//------------------------------// // 11. The Wisdom of Laughter // Story: The Face of Magic // by Carapace //------------------------------// Let it not be said that Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers, did not love her aunts dearly. Of the two, however, she’d always found her bond with Celestia had been just a little deeper. Something about the warmth, the unconditional love evident in her smile and eyes, how she favored a sort of play and trickery more subtle than even Luna’s machinations—games the likes of which her mother would even join to play—all of it like she held some base understanding of changelings, despite all claims they never ceased to amaze her. That sort of magnetism which always earned she and Luna a crowd of eager changelings young and old around them, like a pair of magi bringing gifts and stories. All that said, Twilight found herself experiencing a rather new feeling as she stood in the middle of the dining hall and stared flatly, her eyes locked on the table and fine breakfast spread. And, more importantly, the pony occupying one of the seats. “Heya, Princess Celestia!” Pinkie Pie beamed and waved her hoof so fast it must’ve spawned hurricanes in Oceana. “Morning, Princess Twilight!” Twilight felt Celestia’s wing lay across her shoulders, out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Princess of Day smiling that knowing smile. “Good morning, Pinkie Pie,” she greeted with a nod of her head. “How was your evening?” “Pretty good! Though, I got a bone to pick with you about the beds in your guest rooms!” “Oh? Pray tell, what might be the problem?” The Bearer of Laughter’s face took on an air of absolute gravity. Ruined, just slightly, but the little tick at the corner of her mouth. “They’re not nearly bouncy enough! The top curls of my mane barely even brushed the ceiling!” “A most grave problem indeed!” Princess Celestia nodded with utmost solemnity. “I shall speak with Silken Sheet and Feather Duster immediately. Such an oversight will not go uncorrected in my castle, I assure you.” Blinking, Twilight furrowed her brows. “W-What?” she asked. Her aunt’s ancient purple eyes sparkled like diamonds. “Come now, Twilight. You know well how important the softness and springiness of our mattresses are. Your mother has labored for centuries to pry the secret of their origin from my or Luna’s lips.” Pinkie Pie gave a gasp that might have sucked the air out of a small room, then stuffed her hooves in her mouths as if she thought that might hide her mirth. Worse, Twilight felt intrigued. She knew something. She had to. “Pinkie,” Celestia said sternly. “I know, I know!” the mare chirped through her giggles. She made a little motion like she was running a zipper along her lips, then twisted as if to turn the key and lock a latch. With a happy hum, she flung it away into the aether. Much to Celestia’s pleasure. And Twilight’s consternation. She turned slowly, leveling her aunt with a flat glare. She loved Celestia dearly, but right about now? Biting seemed like a viable option. “My mother and hive have been searching for that secret for centuries,” Twilight said slowly, keeping her voice low so that humming, bouncing mare wouldn’t hear. Was she humming show tunes to herself? Yes. Yes she was. “And this mare knows it?” “And she even has a name!” Celestia replied with a smile as bright as the morning sun. Her hint was just as plain. Twilight drew in a slow breath. “You didn’t bring me here to tempt me with that secret after we spoke about last night,” she said after a moment. “No,” her aunt replied, her smile spreading, “I did not.” “So, why?” That accursed smile became a full, toothy grin. “Last night, you made some headway with fostering relations, before unfortunate choice of commentary and reprisal did some damage to efforts. Damage,” she repeated with a meaningful raise of her brows, “but not so grave that those around you were unwilling to extend a hoof to offer a second chance and ask one in turn when I awoke this morning to raise the sun.” Blinking, Twilight let her slitted eyes flit between Pinkie and her aunt. “She did?” “I believe the others might have,” Celestia replied. “Pinkie, however, was the first and asked that she be given a chance to speak with you one on one. To that end, I sent Silin to fetch you.” Twilight’s ears ticked. “You lied to my guard to get me to have breakfast with her?” “Yes. How very changeling of me, no?” With a little chuckle, Celestia leaned in close and nosed against her cheek. “Consider this a chance to make amends for last night, my dear. Talk to her, get to know her and how she thinks of you, her friends, and learn from her. Teach her how you think and reason. In turn, I think you’ll find that this generation of Bearers is quite like those your mother speaks of with such fondness.” Unease crept into Twilight’s chest. True, she had done damage at the gala, an event put on specifically to grant her the opportunity to foster relations and show that, despite her fangs, Twilight came with good tidings and intent to affirm their alliance. A mission dented, perhaps, by a moment of temper and need to see a slight balanced. How would you handle this? she wondered, wishing so that Celestia would just give her the answers for once. How would mother handle such a failing? The answer to that, of course, was quite obvious. Sireadh Firinn didn’t make such mistakes. Not anymore, at least. But had she, Sireadh Firinn would not leave a mistake or offense committed without offering some restitution. “You won’t be dining with us, I assume?” Twilight asked. Celestia shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” With a glance skyward, she turned toward the door once more. “I think I’ll find a rather interesting conversation if I visit with a certain mare who committed another offense last night. Oh, Pinkie, dear?” At her call, Pinkie sat up straight. Her bouncing ceased. “Mmph?” The Princess of Day chuckled. “You’re free to unzip your lips, Pinkie. But do keep that, aha, valuable piece of information to yourself until …” she trailed off, her eyes dancing with mischievous glee the likes of which would make Sireadh Firinn herself raise a brow. “Oh, until you think she’s ready to hear it.” That Pinkie Pie beamed and chirped out an affirmative only served to draw a low rumble of disapproval from deep within Twilight’s chest. “Dangling that in front of me now?” she muttered out of the side of her mouth. “I thought this was about friendship, not deals.” “It is. Consider it my own way of putting a little charm on things to entice you to try.” With a wink, Celestia trotted off, though not without one last call over her shoulder, “Enjoy your meal, ladies.” Thus, Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers, was duped into dining with a mare she’d met only a few hours prior. A mare whose friend Twilight had turned into a spectacle and singled out as one with a false face before some of the most important ponies in the land, no less. Mom would never have made that mistake. But she wouldn’t shy away from facing consequences if she had, either. Twilight set her jaw and stepped around the table so she could stride along the opposite side of the mare awaiting her with that bright, sunny smile. Smiling at her, Twilight noted, as though the confrontation at the gala hadn’t happened. The changeling took her seat across from Pinkie Pie, her posture stiff, but proper. “Good morning,” she greeted neutrally. “We already said that, silly!” Pinkie giggled, her eyes brimming with mirth. Then, her smile vanished. “Or, wait! Is that a changelingy thing? Do changelings say things twice so it’s like making sure somepony has twice as good a morning?” Twilight couldn’t help but snort. She’s almost like Paprika. “No, we don’t. And, actually,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching, “I never said good morning myself. So, I suppose I must ask if in your culture, you say good morning to wish me twice as good a morning as I would have had.” Pinkie’s gasp could have sucked the air from the dining room and Twilight wouldn’t have been surprised. Then, the mare leveled her with a narrow-eyed gaze. “I see,” she said slowly. “Well played.” Before Twilight could question exactly what game she’d played, Pinkie perked right back up and bounced in place. “Sooooooo, how’s it going?” “It’s going, I suppose.” Twilight summoned a pitcher of apple juice and poured herself a glass. A quick sip afforded her the familiar sweet taste, a small comfort. “As well as one can this early.” After last night, it’s stellar. Pinkie thought otherwise. She blew a raspberry as she stacked her place high with pancakes and began what Twilight could only describe as trying to drown them in maple syrup.  “That’s boring!” she said, reaching for the whipped cream and strawberries next. “Talking with Princess Celestia had to be fun though, right? She’s got some killer jokes! Like the one where Philomena pretends it’s her burning day!” Twilight glanced down at her own plate, barren of food. “Er, you could say it was something.” Fun? Not in the slightest. Informative and insightful, though. Then, her ears twitched. “Wait a minute. Philomena tricked you into thinking she was having a burning day? When was this?” With another smattering of giggles, Pinkie shook her head. “Not me! But she sure got Fluttershy when the princesses came to visit Ponyville last year. Poor thing had no idea.” Again, Twilight’s ears twitched. Philomena’s burning day prank was something of a legend in Halla Eolais—many a nymph had fallen prey to her tricks, and those old enough to remember her first always took to it with a raucous chittering while they explained to horrified little ones that, no, they hadn’t just killed the pet of one of Sireadh Firinn’s closest and dearest friends. Her mind flitted to Fluttershy, how nervous the mare had been when their eyes met in the middle of the dance floor. Just how might she have taken it, watching that blasted phoenix burst into flames and burn to naught but ashes and a couple glimmering feathers while her princesses visited? A vision of that poor mare who’d nearly had a heart attack when they’d bumped into one another on the dance floor flashed before her eyes. Surely, Fluttershy must have felt herself horrible. Twilight shook her head. “No,” she said. “Celestia didn’t pull any jokes on me.” The Princess of the Seekers selected two pancakes from the top of the stack and slathered them in maple syrup, ignoring her instinctive want to dive straight in. “She imparted a bit of knowledge upon me, and I find myself … well, mulling it quite a bit. And wishing I weren’t such an impulsive brat of a changeling.” Across the table, Pinkie stopped with her fork, laden with pancake and whipped cream, halfway to her mouth. Her brows furrowing, she frowned. “I don’t think you’re a brat, even a changeling one,” she said softly. “You’re too kind.” “No. Flutters is kind. I’m giggly and make ponies laugh. And changelings, maybe. Someday.” Pinkie chomped down on her first bite and swallowed it in one gulp. “But you’re not a brat. There’s a little filly back home—she’s a bit of a brat, but she has a good heart deep down. Like you, I think.” Twilight couldn’t help but snort as she took a bite of pancake. Fluffy and sweet, as always. “You say that I have a good heart and I’m not a brat, even after the scene I made last night.” She swallowed. “Or what I said to your friends.” The mare’s frown deepened. Pinkie Pie glanced at her plate, as if searching out the answer. Or how to phrase her response. Not the conversation she had in mind this morning, Twilight could guess. She continued, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry that I let my temper get the better of me last night.” “Everypony gets mad at some point,” Pinkie replied, barely above a whisper. She sighed. “And that’s exactly why we had said something to Rarity and Sunset before we came over to talk after you danced with Flutters.” Twilight stiffened. “Er, what?” Chuckling, Pinkie took another bite. “Applejack was angry that Rarity said what she did, and so loudly at a gala for you. She’s … Rarity is a nice pony, Princess. But she does put on a face around Canterlot sometimes.” Her smile showed sadness and pain. “Almost like a changeling in tat way.” The Princess of the Seekers winced. That point, she couldn’t refute. Though she and her parents wore false faces and showed the truth of who they were in action, some of their kin, even in the hive, created guises. Characters. “I still didn’t have a right to do what I did,” Twilight said, her shoulders slumping. “Not like that.” “Be angry or say those things to Rarity and Dashie?” “The latter, I suppose.” Pinkie laughed. “You confused Dashie a lot. I don’t think I’ve seen her so frazzled since the first time we played tag together. Rarity …” Her mirth faded. Again, she sighed. “I wish you hadn’t, but I understand. I could hear what a lot of them were saying too, and hearing her say it right after you’d been announced … I think I’d have been more hurt than angry, but I understand.” Twilight dared to let a sliver of hope trickle into her heart. “Do you?” “What she said was rude,” Pinkie replied simply. “Even if she didn’t really mean it as much, but that just makes it worse. Gossip hurts, and she knows that. But when she gets around some of the ponies here she kinda slips.” The mare downed a glass of apple juice in one shot. “I didn’t like what you said or how you did it, none of us did. But considering how she said things … well, I wish you would’ve said it more gently.” “Changelings are different.” With a tired growl, Twilight set her fork down. Pancakes were too sweet. An apple would be better for her mood. “We and all our fey cousins don’t just get over slights or offenses, we balance them. Like—” “The stories Grandpa Slate told me about your mother when she was Tranquil Dusk,” Pinkie finished for her with a fond smile. “He used to tell me about her humor and tricks.” “And she loved his love of laughter and the strength of his resolve.” That trickle grew. “Does he know?” Pinkie let out a snort, her sky blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Oh, you should see the letter he sent me after I told him about you! It’s classic Grampy Slate!” She reached into her mane and—by some means of sorcery unknown to any Seeker—retrieved the aforementioned letter and slid it across the table. Bouncing on her hooves, she chirped, “Read it! Read it!” Curious, Twilight took the letter in hoof and unfolded it, her brow arching high enough that it disappeared beneath her mane. My dear Pinkamena, Congratulations! You are the Pie who witnessed the punchline of our greatest joke firsthoof. I truly wish Prism Flare was around so I could see his face. Tell your new friend that your grandfather remembers Tranquil Dusk well. And that her mother shan’t understand the secrets of the family magic, but our friendship and laughter will always remain. With love, Slate Pie By the time she finished reading, Twilight’s jaw had dropped. If she had her father’s sense of humor, she might have shifted so it could hit the table. “He … he knew? Wait, no!” She read it again. “Your family knew my mother’s secret and didn’t tell?” “Not exactly what her secret was, silly!” The mare giggled, her tail swishing gleefully. “Just that there was something different about their friend and that she was hiding it for a reason and thought it’d be funnier to let it play out. And it was! You should’ve seen Dashie’s face!” The image her words conjured drew a twitching at the corner of Twilight’s mouth. She shook her head, her voice failing her as she tried to wrap her head around it. “Your grandfather didn’t care that she’s a changeling? After all the time they spent together?” Pinkie shrugged. “She always came to help when needed and decided whether she liked ponies or not based on action.” That bright smile broadened into a toothy grin. “Grandpa always told me that actions were more important than looks anyway.” The changeling princess’s hoof leapt to her mouth. One who understood. In her own odd way. Perhaps Twilight could find a happy medium between herself and these ponies, those who hadn’t grown up with changelings all their lives. With a little bit of careful application of culture. “Do you know how changelings show trust to outsiders?” Twilight asked. To her amusement, Pinkie scrunched her nose in thought. “Uh … I dunno. Play hide and seek? Show off your rock collection?” Chittering, Twilight shook her head. “No, though you might earn friends in the geologists club in my hive.” Her eyes dancing, she replied, “The first is this, showing my face before you as I did upon entering your city. The second is telling you about their actual family.” Pinkie Pie’s eyes lit up. “I grew up on stories of Tranquil Dusk,” she whispered. “And I, on stories of your family and your friends’.” Twilight smiled, warm and affectionate, as though she were talking to Cadence and Shining. She even resisted the urge to correct her new friend’s use of one of her mother’s aliases. “To start off, my mother isn’t quite a peer of Celestia and Luna’s in terms of age, nor is my father, Eolas ag Iarraidh. They just so happen to be close enough that it doesn’t really matter, and friends for long enough that they’ve picked up some rather entertaining stories about one another …” Her family would just have to forgive her sharing stories. But, perhaps they’d let her slide when they understood her reasoning. Just this once.