“Rarity, do you know what sentience is?”
“Why of course, Twilight! It’s, well, the ability to feel, to think, to… to be.”
Twilight gazed at her dinner, levitating her fork meanderingly through the lukewarm spaghetti. In the background, Spike leisurely hummed as he cleaned the castle kitchen. “Well, not exactly. You’d be right about the feeling part, but I think some of that other stuff reaches into sapience. Or maybe consciousness. It all depends on how you define it, really.”
Rarity squirmed as she watched Twilight twirl the spaghetti with the fork. “That’s wonderful, yes, but I don’t exactly see what that has to do with the current… conversation. And I would really appreciate it if you could stop doing that with your fork; it’s making me a little uncomfortable.”
Twilight let the pasta slide back onto the plate and gently set the fork down. “Sorry, Rares.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip. “But what I’m trying to say is that for all intents and purposes, the spaghetti we are about to eat is not sentient.”
Rarity bent down, peering at the dish with suspicion. “Are you sure, dear? It was not too long ago that this very noodle—” she gestured a hoof near the center of the plate—”came to life and started screaming bloody murder before our very eyes.” She squinted. “Or, maybe it was that noodle.”
Twilight smiled innocently. “But it’s not screaming anymore, see? Perfectly inert, as all noodles should be.” She poked at the spaghetti again.
“Twilight!”
“Oops, sorry.” Twilight blushed and put the fork down again. “But anyways, Starlight’s spell shouldn’t be there anymore, right? After all, she did double and triple check it.”
“Yes, of course she did,” Rarity said. “But can we be reeeally sure that it’s gone? After all, the spell did misfire. What if she accidentally used some trace of dark magic, and now there’s a fraction of a pony’s soul forever trapped in the noodle? What if the noodle, suddenly aware of its own existence, can do nothing but accept its tragic fate—”
“Rarity!” Twilight rolled her eyes, but she was laughing.
Rarity chuckled nervously. “Er, yes. Or something like that. Funny how the advertisements always portray food as wanting to be eaten, you know?”
Twilight put a hoof to her chin. “Huh, now that you mention it. But look at this spaghetti!” She paused, taking a serene whiff of its aromatic scent. “Doesn’t it just look so goood?”
“Of course!” exclaimed Rarity. “Well, it did. But what if that noodle has a family now? What if one day Mrs. Tagliatelle and little Macaroni are sitting at home, and then all of a sudden the door rings, and when they get there, all that’s left of Mr. Spaghetti is his short, disheveled, noodly necktie? Oh, the horror!”
“Rarity, I can always throw this away and get some more.”
“Why, you simply cannot! How will Mr. Spaghetti find his way back to his family? He’ll have to journey through the bowels of the garbage dump, trek—” she stopped as Twilight leaned over and put a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “Yes, Twilight?”
Twilight sighed, taking a deep breath. “I’ve known you for a long time, Rares. I know when something’s up.” She looked at Rarity in concern. “You can trust me with anything. So, what’s up?”
Rarity scoffed, flashing a grim smile. “It’s a bit of a silly worry, really. Nothing that relates to this topic, probably. I suppose we should eat the spaghetti now, before it gets even colder, yes?”
Twilight gave a reassuring smile. “Hey. Come here.” She offered her lips and they kissed, if only briefly. “You can trust me with anything,” she repeated. “I won’t judge you. I promise.”
“Thank you, Twilight.” Rarity pressed her lips together, savoring the moment. “I-I think that cleared my head a little bit.” She grasped her teacup with her magic, draining it in one gulp and exhaling loudly afterwards. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and wavering.
“I—for the first time in my life, Twilight, I think I’ve realized how afraid I am to die.”
Twilight reached across the table, softly taking Rarity’s hoof in her own. “Oh Rarity, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. This isn’t a small thing at all.” She fell silent for a moment, gently stroking Rarity’s hoof.
Rarity faced Twilight, looking into her eyes. “Twilight,” she began, “in the end, what separates us from a screaming spaghetti noodle? Or even a limp, dead one? In a hundred years, five hundred years, what’s left that I can still be proud of?”
Twilight hesitated. “I-in all honesty, Rares? I don’t know. I don’t know what Equestria will look like in five hundred years. Maybe I should give you some contrived answer about how we should be proud of what we’re doing today, and how we’re just playing our roles in time, but—”
“But in the end, that’s all it is. A contrived answer,” Rarity concluded. “Maybe one that most ponies accept, but one that I find hard to believe.” She leaned in. “Tell me, Twilight, is there no spell that allows ponies to live indefinitely? There’s so much I’d like to do.” In a quieter voice, she added, “And forever is a long time to get all of it done.”
Twilight lowered her head. “I’m sorry, but there’s no spell. But maybe we can start with the basics.” She levitated a noodle out of the plate. “This is a spaghetti noodle. I can make it move around—” she wiggled it in the air—”and if I cast a spell like Starlight did, I could make it talk, too.” She reached over a hoof and booped Rarity’s snout, causing her to scrunch up. “This is you, Rares. You can feel my hoof, you don’t need me to tell you to scrunch your snout up, and you also don’t need me to tell you that you look absolutely cute when doing it.”
Rarity lifted a hoof to her cheek, gasping in mock-embarrassment. “Twilight!”
Twilight giggled. “So I guess what I’m saying is that you’re here now, and you’re your own mare. And most importantly, at least to me, that means you can love.” Pointing a hoof towards Rarity’s chest, she continued, “You taught me that, Rares. Mr. Spaghetti may not have a family to look forward to, but you do. Also, this is a terrible analogy, but I think you understand.” She looked Rarity in the eyes, leaning in and lightly touching her cheek. “And I’d be honored to be a part of that family, and be a part of that future. Maybe we don’t know what will happen in five hundred years, but there’s a lot you should be proud of now, Rarity: your generosity, your business… you saving all of Equestria! I’m proud of you, Rarity.”
Rarity got up, walking around the table closer towards Twilight, and they snuggled, bathing in the comfort of each other’s bodies. “Thank you, Twilight,” she murmured. “It really does mean a lot. So does this mean you’re ready to take it to the next step? After just three dates?”
Twilight beamed. “Absolutely.”
Rarity sharply exhaled, shaking her head.
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Huh? Did I say something wrong?”
Rarity laughed, exaggeratedly rubbing against Twilight. “I think, ma chérie, that we need to work on your sense of the romantic, but we’ll come back to that. You looked like you were about to say something else, though. Do go on, dear. I’m simply dying to know what.”
Twilight paused briefly, knitting her eyebrows. “There’s a belief in Neighponese culture. The longer the noodle you eat, the longer your life gets. So I’d like to demonstrate an ancient Neighponese invention to go along with it.” She turned back to face the table, gently setting down an empty plate and placing a nearby spoon in the center. Concentrating, she fired a beam of magic at the spoon, and it twitched, before unsteadily spinning on its own and coming to a rest facing a different direction. “I’ve just recreated one of the first ever recorded compasses. I’ve magnetically charged the spoon to point south. In ancient Neighponese history, ponies would use this device not only for navigation, but also for maintaining harmony and peace.”
She pointed towards the plate. “This plate represents your head. It also signifies all you want in life: your goals, dreams, and hopes.” Next, she pointed at the spoon. “This spoon is your heart. I believe that no matter what, it’s your heart that will point your mind in the right direction. And just like with the ancient Neighponese, it’ll bring you harmony.” Finally, she pointed at a knife. “And, uh, the knives are still sharp! I guess don’t cut your noodles short with the knife, or something.”
Rarity laughed and embraced Twilight. “That was so adorable, Twilight,” she teased. “Unexpected, but adorable. Shall we eat, then? I’ve got another belief of my own. Legend has it that if we’re both eating from the same plate, and if we both eat the same noodle, when we kiss, we’ll be doubly as lucky. How does that sound, Twilight?”
“Wonderful.” They both got up, sitting again at opposite ends of the table. “Plus, I’m starving already. Ready or not, here I come!”
They both dug in, savoring the flavor and casting each other furtive glances. And just when they thought they’d found a strand to share…
It started screaming again.