//------------------------------//
// Change-a-ling Through, I'll Tune In To You 
// Story: A Changeling-y Merry Hearth's Warming! 
// by Meridian Prime 
//------------------------------//

Queen Chrysalis was having a good day.

It was cold, wet, and grey—perfect weather for a changeling! The damp air left her carapace feel soft and limber, and the lack of blinding sunlight made the outside world seem a lot more homey than it usually did. As she cantered down the main street of the small town of Fargoat cloaked in a brilliant disguise (a black coated unicorn, with a blue-green mane and tail and a black crown engulfed in green flames for a cutie mark), she hummed tunelessly to herself. Had she given any heed to the ponies around her, she might have noticed the winces, and the wide berth that quickly formed around her. However, Chrysalis was much too important to do something like that.

The days haul had been quite satisfactory for her—she had managed to dupe two whole stallions into being brainwashed and having their love stolen! And with her cunning plan of luring them into an alleyway and bashing them over the head before revealing herself, no one had even noticed. The conveniently placed dumpsters also provided the perfect place to heave the unconscious, drained ponies into afterwards. They would wake up a little smelly, but none the wiser to being anything other than mugged (an impression only helped by the fact that she had, in fact, mugged them). The large sundae she had bought with her ill-gotten gains and promptly thrown at a passing foal had just been the cherry on top.

What a wonderful day. The humming grew louder. The wider berth grew wider.

There were some days, not many but some, that Chrysalis, as difficult as it may be to believe, doubted herself. Even in the privacy of her own thoughts, this was painful to admit.

But all good leaders must make sacrifices, she thought. And as the greatest leader, it only follows that I make the greatest sacrifices.

Yes, ‘tis true! she cried internally, setting her face into a noble sort of expression. Across the street and out of her earshot, a young filly asked her mother if the bad singing lady was constipated, and was promptly shushed. I, the great Queen Chrysalis, wonder if I might perhaps not be the greatest being to ever exist. And yet once again I have accomplished miracles, banishing all doubt, reaffirming my true superiority. For today, the noble expression grew yet nobler,[1] not only have I brought back love for the hive, but I remain undiscovered by these pathetic backwater ponies!

As loyal servants to their Queen, the entire hive of changelings that she had been broadcasting her thoughts to unintentionally for most of the afternoon dutifully remained silent. Many did take the time, however, to give a quiet sigh of relief. It was quite tiring to move every few days after all, when the Royal Guard was inevitably called by one of the endless stream of ponies that the changeling Queen ‘let escape to tell tales of her might’.

Wrapped up in thoughts of her own greatness as she was, Chrysalis almost missed the sign as she passed by the shop window it sat against. But something about the bright colours somehow caught the eye of the daydreaming shapeshifter. Her eyes skimmed over it lazily—before she frowned, and read the sign again.


Do YOU Have What You Need For YOUR Hearth’s Warming Party?


The words were spelt out in an obnoxious pink, a nearly exact match for that fop of a Princess that had somehow bested her so long ago at Canterlot.[2] The sign itself was a sickly orange that the designer had misguidedly believed an appropriate symbol of the ‘Fires of Friendship’. When combined with the brightly coloured dots meant to represent the seasonal lights, the overall effect was of artfully arranged vomit.

Below the text, four young mares in red-and-white bobbled hats grinned out of a photograph. A pony might have noted that the grins appeared to be a tad too wide to be considered ‘happy’, in fact ranging into the territory of either ‘mid-nervous breakdown’ or possibly ‘criminally insane’.[3] To a changeling however, the ‘mid-nervous breakdown’ grin was reasonably standard fare for a pony that they met, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary to the changeling Queen. 

“Oooh, are you thinking of throwing one dearie?”

Chrysalis most certainly did not startle—rather, she immediately jumped into an attack formation to deal with the new threat! When said threat was quickly revealed to be a frail looking elderly pegasus mare, she lowered herself out of her kung hoof pose and mentally patted herself on the shoulder for having such incredible reflexes. Drawing herself up to her full height (not quite as impressive as it usually was, but still taller than the other mare so it would do) she glared imperiously down her nose at the white coated pony. “And what exactly,” she sneered, “would possess me to do that?”

The old mare smiled up at her from behind thick-lensed spectacles, undeterred. “Why, to meet ponies of course! You are new here, aren’t you dearie?” Her voice had the unique tone that only grandmothers seemed to possess, full of the promise of baked goods, warm cocoa, and diabetes. Before the disguised Queen could reply, she continued. “It’s just that, I’ve lived here all my life, and I have never seen anypony like you here before. Why, with that coat of yours I’d almost mistake you for one of the changeler thingamabobbers!” The mare chuckled good-naturedly, apparently blissfully ignorant of her conversation partner’s twitching eyelid.

“Haha. Yes. Quite.” Deep underground, in the centre of the newly constructed hive, an experienced changeling infiltrator smacked a hoof into his face.[4] “But of course, I am a normal pony much like yourself. Not one of those evil change… changelers.” The last word seemed to physically pain her.

“Of course dearie, don’t mind me, just an old biddy having some fun.” She waved a hoof dismissively at the changeling. “I hope you have some planning done already, you’re a little late if you haven’t started—it is tomorrow after all!”

Chrysalis sneered internally (and externally). She was about to dismiss the old nag, when suddenly something happened. Something that her changelings had grown to dread with every inch of their shrivelled, love-starved frames.

Queen Chrysalis had an idea.

“Old nag,” she said slowly, eyes locked on the garish sign. “If I were to hypothetically hold this ‘party’, ponies would come to it?”

She peered up at Chrysalis, blinking owlishly. “Well, yes. Ponies can’t resist a good party!”

An evil grin began to spread over the dark furred pegasus’ face. “Willingly?”

“Ah well, you might have to cajole them along a little, you know? But once you’ve got them hooked you’re all set. It’s terribly rude to just leave after all.” She nodded with the iron-cast certainty of a mare who had never once failed to berate a family member into shame-filled submission.

The grin now encompassed most of Chrysalis’ face. “Excellent,” she hissed out, “I believe I will be throwing a party after all! MUAHAHAHAHA!” And with that, she pushed the door of the shop open and strode inside, her evil laughter only slightly marred by the cheerful ‘ding-a-ling’ of a bell announcing her entrance.

The old pegasus blinked after her, before shaking her head with a rueful laugh. “Ahhh, teenagers. So dramatic.” She perked up a little. “Looks like I can tell Pinkie her Granny Pie can still get a party going!”





Business had been frustratingly slow today for the dynamic duo of Flam and Flim. It seemed like the little town of Fargoat was wise to their tricks—or more likely, already done with their Hearth’s Warming shopping. With a little sigh, Flim exchanged a resigned glance with his brother standing out on the shop floor, before grabbing the keys from under the till in his magic and moving towards the door to lock up. It seemed they would have to sell this junk some other way.

It was at that precise moment, when all seemed lost, that salvation walked through the door.

At first glance the mare didn’t seem like much, but something in the way she held herself drew the eye. It was almost queen-esque—the look of a mare who was used to getting her way no matter what, and damn the consequences. The look of a big spender, a daddy’s filly. The look of somepony rich.

And, much more importantly, she looked dumber than a sack of bricks.

The brothers exchanged another glance, this time charged with an expectant energy. Both had the exact same thought at the exact same time: We’re fleecing this one for everything she’s got.

“Ahhh mademoiselle, welcome!” began Flim.

“Welcome indeed!” Flam chimed in, “What wondrous gifts-”

“-dazzling decorations-”

“-terrific trinkets-”

“-can we help you acquire today?” Flim concluded, both twins giving her identical winsome grins. As they spoke, they artfully shepherded the slightly bewildered looking mare into the centre of the store, and she was staring around her as if she had never seen anything like it.

“W-what is all this?” she demanded, squinting suspiciously at the two. Flam chuckled magnanimously.

“I suppose,” he said with a gracious air, “it might all be a little overwhelming to the uninitiated.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

Everything around them sparkled. From gaudy ornaments, twisted into various faux-meaningful shapes, to massive, too-bright trees that were clearly made from something that was very much not wood. Toys by the hundreds, shiny and plastic and instantly forgettable. Glossy cards adorned with meaningless but vaguely celebratory phrases and pictures of creatures great and small, united only by the dead-eyed look of the truly soulless. But most truly ubiquitous were the hats.

Identical to the ones worn by the four mares in the possibly-a-hostage-situation-possibly-a-party picture in the sign outside, the floppy little red and white hats were everywhere. Every surface, every item, anywhere they could potentially be hung—there they could be found.

“This, mademoiselle,” he gestured grandly, encompassing the seasonal flotsam as a king might survey his lands, “is the true meaning of Hearth’s Warming.”

The mare blinked. “Really?” she said skeptically.

“Oh yes m’dear,” Flim practically purred, “the true holy grail of the holidays.” He turned to his brother, their eyes both glinting with some strange fervour, and as one they chorused:

“Buying stuff.” A brief pause; then Flam added, almost as an afterthought, “And alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.”

The mare looked around appraisingly at the monument to the tackiest, most tasteless and heartless parts of the holiday season, hoof coming up to rub at her chin. “Hmmmm…” She dropped her hoof back to the floor, looking mildly impressed. “I must admit, I kinda like it.” Her face shifted into an evil smirk for a moment, before abruptly dropping into a scowl. “Don’t call me that though.”

The brothers blinked in unison. “Err, call you… what miss?” Flim ventured after a moment.

She scowled. “A deer. I’m not. I am very obviously a totally normal pony. And I’m not made of mwahzzles or whatever it was the one with the parasite on his face said.”

It was not often that the seasoned con-artists found themselves brought to silence, but even they were brought up short by the sheer stupidity of that statement. Still, after struggling through their bafflement, they rallied valiantly.

“But of course, Miss!” Flim cried out, “How utterly foolish of us!”

“How awful!” cried Flam.

“How tragic!”

“How downright rude!” they finished together.

“We never asked your name!” Flam continued, “What is the lovely mademoi-er, miss called?”

The mare scoffed. “You were indeed foolish not to ask before,” she said loftily, “I am Qu-er, Chrysal…” Her eyes widened as her mouth suddenly froze, the previously haughty expression rapidly shifting to one of mild terror. Flam glanced at his brother, raising an eyebrow. He looked back helplessly, shrugging in a way that seemed to say we’ve just got to deal with the crazy until we have her bits. Seeing no other reasonable solution, Flam revitalised his flagging salespony grin and turned back to the mare, who was now sweating profusely.

Unbeknownst to either of the two charlatans,[5] Queen Chrysalis was about five seconds from attacking them with the large, sturdy looking toy giraffe leaning against a nearby cabinet. She knew that the name she picked for her disguise was some kind of bird—her chief infiltrator had suggested it, some sort of little red thing associated with the season. But what was it? Think, Chrysalis! It was a-

“Tit!” she blurted out.

There was silence.

“Tit.” Flam said slowly.

“Yes!” she shrilled, a desperate grin plastered over her muzzle, “How silly of me to almost forget, heheh, silly me!”

“Your name,” Flim said doubtfully, “Is Kwer Crisal Tit.”

“Haha, that’s my name, don’t wear it out!” Her voice had taken on a deranged tone usually exclusive to overworked primary school teachers. “Kwer Crisal Tit! Boy, did I get bullied for that in school!”

Once again, there was silence, broken only by the strained wheezing of Kwer Crisal Tit’s breathing.

Flim took a long, deep breath.

“Are you su-”

“IT’S A VERY RARE BIRD,” she shrieked, her eyes bugging out and briefly crossing each other, the force of her shout almost removing Flim’s ever present hat. Wide-eyed, he backed off.

“Right,” he said weakly, “A bird. Of course.”

Although momentarily at a loss for words, Flam once again rallied mightily. “Well then, Miss Tit, what can we get you? What holiday hampers, what garish goodies can we supply you with? Whatever it is you desire, we have something for you to acquire!”

Chrysalis Crisal Tit’s eyes darted around the room, frantically searching for something to change the subject. “The hats!” she shouted, desperately latching onto the most plentiful distraction available.

Flam frowned. “The hats?”

“Yes, the hats! What are they?”

The brothers blinked. This customer, for all that their initial impressions of ‘used to getting her way’ and ‘thick as two short planks’ held true, was proving to be a perturbingly problematic to deal with.

“They’re, um, Santa Hats, Miss Tit.”

Crisal Tit raised a haughty brow, some of her composure finally returning. “And what is a ‘Santa’ supposed to be?”

Flam opened his mouth to answer, but after a moment could only close it again. He looked to his brother questioningly. Flim shrugged, and turned back to the unicorn mare.

“I don’t think anypony knows, Miss. That’s just what they’re called.”

Crisal Tit gazed searchingly at the nearest one. The little white ball on the end—it called to her.

Abruptly, she turned back to the pair. “You say that all of this-” she gestured a hoof at the shop “-is the true meaning of Hearth’s Warming?”

“Why absolutely-”

“-indubitably-”

“-most definitely Miss!”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take it all.”





“HURRY IT UP,” a voice bellowed, echoing through the underground cavern. With a collective yelp, several changelings that had been slowly moving pieces of debris aside began rapidly increasing pace, and rapidly increasing the distance between them and the source of the noise. Just to its side, another changeling winced.

“You really don’t need to be so loud, Pharynx,” he said timidly.

Pharynx scoffed, an angry buzz underlying his tone. “If I wasn’t, they wouldn’t listen to a thing I tell them.” He glared back at the first changeling, who shied away. “A bit like how they don’t listen to you, Thorax.”

Thorax sighed. “We both know that this hive isn’t going to last. We’ll be gone within the week—why are you trying so hard to clear it up?”

The larger ling scowled. As much as he hated to admit it, the little twerp was right. A part of him detested his brother; for his weakness, his quietness, and his unwillingness to fight—or cowardice, as he tended to call it. But for all that, he had to admit that he was also the only other ling in the hive with half a brain in his head. Hell—he was probably smarter than Pharynx was. Even if he refused to use any of his brains to help with the war plans.

“Because, dear brother,” he sneered, “the Queen will have our gasters[6] if we don’t.”

Thorax slumped. “Oh. Right, that.”

Pharynx rolled his eyes, but before he could give that response the scathing reply it deserved, he felt a familiar brush against his mind. As one, he and every other ling in the room (and, though he could not see them, in the hive beyond) froze.

“She’s coming!” a random ling hissed, “Everybody panic!”

The room instantly descended into pandemonium. One ling curled around the rock he had been hauling to the side of the cave and began to gently rock back and forth, muttering nonsense to himself. Another flew straight up, crashed into the ceiling, and fell back to the ground unconscious. One particularly hysterical ling fell upon her neighbour and began gnawing at one of her front hooves, prompting said neighbour to immediately begin shrieking.

Pharynx slammed a hoof into his faceplate so hard, he thought for a moment it might crack. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Once again the room froze, with the exception of Thorax, who had not moved in the first place, and the unconscious ling. Pharynx glared balefully out at the crowd. “Instead of running around like a bunch of scared ponies,” a few winces around the room showed that particular barb had landed home, “how about you idiotic larvae go get the damn throne room ready?!” He practically snarled the last line. The apparently cannibalistic ling whimpered through her mouthful of carapace. No one moved.

“Well?” he barked, “Get moving!”

With another collective yelp, the whole group scarpered. Pharynx took a long deep breath, glowering at the wall opposite. “Right. Thorax?”

“What is it brother?”

“You make sure our Queen doesn’t break anything. I’m going to make sure the morons in Section 14 haven’t started undermining the main hall.” And with that, he stalked off.





Thorax approached the entrance to the hive with more than a little trepidation. Pharynx was in many ways everything he was not—cold, harsh and violent. But for all the differences that he had with his brother, they shared something that very few others in the hive seemed to possess:

Intelligence.

He was far from the most assertive of lings in the hive, but he at least knew his tail from his head, something he wasn’t always sure his fellows did. And as much as he hated to admit it, that made him by far the best fit to deal with their tempestuous ruler. Given his brother’s personality, he was far better suited to bossing other lings about, while his own more reticent style was better suited to corralling the Queen’s wandering attention span.

Speaking of which…

“You there, whatever your name is! Tingle!”

Yes, for all that he knew he was the best fit, Thorax was apprehensive about approaching the entrance to the hive. He was apprehensive about anything involving Chrysalis, really. After all, it rarely ended well for those involved.

But for now, there was little else to do but grin and bear it. There weren’t exactly job offers pouring in for changelings these days. Plastering an obsequious smile onto his face, he stepped out into the small entrance area.

“Y-yes, your majesty?”

Chrysalis glared down at him imperiously. His queen was intimidatingly large for a changeling—other than Celestia herself, he had never seen another equinoid even half as tall. But far more worrying was the gleam in her eye—the one that meant she had an idea.

That usually meant bad things.

“Inform the hive at once—there is to be a general meeting in the throne room.”

Thorax chewed the side of his cheek nervously. “It’s, uh, not quite done yet my queen.”

Chrysalis sneered. “Well then find somewhere that is damnit! I’m going to need everyling for my cunning plan.”

“What plan, may I ask, y-your majesty?”

She chuckled evilly.[7] “Why, we’re going to throw a party of course,” she paused dramatically, an effect on slightly ruined by the lack of distant thunder, “A Hearth’s Warming Party! AHAHAHAHA-glrk!” Her evil laugh was significantly more ruined by her abrupt coughing fit. Thorax dutifully ignored the rather undignified state of his leader as she wheezed helplessly, beating her forehoof against her chest. Any acknowledgement of Chrysalis doing something as ordinary as choking would only end in punishment—instead, his mind whirred over this strange new development. It seemed absurd for Chrysalis to be throwing a party for a pony holiday, one all about the importance of friendship no less. As far as he was aware her thoughts on friendship were not unlike what most ponies would think of a particularly stubborn genital rash. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope.

Maybe, just maybe she might listen.

Chrysalis, meanwhile, had finally stopped choking, her breathing evening out again. She gave a small sigh of relief, before turning her gaze expectantly to him.

“A Hearth’s Warming Part, of course! W-what a masterful plan my queen.”

She scoffed. “Of course it is, Tariff! It is my plan after all. I have discovered that these idiot ponies can’t leave a party once they’ve arrived! We bring them here, and then once the party is over we can feast on their love for as long as we like! Those fools will be lured in by the most important part of it all, which I have acquired through various devilishly clever means.”

“The, the most important part?” a slightly dumbfounded Thorax replied.

“Indeed,” she grinned wickedly, leaning in close until her face was millimetres from his own. “Merchandise!”

Thorax stared into her wide, gleeful eyes, and the very last defenses his mind had been struggling to prop up ever since he was old enough to understand the world crumbled.

Oh gods she’s completely barmy, isn’t she?

“O-oh.” he said dully, eyes glazing over as his brain attempted to fathom his ruler’s latest act of utter stupidity, “Merchandise. Of course.”

Chrysalis didn’t appear to notice his sudden despair, drawing back upright with a satisfied look. “Oh I am good, aren’t I,” she sighed, staring into space dreamily. “Anyway, I-”

“I-If I may, my queen?”

Chrysalis blinked, and looked down. Sure enough her usually timid subject had actually asked her something. How strange.

“Yes, Terrace? What is it?”

He winced. “It’s, uh, Thorax ma’am. My name, that is.”

She waved a dismissive hoof impatiently. “Yes yes, Turgid, whatever. What’s your damn question?!”

Thorax’s eyes twitched a little, but he doggedly continued. “H-have you considered, um, maybe…”

“‘Maybe’ what?” she prodded impatiently.

He closed his eyes. “Maybejusthavinganormalpartywithnokidnapping?” he squeaked out.

For a long moment, Chrysalis stared at him. Thorax was just beginning to regret not preparing a will, when suddenly the queen burst out laughing. He could do nothing but stare, bewildered, as she practically doubled over, howling with mirth. He continued staring as she slowly regained control of herself, letting out a last few huffs of amusement before finally calming down.

“Oh Turgid,” she chuckled, wiping away a tear with her forehoof, “I didn’t know you had it in you!” She beamed at him with something bizarrely like pride. “I’ll have to tell your brother you’ve got some skill as a comedian! Fahrenheit will be so proud. But there’s work to be done first—come on!”

And with that, she skipped off down the tunnel, the occasional amused chuckle still falling from her lips. Thorax watched her go, face slack.

“It’s Pharynx,” he whispered helplessly into the empty cavern.





Flim and Flam’s day may have started slow, but things were certainly looking up now! It had been a long time since the brother’s had last managed to sell all their stock of any of their scams—not since that used cart scheme down in Detrot. It was not hard to see, therefore, why they were in such a good mood.

Flim hummed a cheerful little tune to himself as he steered carefully down the bumpy roads of the outskirts of Fargoat. He was sitting on a technomagical doohickey that he and Flam had cobbled together in order to solve their age old argument of who got to pull the cart. Behind him, latched onto the steadily chugging little motor, was a cart piled high with glitter, toys, and lots and lots of red and white wooly hats. His brother was perched precariously on the top of the pile, the green glow of his magic keeping the wobbling tower of toys from spilling out into the neighbouring fields.

Flim’s brow furrowed, his good mood fading slightly. He had followed the directions that strange Tit mare had given them exactly—he didn’t want to miss this sale for any reason—and yet they were almost at their destination without a single house in sight. Where on earth was their customer?

His internal musing was abruptly cut off as Flam shouted down at him from atop the cart. “Right turn ahead, brother dearest!”

Flipping a lever, he pulled the wheel of their machine round with a buoyant grin. “Right-y ho, brother mine!”

However, his return to high spirits was short lived. Their final turning had taken them into the middle of an empty field. Other than a scattering of trees at the opposite end, showing the start of the great northern forests that surrounded Fargoat, there was nothing noteworthy about the place at all. It didn’t help his nerves any that the dim light of early dusk gave the place a distinctly gloomy haze either. He turned in his seat to look up at his brother, who was looking around with a noticeable frown. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” His brother looked down, opening his mouth to answer, before a voice cut through the chilly air.

“But of course friends!”

Flim jumped, and judging by the yelp his brother did too. Whipping around, he saw that the cart had somehow been completely surrounded by ponies he had never seen before, with the exception of Miss Crisal Tit, directly in front of him, staring at him with an alarmingly wide grin. He grinned back, a little uneasily.

“Ah, Miss Tit! We rather thought we’d taken a wrong turn! It’s a little, uh, rustic out here for a mare of your standing, surely!” He gave an awkward chuckle. The unblinking stares of the strange ponies were giving him a severe case of the creeps, and he’d be lying if he told himself he wasn’t unnerved by how quickly and silently they’d approached. Still, there was a reason the Flim-Flam Brothers worked together—even if he’d been thrown off his A-game, Flam was there to pick up the slack.

“Indeed! But it has a certain rural charm, does it not Flim? I hear that kind of thing is all the rage up in Canterlot these days!” Whether it was because he’d had a little more time to hide it, or because he was a little further away from the admittedly creepy ponies, Flam’s voice betrayed less of the nervousness they were both feeling. 

“Oh, yes. All the rage.” Crisal Tit’s voice had taken on a sibilant quality that sent shivers down Flim’s spine. Still, he was a salespony damnit! He wasn’t going to let a little thing like a psychopathic customer stop him from making a quick bit. With a hop, he got down from his seat, and spread out his forehooves with a flourish.

“All of the delightful decorations, phenomenal playthings and breathtaking baubles that anypony could ask for! Delivered as promised, ma’am!” He gave her his most winning smile. “Now, for the small matter of payment…”

However, Crisal Tit did not respond. Instead, her grin simply widened yet again—and Flim felt his brain stutter to a halt.

She should NOT have that many teeth.

“Is there a problem down there, my dearest bro…””

Flam trailed off, freezing in place as he took in the sight below him. In bursts of green flame, the changelings surrounding them shed their disguises, hissing at the two brothers. Staring down at them with wide-eyes, Flam reached deep down into his salespony instincts, and said the one thing he could think of.

“Oh, cock,” he whimpered, before with a loud warcry the changelings attacked.





The new changeling hive had only existed for a few days, but it was rapidly shaping up to be the most outlandish one ever built. Tinsel hung from every nook and cranny. Strings of fiddly little lights festooned the corners. Baubles were glued over every doorway. One particularly enterprising ling appeared to have used his slime to glue a fake pine tree to the ceiling. All in all, Chrysalis felt, things were going splendidly.

Now if only Fiberglass would leave her alone.

“Your majesty, this is the perfect opportunity!”

She rolled her eyes, stepping around a few lings whispering urgently over the instructions for some sort of miniature plastic brick based structure. “Yes yes, you’ve mentioned that. But there is no need for anything so complicated as ‘prisoner exchanges’, whatever they’re supposed to be. This plan will keep us fed for months, Flannel!”

Her companions face spasmed for a second. “It’s Pharynx, my queen,” he said through gritted teeth, “And if we use your glorious plan to keep these ponies hostage, we can do so much more than that!”

She gave him a look. “Are you suggesting,” she said flatly, “That I have made an imperfect plan?”

The normally brash changeling wilted slightly. “...No, ma’am,” he said. She nodded, satisfied.

“Good. Now, how goes the invitations?”

Pharynx perked up a little. “Oh, quite efficiently my queen! We have captured-”

“Invited!” she interrupted.

“-invited just over half the town’s population at this point, and we are well on our way to getting the whole lot of them. Here comes the latest patrol now!” 

Both lings turned to the cavern entrance just as two lings flew in. Between them, a wide-eyed stallion that Chrysalis recognised as the ice-cream sundae vendor from earlier in the day struggled against his impromptu slime bonds, only to stop in favour of staring in slack-jawed bewilderment at the glittery decorations around him. He was only able to catch a glimpse of the proceedings, however, before his escort carried him deeper into the hive.

“Excellent,” Chrysalis said, smiling happily out at all the chaos. Pharynx couldn’t help but be deeply disturbed by this—he could count the number of times he had seen his monarch smile in genuine happiness before today on his hooves, all of which had involved some kind of dastardly deed. And yet in the last two hours, he had seen her smile no less than six times. Once because of some tinsel! Somehow, the setup for this ‘party’ was giving the changeling queen greater joy than she had seen in years. Just then, he noticed her turn towards him. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he snapped to attention.

“Head out and help with the rest of the invitations, Fireball.” With a nod and a quick salute, Pharynx darted into the air, heading up towards the surface. Bizarre as it may be, he was in no hurry to ruin his leader’s rare good mood.

As Pharynx flew off into the night, down in the hive Chrysalis examined her subject’s preparations. As she looked over their various creations,[8] she could not help but muse that as irritating as the whole ‘friendship’ schtick was, all of this shiny stuff was very pleasing to the royal eye. Suddenly, she stopped, brought out of her thoughts by the strange sight in front of her.

“What in my name are you doing?” she demanded, looking down at this particular pair of lings quizzically. With an ‘eep!’, the closest ling scrambled around, while the one sitting a little further away jumped to her hooves and frantically tried to bow at the same time, only to collapse into a pile of limbs.

“Y-your majesty! We are attempting to create a festive specialty, just as you asked!”

She frowned. “I thought I’d ordered for the gatherers to just steal everyone else's holiday food,” she said.

“Ah, yes, that is true,” the ling who had collapsed said, awkwardly getting back to her hooves, “but you also said that alcohol was very important.”

“And,” chimed in her fellow, “we discovered that there is a special alcohol mix specifically for Hearth’s Warming! The ponies call it ‘Eggnog’.”

Her brows raised. “Oh? What’s that?”

The first ling pulled up a page in her magic, clearly torn from a recipe book. “I believe it’s primarily composed of eggs and brandy, my queen.”

Chrysalis stared at her. “Eggs? You’re telling me the ponies make their celebratory drink out of the unborn children of lesser beings?”

Both lings stared up at her uncertainly. The back one somehow mustered up the courage to answer. “...Yes?”

Chrysalis blinked a few times, then gave the lumpy, off white mixture in front of her a considering look. “Huh. Didn’t know they had it in them.”





[1] A young medical student, passing by on the opposite side of the street could not help but stare at the contorted, almost pained look on the mare’s face. “Do you think she’s ill?” he asked his companion hesitantly, listening with growing alarm to the strange wheezing noises she appeared to be producing. His friend, a fellow medical student, gave the mare an appraising look. “I think she’s just constipated,” he said .
[2] The cheating little floozy. As if anyone could defeat her in a fair fight.
[3] It was widely accepted by most that Pinkie Pie was the only pony to be able to pull off this sort of grin successfully. Researchers (namely one T. Sparkle) had come to the conclusion that this was due to her hopefully unique ability to fill all three of the aforementioned states of being simultaneously.
[4] It would someday become quite a fierce academic debate among former changeling operatives as to whether the slightly strangled, monotone delivery of this sentence, or the speaking aloud of the words ‘ha ha’, was a more egregious offence to the basic principles of infiltration.
[5] While most ponies might have taken the name as an insult, the two brothers saw it as a point of pride. After all, if you’re going to be a scammer, a con, a hoodwinker—well, may as well do it right.
[6] The hind section of an insects body. Not to be confused with a donkey.
[7] Thorax was never sure why his Queen had decided that she needed to do things ‘evilly’, but she had made it abundantly clear that she was not to be questioned on the issue. And that the next ling who called her laugh ‘hammy’ was going to get it.
[8] Ranging from abstract art made of the many broken baubles that had been dropped, to a fully functioning set of gallows, complete with ribbon noose and teddy-bear in a hoof-made executioner's outfit.