//------------------------------// // Culture Shock // Story: Team Quantum // by Impossible Numbers //------------------------------// Twinkleshine liked to think of it as her “boudoir”, save for the fact that she had no real idea what one was, and no inclination to ask. “Boudoir” was a Camargue Horse word, and the Camargue Horses of the wild were said to bring out the beast in even the most civilized of ponies. She shivered at the thought. All in all, it was best to skim from the surface and hope no one looked any deeper. Nonetheless, she judged her hoofiwork. “Lyra, you look positively splendid,” she said. “Great. Um.” “Uh huh?” “Is it safe to breathe now?” Twinkleshine frowned. “Aren’t you comfortable? I thought a little ‘country chic’ would suit you.” Beside the increasingly sweaty face of Lyra, the increasingly pale face of Minuette added, “I don’t think milkmaids wore plastic corsets.” “I was going for a shepherd’s style.” Twinkleshine put a hoof to her mouth. “To bring out the pastoralist in her. Lyra, don’t you think it’s appropriate? I had the Ars Arcadia in mind.” “Twinkleshine!” cried out Minuette. “You are not Rarity! And can I take off this dress, please? And this makeup? They’re so pale! I look like a ghost!” Twinkleshine lowered the powder puff. “Take off the petticoat, at least. I don’t know why you thought that’d go well with the Empire Silhouette style; you’re supposed to capture the Neoclassical fashions of dance and music.” “Can I breathe now?” Lyra squeaked. She was starting to redden. “Now you look like you’ve just exploded backwards.” “I didn’t think it’d go well!” said Minuette. “I just wanted to stop the hem tangling up my legs!” “Can I breathe now!? Please!?” “Well, we can’t go with nothing.” Twinkleshine snorted. “Everyone would stare.” There was a snap. Bits of cloth fell to the floor. Lyra’s gasp stretched for a whole minute while the other two waited. “Yes!” she spluttered, gasping again. “They’d be thinking… ‘Wow… I wish… I’d thought of that!’” Automatically, Twinkleshine returned to curling up where she stood. Upper class assertiveness had not come naturally to her, and the spell was broken. Confronted with the wild mane of Lyra Heartstrings and the twitching of Minuette pushing her dress down and off, no fantasy spell could last long. “Don’t you want to look beautiful?” she said. Minuette rubbed the powder off her face. “Not that way. You’re trying too hard. We’re not society ladies, and you’re not a dressmaker or a fashionista. The only fabric we mess with is the fabric of time and space. No one’s going to invite us to the best parties.” Dispirited, Twinkleshine watched them struggle out of the tattered remnants. She didn’t blame them, though part of her felt she should. They thought the point of having a good time was to have a good time, and tripped themselves up the moment they met anything more sophisticated than eating, dancing, and chatting about who-broke-up-with-who. Perhaps I am being a bit snobbish. We work in labs all day. We’re like children. Life’s a playground between safe walls, only now the playground’s a universe billions of lightyears across, and the toys are worth millions. Lyra’s idea of a hearty meal is a sandwich and some hay and oats. Minuette thinks a good dance can be made up on the dance floor. Give it up, Twinkleshine. There are two cultures. Pick one. “You’re sure I can’t persuade you to try on a princess dress?” She gestured teasingly to the open wardrobe. “I don’t like this glamour stuff much,” said Lyra. “Well, you listen to the classics, don’t you? The principle’s the same.” “I listen to a lot of genres. What I like, I like.” Glumly, she watched as they cast a critical gaze over her bedroom – boudoir – walls. Pink was the heart of Twinkleshine’s life. Her bed frame was ascending to four-poster status. Hearts and crowns were much in evidence. Even her dandy brush was curly and gilded, reflected in the three mirrors on a dresser she’d kept long after any adult was likely to call her “my little princess”. On top of a room soft on the eyes, though, were hard edges, dark cores, and a mass of ebony that looked as likely as an oak tree on a cumulus. Her bookshelf was bricked up with books entitled “The Sky At Night” or “Astronomer’s Encyclopaedia”. Yet swarming about this were posters featuring psychedelic singers and grinning buckball players. One paper ball – painted black – hung from the ceiling, stuck with glittery stars; a more modern globe of the night sky lay plugged in on the bedside table, ready to shine the constellations across the room when the lights went out. Ruling over them all, a signed portrait of Princess Celestia dominated one wall. And, in the corner, her first telescope leaned against the wall. Only Minuette had known her for longer. Twinkleshine hung her head. “I’m sorry. But, but can’t we at least try?” As soon as Lyra opened her mouth, Minuette held a hoof up to silence her. Head jerking back and forth, Lyra stepped aside and surrendered the floor to her. “I’m a little nervous,” said Minuette, twisting up around her words. “I’m sure I’d love it once I got to know it, but I’ve never been to an upmarket place before.” Twinkleshine’s face went slack. “Is that so? I could’ve sworn you did.” “If I did, I don’t remember. I don’t know how you’re supposed to act at those places.” “Oh, it’s easy enough. You simply need…” How had Rarity put it? “Attitude. Poise. Savoir-faire.” “What’s savoir-faire?” Twinkleshine remembered the Camargue Horses. “Knowing how to be fair to a lady?” she said, hoping no one tried to find out. Minuette shrugged. “I guess I’ll find that out when I invent the time machine. Sorting out what old words meant is gonna be my number one priority.” With a roll of her eyes, Twinkleshine busied herself with her own dress. Although she didn’t always smile around her friend – there were plenty of other emotions rushing to get out whenever Minuette was around – there was that cosy corner of her mind that stayed warm and bright, a permanent sofa before a gentle fire. And she owed that corner to Minuette. Yes, even when Minuette was going on about time machines, because darn did Twinkleshine need that corner during those times. Years ago, the nutjob had got it into her head that, because nothing in physics said it was impossible to travel backwards through time, therefore she – Minuette – was guaranteed to get a time machine. Were that true, Twinkleshine had once pointed out, she would already know. So, the reasoning went, why hadn’t Minuette gone back to pat herself on the back? Except the tactical mistake was to try and use reason on Minuette. It didn’t matter that she’d never met any tourists from the future; she still acted like the time machine was already in her attic, and all she had to do was turn it on whenever she felt like it. Lyra coughed. Both of them looked up at her, and instantly she looked away. Both of them looked at each other. Twinkleshine shrugged. At last, one broke; Minuette rubbed her own neck. “Uh, Lyra? Since we’re alone at the moment… was there anything you wanted to tell Twinkleshine? You know, that thing which you told me not to tell anyone –” she winked at Twinkleshine “– because I’m so good at keeping secrets?” Which was tantamount to a confession. Twinkleshine slapped her own face and rolled her eyes. On the other hoof, Lyra was still avoiding their gazes. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. After all, Lyra wasn’t exactly the most subtle of ponies, and like all such ponies, wasn’t equipped to notice subtlety in others. “It’s nothing,” Lyra said to the three mirrors. “It was idle talk. Forget I said anything.” “That’s not what it sounded like to me,” said Minuette. “Minuette, shush!” said Twinkleshine. “She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.” Nine subtle words. In her mind, Twinkleshine giggled at her own brilliance. Whether she’d known the secret ahead of time or not, those nine words practically guaranteed spilled beans. Even a mind like Lyra’s would be powerless against them. The deep breath, the few seconds of bracing, and then… “I wonder if we should both quit,” said Lyra. After a few polite seconds of mental stumbling, Twinkleshine said, “You mean if you should quit, right?” “No, I mean both of us. Look at us, Twinkleshine!” Twinkleshine preferred to look at Minuette. “‘Both of us’?” “She only told me she thought about quitting!” said Minuette, backing away. “She didn’t mention you. Except when she said, ‘Please, please, please, don’t tell Twinkleshine’.” “She told you not to tell me!? But you said –” “She said what?” Lyra’s words cut through their minds and held a blade up to it. Metaphorical chopper or not, Twinkleshine’s mind concentrated wonderfully. “She… said… just… now… ‘since we’re alone…’ I don’t know if that counts as keeping a secret. When you hint at it. No one’s supposed to know you’ve even got a secret, right? Because it’s that secret.” Lyra’s narrow eyes did not abate. “I didn’t tell her!” blurted out Minuette. “I knew it,” Lyra muttered. “Minuette!” Twinkleshine groaned. “Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut!?” “Me!? You’ve just blurted it out!” “This is true,” said Lyra, and her mouth twitched into a smirk. In some ways, Lyra was a cunning little devil. Perhaps Amethyst was rubbing off on her after all; Amethyst could hide a sledgehammer of subtlety behind her blank mask of a face. “Lyra, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think ‘don’t tell Twinkleshine’ meant ‘don’t tell Twinkleshine’.” “Minuette! She’s not gonna buy that one. She just said –” “It’s OK, Twinkleshine. It doesn’t matter really.” Lyra turned, and three Lyra’s stared back. “I mean look at us two. You like wearing fancy dresses at fancy galas talking about the best painters. I like sitting in the park playing dead music.” “Pegasine Classical music,” corrected Twinkleshine before she could stop herself. “Exactly. Should we really be stuck in labs?” “Yes!” said Minuette, whom Twinkleshine knew couldn’t stop herself if her life depended on it. “Twinkleshine’s an amazing scientist. And so are you.” “Really? Me? ‘The Funny Music One’?” “Please stop looking in the mirror,” said Twinkleshine. Seeing four Lyra’s mourning each other was making her heart bleed. Lyra did so, but now it looked like she was ambassador for three mares too ashamed to look round. “Yes, I want to leave! Look at me! You know me! Have I ever looked like a proper scientist? No! Scientists can… can work out the square root of… of 676 without using a calculator.” Both of them looked at Minuette. She shrugged. “76? Sorry. I got nothing.” “Well OK, bad example,” said Lyra hurriedly. “Oh, I’m sure Twilight Sparkle could do it,” spat Twinkleshine. To her alarm, Lyra sagged even further at this. “No, Lyra, no. Don’t compare yourself with the likes of her. She’s exceptional.” “No, she’s not. Moondancer’s the same.” “They’re both exceptional, then.” “Just hear me out. All of you are like that. You, you’ve got that astrology thing –” “Astronomy.” “See? I can’t even get the name right! And you, Minuette, have the chrono stuff. Chronomony, or whatever. Amethyst has all the earth science. Everyone on the team’s got an actual science. What have I got? ‘Harmonics science’. That’s a fancy way of saying ‘music theory’. I can’t even get it to work right.” By now, Twinkleshine simply weathered it. Her remaining dreams of galas and ball gowns blew away, and she was surrounded by charts and telescope accessories and the silence of the night sky. When she’d been younger, she too had bought into the “music of the spheres” stuff. It was childish nonsense, of course, but to dare say as much, right now… “I think you’re a scientist,” she said with what she hoped was disarming honesty. “Really?” said Lyra coldly. “That’s not what everyone else says. I hear them all the time. And they’re right! What kind of scientist has a mind as kooky as mine? I think psychics exist; they don’t. I think trees talk and you need big ears to hear them; they don’t. I tell them I met breezies in a magical land, they don’t believe me.” Twinkleshine’s cheeks screamed with embarrassed agony. “Um…” “I did! I was young when it happened, but it happened!” “Anyway, you don’t feel like a scientist?” Twinkleshine threw the curveball desperately. Lyra’s narrow-eyed look came back. “You think I’m crazy to believe that, don’t you?” “I didn’t say that.” “You were thinking it.” “Um, well, to be more accurate –” “That wasn’t psychic powers, by the way. Only brainy little girls have psychic powers. I checked.” “Lyra!” Twinkleshine snapped. “You’re not leaving. I’m not leaving. Why would we? I don’t remember the bit in the exams where it said ‘Scientists can’t be cultured, true or false’. We’ve done lots of cultured stuff over the years. L-L-Look at that War of Tirek Art and Poetry Exhibition we went to!” “What exhibition?” said Minuette, and Twinkleshine fancied she detected a sharp note of jealousy there. “You weren’t there. You were sick.” “I’m sure I’d have remembered.” “No, because when I asked, you said you weren’t interested. And you were sick. Definitely sick.” Lyra squirmed where she stood. “Well, truth be told, neither was I. Interested, I mean. I just wanted to be polite. It was just a load of foreign stuff. There was barely anyone else in the whole place.” Now it was Twinkleshine’s turn to narrow her eyes. “You told me you liked it.” “You kept asking me! I thought you were gonna be offended if I said no! Besides, I didn’t want you to go by yourself. I know what that feels li–” “What about the exhibition?” said Minuette with a voice like a thrown hook. “Well,” said Twinkleshine, “appreciating culture is no barrier to being a scientist, is it? Can a mare not look upon the rainbow, and also upon the Rainbow Cannon?” Minuette’s grin had a “gotcha” in it as the lines around her eyes went taut. “Oh, really? What else do you remember from it?” “Um… Ah… It was a war. And Tirek was in it. And there was a load of art and poetry involved.” “OK, who built the Rainbow Cannon?” “I don’t know. Celestia?” “What is a Rainbow Cannon?” “I don’t know!” “Why did you bother going?” “It was educational and cultural! I do try and broaden my horizons, you know! It’s not my fault I remember some things better than others.” “What’s the brightest star in the Zodiac Galaxy –?” “Alpha Cerberii, spectral type A-zero or A1 depending on which part of its spectroscopic code you wish to emphasize, binary system with one main sequence star and one white dwarf.” Minuette gaped. “I was going to say ‘apart from Alpha Cerberii’.” “Alpha Cymbae, spectral type A9, white supergiant.” Twinkleshine blinked at their “gotcha” grins. She’d been reeled in. “Look, my point is: it’s not impossible, whatever they say. You can belong to more than one culture. And Lyra –” she took a guilty pleasure in seeing Lyra’s eyes dart about for an escape “– don’t you dare think you’re not good enough to belong to ours.” Lyra bit her lip. “Maybe I do try too hard,” Twinkleshine continued, toning her voice down. “Maybe I don’t remember everything. But I’d like to. You expose yourself to a lot of trivia, you get a bit overloaded, but some of it sticks.” Lyra chuckled, and it was the sort of chuckle more becoming of an Amethyst than a Lyra. “Really, now? Like that Indrabhumi Art Exhibition last year?” The heartwarming speech was torn out of Twinkleshine’s grip. “What?” “Don’t you remember? All three of us went? Contained examples of the traditional paintings of Indrabhumi culture?” Minuette and Twinkleshine exchanged silent requests for clues, like two exam students swapping answers. “The wax-and-dye exhibit? The mural paintings of animistic spirits?” Both students had blank cheat sheets. “There was that talk on Pithora wall-painting rituals?” Both students now frantically searched their papers for anything other than sweat-inducing questions. “The one with the seven suns that you said you liked?” insisted Lyra. “Oh!” said Twinkleshine desperately. “That one!” Teacher was not amused. “You don’t remember a thing about it, do you?” Twinkleshine’s very voice was an apology. “I remember we had curry afterwards.” Accompanied by a growl, Lyra pointed to the wardrobe. “All right. Let’s just take some decent dresses and go enjoy ourselves. At least the gala will be something different.” “This doesn’t prove anything, you know,” said Twinkleshine, who wretchedly suspected it did. “The important thing,” said Minuette like it was a mantra, “is that we’re together, here and now. Also, can you get a cloth for my leg? The powder’s still clinging to it.” The three unicorns looked up at the ember glow of the sky. “Huh,” said Lyra. “There’s smoke over there.” “Those poor ponies,” said Twinkleshine. “I hope they got out of the fire.” “I’m sure the Royal Guard can handle it,” said Minuette, hopping ahead. “Come on! Let’s give the Garden Gala a go!” “You’re excited all of a sudden.” Twinkleshine giggled. “The way I see it, if we’re going to this grand get-together, we should make the most of it. Don’t you think so, Lyra?” “You bet I am!” Lyra hopped after her, and the two of them laughed, forcing Twinkleshine to hurry whilst not hurrying fast enough to trip on the hem. She shook her head at them. Children at heart, indeed. They cantered along the dim streets, on the threshold where the day was going to bed but the streetlamps and shop windows hadn’t risen for the night shift. The evening was silent of light. As for sound… “No dawdling,” said Twinkleshine once the other two had slowed to let her catch her breath. “We pick up Moondancer –” “Ask Moondancer,” said Minuette, but the giggles smoothed the words over. “We ought to be fair.” “I say we drag her out kicking and screaming!” said Lyra, borrowing her giggles and starting a gaggle. “Take off the glasses of self-restraint! Let her see a new world with new eyes!” “Or squint at it,” said Minuette. “Don’t you think dragging her out’s a tad rough on the poor girl?” said Twinkleshine, not yet at the giggly stage where everything seemed unaccountably hilarious. “Ooh, Twinkletoes thinks everyone’s poor now. Poor ponies. Poor girl. Poor Moondancer.” Lyra giggled, and Minuette caught some and giggled in turn. OK, this was crossing a line. “You know, it might be good to have Moondancer around,” said Twinkleshine over their snorts and sniffs. “She knows what to do and how to do it. Much like Twilight.” Giggles went straight to the brain. The other two went “Woooooooooo!” in the manner of all idiots who think someone’s talking far above her level, or more accurately their own level, even though the latter achievement is not hard. “Twinkletoes and Moony! Twinkletoes and Moony!” sang Lyra, hopping along. “She won’t come out,” said Minuette cheerfully. “Moondancer likes time to herself. Tortoises come out of their shells more easily than Moondancer does.” “Anyway,” Lyra chimed in, “I didn’t think you liked Twilight that much.” “Twilight’s… not terrible,” said Twinkleshine, fighting against her own thoughts on the matter. “Wow, that smoke’s really thick, isn’t it?” said Minuette. She and Twinkleshine craned their necks to follow it. “I wonder what happened.” “I hope no one got hurt. What a thing to have hanging over your head.” “And on such a fine night as this one.” As they turned the corner, the three of them turned their heads towards a bright window on their right. Gentle notes of mandolins tickled their ears. Torturously overwhelming cheeses dared to stroke their noses, and even the warmth of the ovens carried across to their cheeks and brows. “Past the pizza place we go.” Minuette sighed. The chequered tablecloths were unblemished; through the glass, only three tables enjoyed the company of customers. A portly waiter with a smile like wine and the comforting presence of beer chatted and laughed with a family of four. “If we went there once,” said Twinkleshine gently, “we went there a thousand times.” Minuette let out a chuckle. “Remember when we stopped there on our first day in the city, and Pizza Peppi came up to us and kissed our hooves, and – Oh my gosh you were redder than a tomato!” “Yeah,” said Twinkleshine dreamily, who’d actually quite liked it once she’d passed through the culture shock. “A true gentlecolt.” “We went there every day. I’d never even heard of tiramisu until he offered me some.” Lyra’s tail whipped the air and she walked backwards to talk to them. “See what I mean? We were true friends in that place.” “Oh, pish-posh,” said Twinkleshine, shivering at her own nerve in saying that. “And we still will be when we go back there tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. Pizza Peppi was only the start! Perhaps tomorrow, we dine at Mulia’s! The day after, Chef Gustav’s! And then: the top of the tower of the five-star Zesty Zucchini!” “Er, Twinkleshine?” said Lyra, backing away faster. “You’re drooling.” “My point is –” one telekinetic spell flicked the spittle off her lip “– the pizzeria is the starter, but you act like it’s the main course. Minuette, you’re looking in the past all the time. Lyra: you’re sweet, but you’re a romantic.” “I’ve never romanced anyone in my life!” Twinkleshine rolled her eyes. “Oh yes? What about that what’s-her-face at the sweetshop place? Goody-Goody, or something?” “That’s different. And nothing to do with you, FYI.” “My point is that you’re thinking about tonight all wrong. I’m not taking anything from our time spent in Peppi’s. I’m giving something to you two instead.” After a pause, she added, “Anyway, I meant ‘romantic’ in the other sense.” “Huh?” Minuette peered over her shoulder, obviously watching the pizza place disappear behind them as they turned a corner. “She means all that stuff about your breezie trip.” “Your tendency to dream,” said Twinkleshine. “It wasn’t a dream!” Lyra spun round to continue walking the conventional way. “It really happened! Dinky had the same dream – I mean, experience; you can ask her!” “I’m sorry, Lyra, but I’m afraid it can’t be true. How do you think you could get to a whole new world like that?” Minuette’s giggles rose back up like wind. “Maybe the breezies had magical machines to take you there.” This time, Twinkleshine indulged herself with a tiny, ladylike giggle. “Maybe Moondancer gave them hers.” Guilt soon overtook her giggly fit. “Oh, don’t be cross with us, Lyra. We don’t mean any nastiness. Please see where we’re coming from.” “I’d like my dignity back once you’ve stopped playing with it, please.” Lyra’s muzzle aimed up at the column of smoke. Which, come to think of it, was growing all the time they were walking. One huge trail of bulbous shadow over the city: such was its thickness that the lumps and rolling shell of the column could have flash-frozen into a stone club, raised gruffly at the evening star by an unseen brute. They continued along the avenue, over the bridge and past several chained-up bikes. Still, the smoke column rose up before them. “What do you mean,” said Minuette slowly, “Moondancer gave them hers?” “I mean,” said Twinkleshine slowly, “she was working on a machine like that.” “Not for Lyra’s breezie wonderland, though?” “Not for that, no. For the multiverse.” Lyra growled. “Will you please stop going on about it? I’m right here!” Years of practice let Twinkleshine exchange a glance with Minuette that said fifteen different things at once. “Of course, Moondancer’s very careful and precise,” she read off her internal script. “She’s as obsessive as Twilight over detail,” recited Minuette. They slipped down an alleyway of cobbles and brown-baked bricks. The smoke was still coming from that general area… “What’s wrong?” The two of them looked down to see Lyra’s half-frowning puzzlement. “Lyra,” said Twinkleshine. “Tell me if there’s something wrong about that smoke?” Still frowning, Lyra glared up. Her glare faded. “It’s getting bigger,” she said. And when they came out of the alley and turned to go down the oak-lined boulevard, the smoke was still waiting up ahead. “That’s definitely coming from the campus,” said Minuette. Despite her hopes whispering sweet nothings to her, Twinkleshine’s breaths started to run away from her. Every step was both laboured and effortless on the tide of energy washing through her limbs. The smoke was filling the entire sky, though her brain insisted it hadn’t changed that much. The foot of the smoke was not a small black chunk over the rooftops now; from here, the chunk resembled a chimney, or a factory cooling tower, or – “Apollo’s Peak,” she breathed. Too late, she clamped her mouth shut; when Lyra next looked back, her fear swelled her eyes. She bolted. “Lyra!” Twinkleshine shouted after her scurrying hooves. Seconds later, a blur shot past her. “Minuette! Wait! It might not be what you think it is!” Please tell me that’s not just a sweet, sweet lie. Please tell me you believe that, Twinkleshine. Please, please, please. Aflame and afraid, her body panicked; she ripped her hem and stumbled as first Lyra and then Minuette vanished round the last corner. “WAIT!” she called. “DON’T! PLEASE! DON’T! No, no, no, no, no, NO!” Terraced homes like cobbled stables flew past, out of her way, to give way to – Apollo’s Peak. Blazing hot enough to rival the sunset. Swarmed by Royal Guards. Roped off. Contained. A nightmare quarantined from a reality that burned away. She was abandoned. Her own body went stiff. She barely possessed herself enough to close her mouth as the outbreak of panic infected her from the inside out. “Moondancer.” Her voice caved in first. “Moondancer!” Someone rounded on her; Minuette’s terror cast about for relief. “She might be in there!” Twinkleshine couldn’t move. The flames commanded her attention. “Twinkleshine!” Maybe she had tried it. Maybe the machine, or the spell, went wrong. Maybe she didn’t get out. “I can’t…” She hurried backwards. “I can’t!” If Moondancer is still in there… Dismissing her with a hoof flap, Minuette surged forwards, to where Lyra was scrambling to get around the Royal Guards, to where the red helmets were firing hoses at the black tower surrounded by sunset fire, overshadowed by the smoke which eclipsed the night sky. “Stay back, please!” shouted a guard. “My friend could be in there! Let me in!” Lyra leaped to the other side and met yet more unresisting armour. “We’re still investigating. This is a magical fire. Please wait here and remain calm. We’re doing everything we can.” Grunting with the effort, Minuette gripped Lyra round the midriff and dragged her away. Twinkleshine never stopped staring. Even when they got the fire out, she stayed stiff. Not even Minuette’s tugging would get her to move any closer. In the end, all three of them stood on their own, under the shadow of dying smoke.