“Ugh....”
Lights. Harsh lights coming into view. Deja vu rocked his brain as he felt the downy surface of a bed on his back once again. It felt softer, though, almost as if he could sink into it if he tried really hard.
But pain and a buzzing hangover hindered him from such sweet thoughts. A groan or two was in order, him reeling from the pounding malady in his head.
Then, the scent of love revived in him a fresh, minty sensation in his snout.
“Ah, you’re awake. Finally….”
Didn’t sit up at those words. Sam only raised his head a bit, turned it slowly around so he wouldn’t worsen his incredible headache.
That blue unicorn sitting on the chair. Ocean Canoe had a tiny smile of relief, made a touch darker with his pair of tiny eyeglasses.
Something didn’t feel right.
Sam looked around, checked his surroundings.
He didn’t recognize anything here. Not the walls of brick of mortar, not the bookshelves and the orange-smelling chimney by the side, not the carpets emblazoned with abstract patterns, and certainly not the windows which spoke of countrysides and rolling green hills shining orange under the piercing sunset.
...countrysides?
The question swirled in his mind. He let a hand scratch his hairy head—
Didn’t feel his fingers. Didn’t feel his hand. Didn’t feel his hair.
Sam felt coarse chitin and reefy membrane.
That rush of fear again, only now it wasn’t coursing through his body. It was submerging him, making him feel weightless and helpless as this truth came plunging into his depths:
None of it was a nightmare.
The back of his mind was his last hope. Perhaps he was still imagining things. Perhaps he was too worked up about his worries about what to become. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps—perhaps it was too much stress. Yes, that could be it, should be it. And if that failed? He wished, so hopelessly wished, that Luna would pop up out of nowhere to confirm that it was all a dream, that he was still a human back in the Holiday Inn or a new unicorn just going through a bad first night at the bureau.
“Sam?”
He flinched. Ocean’s voice had pulled him partway out of that last hope.
Sam stared at him hard, unwilling to look at any part of his own body. In a breaking tone: “Wh-What a-am I?”
Ocean sighed. He floated his glasses out of the way, put them gently on the table. “I want to say you’re the human we all know and love.”
Slumped his shoulders, levitating a mirror right to Sam’s face.
“But...I’d be doing you a great disservice if I lied.”
Sam wanted to close his eyes. The mirror’s surface slowly straightening in Ocean’s magic, and he wanted out. No more changeling drama. No more changeling torment. No more—
But, one look at the mirror: that was enough to make him scream.
Blood-curdling scream, echoing through the room.
His changeling face staring back at him, staring cruelly back at him, taunting him with its mere existence as his scream let loose his forked tongue and his giant fangs. This is you. You cannot escape it.
“Sam,” Ocean said, raising his voice, “you have to calm dow—”
He grabbed the pony’s mirror, threw it to the ground in one grand slam, shattering the glass in a smash!
“Sam!” the pony shouted, leaping out of his chair and levitating the furniture as his improvised shield. “You calm down right this instant!”
“Why would I?!” Sam yelled, now throwing his blanket at him as if that would do any damage.
Yet, that only exposed him to more sorrow. He could see the rest of his changeling self. All of his own body lent a hand in mocking him, ridiculing his fate.
“We cannot help each other if we’re fighting!” Ocean yelled, sounding more like he was entreating him to stop out of mercy. He was backing off farther from the changeling while floating his chair in front of him.
“I want to change back!” Sam cried, voice awash as his throat tightened in that deadly mix of fury and anguish. “There’s transformation spells! There’s other potions! Are you close friends with that Discord guy?! I heard he—”
“No!”
And Sam stopped. Suspended, sitting up. That one word, that one No….
“You aren’t changing back,” Ocean whispered, closing one eye to anticipate any violent reaction from his listener. “You can’t change back.”
“Of course I can!” Sam shot back, brandishing a hole-ridden hoof at him. “There’s always a way! You and your magic abilities could whip up anything!”
Ocean stomped his hoof, clenching his teeth as his horn glowed from the soaring anger. Seething but not enough to call him out: “That’s not how magic works. You know that.”
That put down gagged Sam for now. He could tell since he saw his ears fold back in fear.
“Let me do my best to explain your condition,” Ocean said, trotting a few steps closer to the bed as he put down the chair. “I’ve had changeling doctors and experts come over during the past few days, and they thought of anything and everything possible that’d do it without risking your life.” A sigh, lowered his head to see Sam’s new face more clearly. “When that failed, we rescanned your identity, your ‘morphic field’, so to speak—we scanned that a dozen times to see if there was a fluke since I’m not an expert when it comes to deep cover disguises.”
Sam plugged one ear with his hoof. He dreaded what came next.
“You’re…” and he stopped. Coughed. “You’re a changeling. Through and through. There is no denying it, no matter how much all of us want to.”
Yet Sam, verifying his stubbornness, cocked his head and made a fist out of his hoof.“Crowhop said the same thing, and she could be—”
“And that’s what the doctors told me,” Ocean said, close to the breaking point of his patience. “I’m very sorry to say this right now, but I want you to hear it: You have to face reality. You may disguise yourself, but it takes a conscious effort to keep it up—and it’s harder to change into a bipedal human than it is to a familiar, structurally alike pony...and even if you come through with that, it won’t ever be the same as actually being human. So, what I’m saying is—"
He took a step back. Braced himself for how this changeling, this tragic former human wallowing in the final rays of this warm day’s sun before the chill of night—how this changeling would react.
Ocean swallowed a very huge gulp, clearing any obstruction in his throat.
“You can’t change back, Sam. You can never change back.”
And so, the pony slouched on the chair. He had his horn glowing for a moment, then decided to cool it off. There’s no need to be menacing.
Especially when he said to Sam, “I’m sorry.”
Sorry.
He was sorry.
Sam believed it wasn’t Ocean’s fault. Nor was it Crowhop’s fault.
But it didn’t matter whose fault it was. Not now.
Sam dropped onto the bed, lying down with all his legs outstretched on the soft mattress. His body stayed afloat on this huge cushion.
But Sam himself wasn’t afloat. He was falling. There was the truth, and the truth broke his mind.
Something welled up, something welled up in his heart.
No way back. He couldn’t change back.
His world was ending.
He took the pillow, letting his head fall to the mattress.
Threw it away. The pillow fell to the floor.
Didn’t mind Ocean’s raised eyebrow.
He didn’t mind that the pony was watching at all, not when Ocean got out of the chair to take a closer look. Not even as the changeling’s own eyes watered. First a tear, and then two, and then both of his eyes had become broken faucets.
Memories of the many he’d helped along the way—these came forth:
Of Paraffin, back in her secure home with Georgina and away from his son...that changeling son he’d probably encountered back in the bureau.
Of Adirondack who’d already moved out, helping out at some forest reserve. That’s what he’d said, and, now, he was imagining the deer as an ecotour guide in one of those Redwood National Parks in Humboldt.
Of Turbo Jet, certainly enjoying his new flying powers, performing loop-de-loops in the sky to impress his audience down below. It wasn’t hard to see him a Wonderbolt someday.
Of Lacque, tending to a client’s garden in the Midwest. Trimming the branches, beautifying the front yards and the sidewalks, too; he’d be making everyone’s day a tad brighter with those pretty flowers.
Of Laura, who had to be safe, who had to be alive, who was a changeling like him.
No.
A changeling unlike him.
He sobbed, tears staining his black chitin.
Wiped his eyes, but the sight of his unwanted hooves turned the floodgates a little wider. There was no place for anger now; only unbridled mourning as the tears smudged his cheeks, blemished his chest, splotched the bed.
His sobs gnarled into a pathetic weeping, a dissonant bawling like that of a fractured high note. To hear these woes from one who’d stayed calm, who’d stayed rational through his tenure, to see him hacking away at the pillow, unleashing his anger in fits and bursts, only to break down into harsh weeping—
Ocean closed his ears, turned his eyes away from this pitiful sight as the changeling trashed around on his bed, shaking his hooves about as he reached out to grasp for something, for anything to turn him back.
But there was only air.
There was nothing. Nothing to turn him back.
And then the sun disappeared in the horizon, the sky dimming into a somber blue. The stars twinkled into view, and the moon rose to shine its soft light upon the land. Its moonlight penetrated the window to replace the glaring sunlight, to touch, so faintly, this wretched changeling in its comforting touch.
It was nighttime.
“Hey."
A nudge.
“Hey.”
Another nudge.
“You OK?”
Sam grunted groggily, slowly opening his eyes and turning his body around to see Ocean, who was now levitating a glass of water shimmering in the moonlight.
Moonlight. Sam looked at the window.
Same place, same house.
Didn’t feel his fingers. Same new changeling self, then.
He closed his eyes again, feeling the sting of tears again to retreat into a human’s stable past, into a unicorn’s what-if’s.
“Sam,” said Ocean, breaking the masquerade in the changeling’s headspace.
He floated the glass down beside him, then poured into it a couple ice cubes.
Sam was looking, tracking Ocean’s eyes.
“I….” The therapist glanced to the side, seeing nothing but the wall for ideas. “I don’t have any words to fully describe, to fully relate to what you’re going through. I’ll be honest on that.”
Ocean turned his eyes onto the bedstuck changeling. The changeling had a gloomy appearance, helped by the dark night and the muted glimmer of its moon. His icy blue eyes, which were really thousands of tiny eyes working as two, reflected the white of moonlight, and so did his beetle-like wings and his pointy fangs. His black chitin made him blend in with the room’s darkness, broken only by the yellow outline cast on him by the fireplace.
It smelled like oranges. Ocean took a huge whiff of that orange smell before continuing:
“However, what I need you to do is stop moping about it. It’s a done deed. You can’t do anything about it.”
To this, Sam said nothing. Not at first.
Breathed slowly, feeling and listening to each breath, feeling the rise and fall of his changeling chest—those new, awkward lungs would take some getting used to. Everything would take some getting used to.
That included his sense of love, his haunting hunger for what should be something inedible in the first place. He clutched his teeth tight together, resisting that hankering after the love he detected inside Ocean.
Sam hoped the pony didn’t notice that.
Then, his lips lowering to a quizzing frown: “Wh-What happened?” Looked around again, rubbing the bed with one hoof and feeling the gaps in his appendage.“H-How did I get here? Where is here?”
Ocean placed a hoof to his cheek, resting some of his head on it. He took a seat on the chair once again, sitting against the window so the moon cast a long shadow on him. With that, his face was lit up by the fire across the room.
“You were in a coma for a few days,” he began. “I’d warned you about getting knocked out, but I didn’t expect you’d be out for so long. It must be because it’s your first day of truly experiencing magic.” Bent to put his hoof on his knee...his hindleg’s knee, at least. “I apologize for not taking that into account.”
He levitated another glass of water for his own drinking. Observed that Sam was staying still and not bawling his eyes. A good sign.
“As for where you are: You were teleported into my house in Fluffdale, about twenty miles away from Salt Lick City.”
That made the changeling lower his brow. “D-Don’t you mean Salt Lake City? And Bluffdale?”
“No. Salt Lick City and Bluffdale.”
Sam was confused. “Sorry to interrupt, but...is this an accent thing? Are you mishearing me?”
Ocean took this opportunity to giggle, to laugh a little in this uneasy time. “No. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my accent, and I don’t think I’m mishearing you.” Wore a wider smile to cheer Sam up a tiny bit. “You’re in Fluffdale as in fluff, and you’re near Salt Lick City...as in, salt licks. You know what a salt lick is, right?”
“Yes, I do,” Sam replied. “What does that have to do with my home state and—”
He blinked.
“Oh. This isn’t my h-home state, is it?”
Pulled a glance at the window once more. The moon looked big. Not supermoon big. Awfully big.
Sam drew in an enormous gulping gasp of breath as it got through to him.
Stared at Ocean, a terrified face on the changeling. “A-Am I i-in Equestria?”
Ocean gave a thoughtful nod.
Sam shrunk back, still lying down as his head slipped more into his pillow. Here he was, a world away from home, from all he knew dear.
The pony stretched his forehooves, cracking his fetlocks. “Originally, I was to bring you back to Earth, back to your town of St. George. Be that as it may, you didn’t wake up immediately, and Los Angeles was still a mess after what happened at the bureau...you really could’ve been shot, burned, drowned…” and raised a hoof for dramatic emphasis, “just about anything could’ve happened to you.”
Ocean cracked his fetlocks again, leaving Sam wondering how that was possible.
“The Front saw you as one ‘true’ reason why the bureaus were made: to turn humans into monsters, to get rid of humanity all together. The Rebirth saw you as a Front plant: get in, become an uncleared species, and sully the name of the bureaus….And let’s not get into what that Chrysalis-affiliated third-party wanted to do with you.”
“So, Chrysalis was there?” Sam asked in great shivers. The possibility of him having brushed up against Chrysalis herself was an alarming one. How could he become that “human hero of Equestria” if catching her red-hoofed was near impossible? If she even was there….
“Not that we know of for certain,” Ocean replied. “All we know is that she has faithful drones remaining at her service. She can still lay eggs if she wants more drones, and if that’s not enough, she could always deceive unwitting humans, poisoning their drinks with her contraband changeling brews.”
Sam’s body trembled, his eyes fluttering at this idea of people suddenly disappearing, suddenly vanishing to become changelings. He thought back to posters for help, nailed and tacked and taped to electric posts and walls, petitioning passers-by to share any shred of information about a missing loved one. Harrowing to think that any number of them had fallen prey to Chrysalis’s devices.
“So…” he managed at first, beads of sweat down his face, “she’s r-really there...n-not hiding b-but scheming...and I could’ve been one of her c-cronies....”
Ocean drew out a long breath, looking to the side, reluctant to make eye contact with such a high-strung creature tonight. Yet, he explained: “Her plan is to make you dependent on her. The gimmick is to turn you into a changeling that could never be reformed, never be changed to the kind we’re familiar with.” Holding up a hoof to hold an imaginary bottle, “Her mix is designed so that you can physically never share love...and she has some experience: living for a thousand years means lots of room to expand your knowledge.”
This explanation did nothing to encourage Sam. It only made it worse, to know that he’d been fooled out of a good life or even a decent life.
He raised his hooves to the air, the hooves of a changeling. Fading visions of a future, of pretending to be the loving husband of a unicorn mare, only to have the real pony locked up in a cocoon of his making as he slowly sucked the life out of that unsuspecting mare. She’d be cocooned, too, and Sam would clap his hooves and smack his lips at having a married couple in his grasp. He’d pictured himself not with shame in his face but with pride, joy at making their lives miserable.
His future self startled Sam.
And his stomach rumbled once more, those emotional cravings chipping away in himself.
Sam turned to Ocean sitting there, his eyes as wide open as they could be. His mouth hung open like a fish fast rising to the air, to his death. “Tell me...a-am I a p-parasite?”
The answered seemed obvious, but Ocean knew he wasn’t just asking for confirmation. He proceeded, a hoof on the water: “Sadly, yes. And—I’m terribly sorry to say this—you’ll—”
Coughed. Drank more of the water. Put the glass down.
Faced Sam again, that poor changeling quivering in bed, gazing at his therapist like who’d lost everything.
As one who’d lost everything.
Ocean placed a hoof on his snout, slowly slid it down to his mouth. Words trying to form so he wouldn’t enrage Sam once more. Then, in a croak, a very regretful croak:
“You’ll be a love parasite for the rest of your days, Sam.” Arched himself forward, to tell him in a quieter, softer whisper: “For the rest of your...days….”
It felt like forever.
Those days.
The fireplace continued to cackle and crackle, the logs taking their sweet time to burn. The bookshelves stayed by their walls, unorganized titles peeking out of their spots. Oranges that were never there filled their noses as the moon’s light and the stars’ light glistened on the window panes, on the glass’s water, on Sam.
Sam heaved in, heaved out. He yearned to cry, but his tear ducts came up empty. He pined to trash around, but the sleep had exhausted him. To shout and scream, it wasn’t in his best interest to spook Ocean out.
What to do?
He grabbed Ocean’s outstretched hoof and hugged it, wrapped both forehooves around that foreleg.
The foreleg of the unicorn he could’ve been.
Ocean Canoe opened his mouth in surprise, not expecting that to happen. One half wanted to recoil and yell in terror for help, but he heroically resisted that gut feeling, reminding himself of the deadness in Sam’s eyes, of their lifelessness.
As the changeling sputtered in plaintive hushes, “I-I’m...I’m just going to f-feed on l-love...a-and be s-s-starve f-forever?” Caught his breath. Choked on it, prompting Canoe to lean closer. Into his ear, Sam asked, “W-Will I ever b-be full? W-Will I e-ever satisfy this...thing?”
“For half an hour, at best,” he said, easing himself to the speed of things. Still, he was wary that leading this precious talk too fast might not be good for this ruined person. “Only half an hour. The hunger will return as fast as it’s gone.”
Then, processing that and much more, Sam sagged his whole changeling form to his bed. Reduced to a shadow of his former self, far away from the people he knew, stranded in some caring stranger’s house, trapped as a love-sucking leech—having nothing but a husk of a destiny to count on: Why bother asking about Equestria, about this new world he was in? Why bother engaging in small talk with this helpful pony who should be afraid of him? Why bother about anything but getting the next love meal ticket?
Ocean’s love now felt and smelled a lot more palatable, overpowering the citrus scent and Sam’s stomach so that it rumbled again.
The changeling was running out of things to do, things to talk about—or was it his famished brain, ravenous for love-sourced nutrients to function properly?
He knew he couldn’t stay in this humble abode forever, so he asked its owner, “What sh-shall I do next?”
Ocean looked out the window, gathering some inspiration from the beautiful and quiet night outside with the crisp chirps of crickets crying out. With a firmer tone: “I’ve made sure your options are open. I don’t want you running around causing havoc on accident, but I don’t want to stifle you. Though you are a changeling, you’re still you, and, ultimately, I shouldn’t tell you what to do.”
Sam brought himself to a sarcastic chuckle. Hope, too, was slipping away.
Ocean scooted the chair closer, floating it a few inches to the bed. “I’m in contact with everyone you need moving forward. Movers, lawyers, mayors...you name ‘em. All you have to do is tell me what you’ll do and I’ll tell you how to do it.”
Sam rubbed the mattress once more, rougher now and making light marks on the sheets. “I don’t know...for sure, I don’t want to go back home. Not like this,” pointing at himself and touching a heavy fang. “E-Even if I disguise myself, I...it’s not right, stealing love from behind their backs.”
“If your friends are true friends,” Ocean replied, “they’ll understand. It’s not your fault that you’re like this now. I’m sure they love each other, and that they’d save some of their love for you.”
Sam defiantly shook his head. “I-It’s not worth it. I...I d-don’t want to feed a-at their expense—th-they’re going to be drained, and I w-wouldn’t want them to….”
The pony stroked his mane, wondering. “I see. It’s a matter of conscience, hm?”
Sam’s eyes fluttered, pressure pushing down his rueful heart.
“Alright. I won’t press the issue.” Tilting his head to tell Sam he was listening, “What do you want to do, then?”
A groan escaped the changeling’s lips, breezed around his fangs. Scarce were his options.
Stay with Ocean Canoe? Probably, but did this pony have a wife? How many friends did he have? How much time did he spend with them—both the wife and his friends? How did love work in Equus exactly? And there’s still the leftover stigma of being a changeling that even the new and colorful ones couldn’t shake off that easily, much less someone who fit the bill of “evil changeling”.
What about being a wanderer, a lone wanderer asking for love from whoever crossed his way in his meandering paths? On paper, his life would become a bit more exciting: the ideal (if illegal) tourist, unfettered by IDs and visas...until Equestrians start piling up in border patrol. Even if that wasn’t a problem, he’d still have to ask for love, and being randomly asked to literally give some love would upset some folk if not scare them outright. Or cause them to call the police and arrest him right away for looking just like a Chrysalis lackey.
Or—
A rumble from his stomach, and his train of thought derailed.
He sighed, pointing at the pony’s dark figure, the moon having risen a bit to shine on his figure a bit brighter. “Wh-What do you want me t-to do, Ocean?”
A pause to contemplate that question tinged with forlorn. Hindlegs swinging about and hanging from his chair, Ocean replied “...well, I thought of transfering you to the Changeling Kingdom as my ace hole, if nothing else could go as planned, but considering your sticky situation...” sighed, knotted his brows at him, “living there would offer you the least problems. As a matter of fact—and this is a secret between us—that’s where most of Chrysalis’s human victims landed if they got away from her clutches. Thorax doesn’t make a fuss out of it for their safety...and he’ll keep it quiet for you, too.
“However,” and here, he prepared a tissue box just in case, quick to bring up a con, “you’d live away from every single one of your friends...meeting up would be hard for at least a few more years as we get the portal networks up and running. The only exceptions would be those who asked to become a changeling and relocated to the Hive, which narrows it down to...a not-so-big number.”
Ocean paused, giving Sam time to think as he rested his head on the pillow. From the look on those fully blue eyes, he was ruminating this existence, an existence whittled down to lonelier and lonelier proportions.
“I’m sure you’ll make new changeling companions there,” he continued. Glanced to the fireplace, making a spare log glow as he threw it to the hearth. Sparks flew and popped with odorous refreshing citrus, peppering his next words: “They help changelings like you by sharing lots of love with them, ensuring their survival for generations to come.”
But, Sam was still terrified. From a man who could roam the world (or at least the continental United States) on his own to a love-reliant changeling stuck inside a home for unreformable changelings: such an incapacitating circumstance, and yet this was an expert’s recommendation on what to do at this horrendous junction in life?
“It’s easy to get in,” Ocean went on, slowing down when he noted that Sam was visibly shivering still another time. “Their only test is to see if you can truly not share love; it’s mostly to deter the fakes from the reals.” Rubbing his cheeks to imitate, “They’ll put some salve on your skin for that. It’ll be painful for a few seconds...that’s my heads-up for you”
Stopped to take a swig of his water.
Put the glass down.
“There’s always someone trying to make a breakthrough on it, so there’s no need to completely lose hope. However, Chrysalis covered all her bases: it’s toilsome to reverse engineer batches of her brew, and that’s if we get our hooves on them, which we haven’t.”
That didn’t help matters as Sam slunked down on his bed, giving Canoe the same reason to worry. The changeling mulled over his disposition:
On one hoof, he wouldn’t be judged and have his throat jumped on for being such a creature. He’d heard reports before about the new changelings’ kindness and understanding—plus how naive they were, so maybe too kind and understanding. On the other hand, there hung those old names and faces he used to know. Simply disappearing without anyone watching was a tactful act, but it’d be hard to rationalize why he wasn’t coming back. Or why he wasn’t answering his calls. Or why he wasn’t showing up anywhere at all. How long would it take for them to know?
Did they know?
Sam gulped, making eye contact with Ocean again. “Do they know?”
The unicorn was taken aback by the vague inquiry. “Who knows what?”
“My friends.”
Rolled a tongue in his cheek, his throat in flux.
“Every friend of mine. My buddies and pals. My family, too.”
Locked that eye contact with Ocean, surrounding it with one unhappy glare so sharp, so aimed, that it rooted the pony to his seat.
“D-Do they…” sniffed, struck by panic at one more tear threatening to destroy whatever ounce of calm he had left—”d-d-do they know I-I’m a changeling?”
Ocean gritted his teeth, breathed out a loud and nasty sigh through his teeth. “That’s the rub. You got caught by a random camera back then, and you were identified as Sam.” Brushed the dust off of his shoulder. “That’s what you get with a speaker like Douglas,” and spat at that, then cracked his neck. “Can’t believe we let the likes of him through our welcoming doors.”
Spread his forehooves on the bed, gripping the sheets and some of the spongy mattress itself underneath.
Key Note. This charming, deceptive personality Sam had been mesmerized before in both good and bad ways. To believe the lie that he was only a keynote speaker and a pony larger than life. The microphone cutie mark now took on sinister cues, and so did his insistence on Key Note over Douglas.
All vestiges of humanity had to be stripped away for this pony.
“What we know is he’s in jail,” the therapist continued relating. “His only victim...someone named Arthur….”
There was Arthur, too. He’d remembered the final look on that man’s face before he turned into a pony: not one of anger, but one of contorted, distorted revulsion. One of deathly fear—those bulging eyes, that gaping mouth, a look screaming one final scream before being snuffed out.
“He’s recuperating in our bureau. Last time I heard, he’s far from being a good sport with us, and I don’t see why being able to fly is a loss, but…” sighed, guilt dancing up his spine for having said that, “that’s just me. He never wanted to become anything else, or if he did, he’d likely choose Abyssinian or whatever would save as much humanity as it could.”
Now was the time for another topic, though. Ocean floated a tissue to his snout, blew his nose, and threw it into the trash can at the other side of the room. Turning back to Sam on the bed: “In case you’re wondering, Crowhop and the crew are doing fine without me so far. They got themselves prepared with backup unicorns—and, surprisingly, several more of us are applying for a few weeks’ tenure there.” Smiled a natural smile. “I guess, after hearing what’d happened there, they wanted to help out everyone.
“And as for you…”, gazed upon the changeling’s face for a few long seconds, “I’ll be here for as long as this recovery period lasts.”
Sam heard the words but didn’t much listen to that last part. He was drowning in what’s to be said afterwards, dreading what would be next as he looked at the window. It was night still.
He couldn’t stall the future. He couldn’t stall his future.
“Now,” Ocean said with an outstretched hoof and an added tone of finality. “Have you decided on your course of action?”
Sam quickly nodded, running against whatever his common sense was breathing down on him. “I’ll just go with r-relocating to the Hive. I-I’ve—”
Ocean was levitating his spectacles before he stopped. The glasses floated right before his shocked face. “So sudden, Sam. Are you thinking this through? And I mean—really thinking this through?”
“I’ve thought it long and hard the whole time,” Sam said, brushing the hoof and his own conscience off before grunting and trying to push his way out of bed.
Struggling, then slipped back to his back on the mattress, hitting the soft pillow with his backfins-of-sorts and making him groan as a headache came over.
Ocean gasped, using that stretched hoof to help him up. “Here! Steady, and I’ll get you....”
So he did. It felt weird, using what felt like the wrong muscle to sit up on bed. Then, a shuffle with all four of his legs got him standing on all four of his hooves.
Ocean looked at him, examined his figure, unbelieving that this creature used to be work at the bureau. Sam, on the other hoof, had a bout of bewilderment at being eye-to-eye with a pony. At least he got that dream fulfilled from his unicorn wishlist.
A few papers levitated to the desk by the window. Another glow appeared on a candle’s wick and then on a lamp’s button to result in more lights on the wooden surface. The moon had already been radiating its silver light upon it.
“I’ll teach you how to write with your hooves and horn,” Ocean said, his hoof on Sam’s withers as he assisted the latter on how to trot. “But, for the meantime, I’ll be your writer,” and he exhibited evidence of this by floating a ballpen to Sam’s view.
An empty chair was at the desk, so Sam took the liberty to sit down. Took the creature about twenty seconds to really sit down, attempting to solve this puzzle of arranging his back and barrel and knees and cannons and gaskins and tail—only after this puzzle was solved did he sit down.
There it was, resting on the surface under the lights: forms and papers for moving and relocation. Utah’s papers were a dozen paying strict attention to formality; the Hive’s was only two pages and decorated with smiley faces.
Ocean pulled in a seat beside him. He clicked his ballpen with his magic, enjoying the sound of it as the metal instrument reflected the light back to his eyes. Then, he floated it closer to the paper, about to write on the first blank on the Utah stack. “Let’s start with your name.”
So, the pony—
“No.”
Ocean clicked the ballpen back to not-writing mode, giving the changeling an odd look of curiosity. “No? What do you mean, ‘No’? Both parties need your name.”
“I get that,” said Mr. Henry, scratching his hard head—and, really, it was a hard head since his skin was chitin now. “But...OK, what were you about to write?”
“‘Sam Henry’.” The unicorn let the silence linger for a while. “‘Sam Henry.’ Your name.”
“Not anymore.”
Ocean’s ears went up. Pursed his lips, bit his lips in consternation.
Put the ballpen down with his magic. “...alright, then. Why...wh-why isn’t it your name anymore?”
The changeling rested a hoof down on the table. He instinctively moved to hold a glass of alcohol, only to realize he was holding nothing and that his hoof was holey, so he wasn’t sure if he could hold a glass anyway.
He looked at the paper.
Saw the blank where his name was supposed to go.
“They’re...I...Sam...Sam Henry was a good man. Or I tried to be.” Closed his eyes tight. Closed his eyes shut. “I-I wasn’t a monster or anything like that—and,” holding out a hoof right before the pony’s snout, “don’t whitewash this for me. I am a monster. Simple as that”
Slumped his head on a hoof, feeling its grooves and its gaps. There was no comfort in it. Only the feeling of rubbing a chipped and dirtied baseball on his strange face.
“You know that human saying, Ocean? That you either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain?”
Ocean’s eyes pointed at the dark outside.
A dirt path cut through the grass fields. Some houses shone dimly on the distant hills and mountains, but, right here, there was nothing but grass and the occasional tree dotting the landscape. Under the night and its moon and stars, everything gleamed a melancholic white in this solitude.
“Never heard of it. But, you don’t plan to become a villain, do you?”
“Not me,” said the changeling, his voice becoming a wistful drone, hoof on his aching head. “It’s not me, but you have Sam...good ol’ Sammie’s probably being dragged through the mud. Everyone’s just about scared of this new changeling in town. They’d think Sam’s now an abomination, secretly getting all our love.”
Knocked on the table with a nurk! Seething mad through the air and his teeth, his dangerous fanged teeth.
“That’s why I want to go on as someone else, under another name. Far away from Mr. Henry as possible. I’d rather have...have a changeling name. Don’t let them know of my past.”
“They’re going to read between the lines sooner or later,” Ocean quickly quipped.
“Let them try,” this changeling replied with a low growl. “I’ll always say ‘No’ in another accent. They wouldn’t notice.”
The pony lifted the ballpen with his magic. From seeing an amiable and amicable Sam to talking to a changeling who’d grown jaded and afraid, whose rage and tears mixed into an indiscernible blend—he didn’t know if it was one or the other now.
But, there were papers and form to fill out. With a look at him, Ocean said, “So...unnamed changeling, what do you want to call yourself?”
The changeling closed his eyes, rubbed his eyes.
His old name he had to abandon tonight. Nothing remotely human it should be. Something as far-fetched as possible, something to fit in changeling society without a batting wink or a moment’s hesitation. Should it roll off the tongue? Doesn’t matter. What mattered was distance, disassociation from his old beloved self.
“Lucanidae,” he said firmly.
Ocean bent his neck, almost cracking it himself. “You’re absolutely—”
“I’m sure!” and banged the table with a hiss, staring the pony down.
“Eek!”
And then, the changeling calmed down, his brief rage ceasing to give way to a scared Lucanidae as his stomach rumbled once again.
Raised his head and blinked to see a frightened Ocean, holding up both of his forehooves and levitating a ballpen as his only weapon.
“I-I’m sorry!” whispered Lucanidae, refusing to open his mouth and eat his love. “P-Please don’t h-hurt me...I know I’m hungry, but I’ll a-always be h-hungr—”
Noticed something.
A pink stream coming forward to him. To his love-starving lips.
From Ocean’s chest.
“Wh-What?” in grim awe, trying to wave the love away but failing. “Ocean, I’m sorry! I—”
“It’s OK,” Ocean said, putting a hoof to where his heart was, love seeping out of it. “I’m the one who’s doing it.”
Then, it stopped, all the love having entered Lucanidae’s mouth.
The changeling blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Didn’t know what to think or say about what’d just occurred. Felt energized, renewed and more alive at his snack. The pang of guilt, however, marred the meal, and he fast imagined this friendly pony lying impoverished, seeing himself flying away in the dark for more prey.
Ocean didn’t know that mind’s dark endings as he said, in a mellow and considerate smile, “What else could I do? You’ve gone off the deep end with this, so this is the least I could do.”
Least I could do.
Echoed in his ears, or so he thought. Lucanidae looked down, shame pressing its full weight on him. Had he hit rock bottom that a pony would willingly share his love to an abyss of unending appetite, of craving that’d never die?
For that to stay with him forever.
Whimpered.
He whimpered
He hugged Ocean.
Then, silence.
The fireplace cracked and crackled, the crickets chirps and chimed, the crisp chill chased through the charming night outside.
A stickler to time, Ocean got out of the hug straight away, levitated the ballpen, and said, “Alright. Remember that we all got your back. Let’s get the paperwork done first before we get into any more hugs, shall we?”
The changeling knew he was doomed to watch.
To watch that fateful scribble.
As the ballpen wrote on the name’s blank, Lucanidae.
That name. Lucanidae. Set in stone.
The changeling felt a prick in his eye.
Hiding half of his face from Ocean as he continued filling the blanks, Lucanidae shed a tear for his former self, the tear glimmering in the moonlight. In that tear was distilled the emotions of a lifetime’s worth of nightmares come true, and there was nothing to do but live with it.
He could think of nothing but the death of Sam Henry then and the birth of Lucanidae now.
It was night.
The night carried on in Equestria.