow.” “But…” said Rarity. “You do,” said Tempest. Rarity scowled. “Fine. I accept that I may have gotten carried away today. Pinkie Pie, we may go to any restaurant you like for dinner, as long as they serve wine.” † The pizza wasn’t bad, though the animatronics were a bit unsettling. “Are there people in those?” said Tempest, handing Pinkie’s phone back to her after taking her picture with one of the characters. “This place has an appalling safety record,” slurred Rarity, swishing her wine in her glass. “But a surprisingly acceptable wine list.” Her and Tempest were on their third bottle. Pinkie was just drinking soda. “Oh, those are just urban legends,” said Pinkie, sitting down and folding a slice of olive and anchovy in half. “Some places are way worse. I heard about this one pizza parlor that has a whole satanic cult thingy in its basement. Tunnels and everything!” She stuffed the entire piece into her mouth at once. “That is… a conspiracy theory, darling. It is made up. The incidents here are a matter of… public… thingy.” “Mpgh mmmm!” said Pinkie. “I’m wondering something,” said Tempest. “About the satanic cult?” said Pinkie. “This world is really different from what I’m used to,” said Tempest, sailing on past Pinkie’s non-sequitur like it wasn’t there. “This body is really different from what I’m used to. This city? I’ve been from one side of Equus to the other; there’s nothing like this in the pony world. And it’s an adjustment, but it feels like too easy of an adjustment. Like those things.” She jabbed a finger at a huge metallic teddy bear covered with squealing children. “If I saw something like that in Equestria, I’d lose my mind. And yet I’m only mildly creeped out by it.” “Oooooh!” said Pinkie. “That’s a mirror thing. It makes your brain different, so you don’t go crazy from the change of context.” “Twilight told me…” said Rarity, attempting to pour herself another glass of wine. She frowned when nothing came out of the bottle. “Which Twilight?” said Pinkie. Rarity rolled her eyes. “The Twilight who knows about magic, obviously. If I were talking about quantum physics, I would mean the other Twilight. And if I were talking about something ambiguous, I would specify ‘Twilight’ or ‘Sci Twi’.” Pinkie nodded sagely. “Right. That makes sense. So…” “So what, dearest heart?” said Rarity. Pinkie waved her hands in circles. “So Magic Twilight told you…” “Oh! Right!” Rarity waved at someone over Tempest’s shoulder. “She says the mirror could easily send someone through as their own species, and that she wondered why it didn’t. At first, she thought it was to keep magic secret, but we’ve seen what the word gets out nothing really changes. People just… forget they saw magic. And of course, they usually don’t believe the stories. If I were to tell someone… hold on.” The waitress came over to their table. “Can I get you anything?” Rarity cleared her throat. “My friends and I used to be in a magical girl rock band, you know. I dare say we’ve vanquished more demons than you’ve had hot breakfasts.” “That’s nice,” said the waitress. “Would you like another bottle of wine?” “Yes please,” said Rarity. “I suspect if I’d have been lying, she might’ve believed me. But when the human — or pony — mind encounters fact it can’t correlate with its normal existence, it just discounts them. Or accepts them as normal if it can’t do that. Certainly, no one bats an eyelash at our Spikey Wikey talking. But if you take a human or pony and put them in a totally alien world, it would be unspeakably traumatic. Putting them into the opposite body as close to their original body as possible eases the transition. It makes them feel as though they belong in the world they’re in.” “I wouldn’t go that far,” said Tempest. Pinkie rolled her eyes. “So like I said, the mirror makes your brain different, so you don’t go crazy from the change of context.” “All right, I have another question,” said Tempest. “Why are you helping me?” They both stared at her like she’d asked what color grass was. “Um, because you need help?” said Pinkie. “We passed the pony power mantle over to the young six a while back, but we still like to help out.” The waitress plonked an open bottle of wine on the table next to them. Rarity poured herself and Tempest another glass. “I’m dangerous,” said Tempest, then sipped her wine. “Oh, did you hear that, Pinkie, darling. Tempest is dangerous. I had no idea.” “Oh my gosh! What if she suddenly raises an army and conquers New Ponk City!” “Whatever would we do,” drawled Rarity. Tempest scowled at them. Rarity leaned over to pat her on the arm. “Don’t be cross, darling. We are very impressed with your capacity for violence. But you’re a mercenary, not a sociopath. You display empathy, a code of honor, and a capacity for remorse. There’s no reason you’d cause Pinkie or I any harm unless someone was paying you to. In fact,” she said, fishing her credit card out of her purse, “Why don’t we say I am paying you to protect us. I’ll give you some spending money the next time we’re near an ATM.” “Sure. However you want to handle it. I wasn’t threatening you,” said Tempest. “I’m just trying to understand why you’d choose to associate with someone like me. Not that I’m ungrateful. Bodyguard is a fine profession.” Pinkie shrugged. “If Twilight’s willing to take a chance on you, then so are we.” † They staggered back to their hotel, Tempest in the middle, with a ridiculously caffeinated Pinkie clinging to one arm, and a shit-faced Rarity hanging off the other. The plan was to turn in early, but ridiculous caffeinated Pinkie and pillows weren’t a good combination. She snuck up on Rarity while the was getting ready for bed, and poked her in the small of her back. “Not now, Pinkie, I am moisturizing,” said Rarity. “Nope. I’m calling you out. I demand satisfaction!” “Mmmm. Is that what you’re looking for? I thought you were looking for a pillow fight.” Tempest lay on the two of the beds closer to the window, watching the two young woman. She’d never guessed from looking at the pictures in Twilight’s briefing materials that she’d find human women so enticing. She blamed the mirror. She watched as Pinkie gave up on trying to start a pillow fight with Rarity, and instead hopped on the bed and began bouncing on it. Tempest covered her face. “Pinkie. Pinkie. You know I’m a bisexual, right?” “Of course you are. You’re Equestrian!” said Pinkie. “I don’t mind if you look!” Tempest poked at the TV remote until she figured out how to use it to turn on the TV. “Pinkie,” said Rarity, her arms held behind her back, “I have something for you.” “Yeah?” said Pinkie, still bouncing on the bed. Rarity, holding her pillow in a two-handed grip, whacked Pinkie across the midriff. “It’s over, Anakin! I have the high ground!” shouted Pinkie, scooping up a pillow. “Owf! Owf!” cried Rarity, pillow held over her head against Pinkie’s rain of blows. “Tempest for God’s sake, did I not just hire you as a bodyguard?” “If I hit one of you two with a pillow I’d knock you across the room,” said Tempest, flipping through the channels. Pinkie stopped bouncing. “You know what that means, right Rarity?” “Yes, darling. In the face of a greater threat, I propose a temporary alliance.” Tempest blinked. “What?” The next thing she knew, Pinkie and Rarity were on either side of her bed, pummeling her with pillows.