//------------------------------// // Pleasant purple princess // Story: House of the Rising Sunflower // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Princess Twilight Sparkle was intimidatingly large, though not tall. Oh, she was taller than Sundance was by a head, maybe a head and a half, but not as tall as Princess Celestia. Twilight was at least two Celestias wide though at the shoulder. Celestia was elegant, graceful, delicate; Twilight was solid, muscled, and enduring. Sundance might have noticed more about her, except that it was her face that held his attention captive. Her left eye, ear, the side of her muzzle, her cheek, the whole left side of her face was withered, almost hairless, and covered in scabby sores.  Just the sight of it caused a sinking sensation in Sundance’s stomach.  “Does my face bother you?” she asked. “I could try to cover it up with illusion, but that might make it worse.”  “Do my… do my scars bother you?” he asked in return.  For a moment, Twilight was motionless, unresponsive, and then she chuckled. She stood in the doorway—which was barely large enough to accommodate her—and visibly relaxed a bit. “Good answer. You knew just what to say.”  “Oh, I’m not that clever. I just said the first thing that came to mind. Probably should have thought about it more.”  “But you still said the right thing.” She stepped out of the door and closer to Sundance. “I was uncomfortable. You reassured me with something we have in common. Even if you didn’t mean to do it, it was still the right thing to do.”  “What happened… if you don’t mind me asking, that is.”  “Picked a fight with a lich.” With her face now serious, Twilight inhaled, then chuffed. “It summoned an otherworldly tentacle, which bypassed all my protections and slapped me in the face. Stung a bit.”  “Will it heal?” he asked, concerned.  “I’m an alicorn,” she replied. “Given enough time, almost any wound will heal—though I can’t regrow lost limbs. This is necromantic in nature, so healing might take a while. Celestia too, tangled with necromancers during her wild youth. I understand that you picked a fight with an owlbear.”  “Sort of.” Sundance shrugged. “Wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter.”  “Neither do I,” Twilight deadpanned. “Come in. Do come in. We have much to discuss.”    There was a crib in the room, and from the crib came a muffled snuffling. Sundance failed to notice much else, because he didn’t expect a crib. Or maybe he did and didn’t know it. The room was rather large, though Twilight’s dominating presence caused it to feel smaller somehow. Sundance stood near the door while Twilight crossed the room and went right to the crib. She halted beside it, looked down inside, and made wordless hushings to quiet the fussy foal.  “The nanny got sick,” Twilight said to Sundance. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s surprisingly complicated to get help on short notice.”  “They would have to be processed.”  “Right you are. They would have to be processed and that would be an ordeal.” Twilight turned about and when she did, there was something aggressive about her expression. “Keeping them safe is a full time job unto itself. I almost cancelled our meeting… but at the last minute I decided to give you a chance. Perhaps this is a good way to get to know you.”  She beckoned with her wing and Sundance found himself compelled forwards. Did he move under his own volition, or Twilight’s? He couldn’t tell. As he moved, he looked around, and found the room rather plain. Very few distractions. There was a table, some hard chairs—the sort of hard chairs hard to fall asleep in—and some understated, plain office furniture that was entirely unremarkable. When he drew close, Twilight was larger somehow. It wasn’t her proportions, but rather, her presence. Sundance found that he felt quite small compared to her. Sundance, a little fearful, peeked into the crib, hesitant about the astonishingly large mare who stood beside him. He had no doubt that Twilight could wrestle an owlbear and win. In the crib, he saw pink fluff, a bit of orange fuzz, and vivid blue eyes—eyes that were the same shade of blue as the closet-dwelling Ponk. He noted the stubby horn that peeked out from the mess of curls.  “Is this one yours?” he asked.  “No, and thank you for asking.” Some of Twilight’s aggression melted away. “I worry about awkward assumptions all the time, because she’s a unicorn. Her mother, Pinkie Pie, is in Canterlot right now. Our little filly is sick and couldn’t travel with her mother.” “In Canterlot you say?” He lifted his eyes from the crib to have a better look at Twilight. Canterlot. Well, there was no point in mentioning what had happened. Some things were better left unsaid. “Does she have a name?”  “She does,” Twilight replied, “given to her by her grandmother, Cloudy.”  “Oh.” Fretful, Sundance retreated a step.  “I don’t trust you yet.” Sadness and aggression appeared in Twilight’s eyes in equal measure. “The press has a reward of one million bits for anypony who has the name of my offspring. So far, they don’t know their names, and that drives them crazy. This… this makes me happy. My offspring haven’t been photographed, their names are not public knowledge, and I have somehow maintained their privacy. It’s nothing against you, Sundance.”  Right now, he wanted to say something witty, something that would define him, something that might impress Twilight, something that might earn her trust, but no words came to mind. Was this a test of some sort? Probably. In the crib was something incredibly precious to Twilight, something she held dear, a precious treasure that she valued. The fact that he was here at all said much. Yes, this was probably some sort of test, but he could not conceive what the nature of said test might be.  “We’ve met in your dreams,” Twilight said in a far more relaxed tone. “It is nice to actually meet you in pony. You should know that you are an apt pupil and you have taken to your lessons well.”  Lessons? He only had vague memories of the dreams. Sometimes he was in a classroom, and Twilight was his teacher. If there was a test, he was in big trouble, because he couldn’t recall much of anything of his lessons. Perhaps this too, was a test. How well could he hold up to overwhelming confusion? Right now, his best option was to play it cool and not freak out.  Since words were hard to come by at the moment, Sundance went to work on studying Twilight. Her withered, injured face was a hard read, but her posture seemed mostly relaxed. While she was on guard, she did not stand straight-legged, nor did she have her withers squared. As a pegasus, Sundance was sensitive to these things, these signs. Twilight’s wings were tucked firmly against her sides, and every feather was immaculate. Her tail was in a neutral position, though it was a little difficult to see past her broad, muscled neck.  Something about Twilight’s physicality appealed to him, though he stifled his sense of attraction for fear of his own life. If Princess Celestia was an artful alabaster statue, Twilight was a slab of granite. The sort of mare who busted down the no-doubt impenetrable doors of liches while announcing she wasn’t there for tea and biscuits. Of course, Princess Celestia did these things too, apparently, but Twilight’s physicality offered much in the way of raw intimidation.  “You find me attractive.”  Sundance dared not reply, and he averted his eyes.  “It’s fine, really. A little flattering. Typically, earth ponies find me attractive.” She inhaled, smiled, and held out her right wing in a reassuring manner. “For the past few years, I’ve been trying to figure out the secrets of earth pony magic. Shatterstone and such. Gravity field manipulation. Powerful passive magics that earth ponies are unaware of themselves doing. My studies have changed me. Altered me significantly.  “Celestia tells me that alicorns are shaped by the part of themselves that they favour. She lives in balance… an alicorn’s natural form is supple and willowy, so I’m told. Distinct and different from other equine forms. I’ve not yet found my balance. My body holds far too much mystery for me to ignore.”  Unsure of what to say, Sundance nodded.  “You seem tense, and that’s understandable.” Twilight’s head turned and she glanced down into the crib. “I’d like for us to be friends, Sundance. Equestria needs a future, and I’d like for us to work together to secure it. I have grand plans and I am hoping that you can help me.”  “How could I possibly help you?” Incredulous, he raised his gaze from the floor to study Twilight’s face once more. “I barely have a functioning barony. Am I to be flattered? If so, what for? To what end? You have but to ask and I will probably say yes. That seems to be what I am good at.”  Amused, Twilight smiled, which caused her withered face to wrinkle.  “Have a seat,” she said while she made a broad sweeping motion with her wing.  With a quick turn of his head, he looked behind him, then on each side, unsure of which chair to sit in. Which chair was Twilight’s chair? Did she have a favourite? Squinting a bit, he searched for tell-tale purple hairs, but found none. Each chair was clean, free of hair. Was this a conundrum? This felt like a conundrum. If he picked a chair, and it was Twilight’s favorite chair, that would just be rude. Of course, if he remained standing after he was told to sit down, that was also rude. Oh, what to do, what to do.  He chose a sturdy chair, and almost sat in that, but changed his mind at the last minute. That sturdy chair might be Twilight’s chair; it was solid, the sort of chair that wouldn’t collapse to splinters beneath her bulk. Now he felt clever for having averted this crisis. A different chair was chosen, and feeling smart, he sat down. He settled himself, smiled, and felt good about his brilliance, which he believed had served him well.  There was a brilliant flash from Twilight’s horn and a round purple-pink cushion appeared. She placed this on the floor, smoothed out the ornamental tassels, and then in most unregal fashion, she plopped her hippopotamic backside down upon the unfortunate pillow. There she sat, just beside the crib, and Sundance could not help but feel extra-stupid. Why, he wasn’t even terrified at the moment. All that to-do over where to sit, and all for naught.  Sundance’s observances suggested to him that there was something vaguely catlike about Twilight Sparkle and the way she sat upon her cushion. But not a housecat, no. Something larger, more dangerous, and far more toothy. She pulled her tail around her, smoothed it out, and then assumed a perfect pose. Straight front legs, folded hind legs, wings wrapped against her sides, neck straight, and with her head held at a perfect angle. All that was left was for Twilight to meow—or whatever sound large cats made. She was the tigress beside the crib, and Sundance couldn’t help but feel just a little nervous.  “Moondancer mentioned that you fought a lich while I was processed,” he said for the lack of anything better to say.  “And Moondancer briefly told me about your purpose… your talent. Oh, and also your terrible flirting.” Eyes almost teasing, a broad grin split Twilight’s face. “Don’t feel bad though. I am Princess Friendzone, and my terrible flirting is the stuff of legend by now.”  “I haven’t had much practice,” he responded, somewhat astonished that this was the current topic of conversation.  Still grinning, Twilight gestured at the crib with a toss of her head. “This adorable little surprise is the direct result of my last attempt at flirting.”  “Oh, that’s bad.” He found himself wondering how that worked; how that might happen.  “It is, really. Tell me, are you feeling the pressure to start a family yet, Sundance?”  “Yeah?” Without thinking, he reached up to rub the back of his neck where the long, raking scars began. “A bit. I understand what is expected of me, but I’m having some trouble sorting the ‘me’ part of it out.”  “It will change you,” Twilight said in some vague-but-meaningful way. “For me, it allowed me to connect to my subjects in a way I couldn’t before. We had a shared common ground. A shared fear, a worry. I developed an empathy that I lacked, and it opened a lot of doors for me. Of course, as Princess Friendzone, I was good at the friends part of a relationship, but not so good at the romance aspect.”  He wondered why she told him this.  “Once you have a family, it will change how you rule, Sundance. If you ever need help, don’t ask me. Remember, I’m the Princess of Friendship. And if I were you, I wouldn’t ask Celestia for help either. She’s a tease. Cadance is the one to ask for help.” Twilight’s mirthful eyes glittered with mischievous glee. “Just don’t take too long, or somepony is bound to take matters into their own hooves.”  “I do worry about connecting with my subjects,” he blurted out. “It’s hard to find stuff in common.” At the worst possible moment, he thought of Hollyhock, his difficulty in understanding her, and he grimaced without realising that he did so. Without thought, his right front hoof extended, and then it just bobbed in the air whilst he struggled to find words.  “It is a legitimate concern.” Something about Twilight’s voice was both friendly and maternal, but not in the same manner that Celestia could be friendly and maternal. “Speaking for myself, I wondered why these things even mattered.” With a shake of her head, she sighed. “Things were so much simpler just a few years ago. Much has changed.”  “Does it really change you that much?” he asked as he pulled his hoof back.  “If you let it,” was Twilight’s cryptic reply. “Look, it’s not that it is wholly necessary, it is just that it gives you so much insight. New connections will be made available. A different way to see the world. For right now though, focus on friendship. You have an impossible task set out before you. For that, you’ll need friends.”  “I think Hollyhock hates me.” These words were said without Sundance giving them much thought. “In fact, I know she does.” Hesitating, unsure of what to say next, or why he was saying this right now, he found himself fumbling to put his thoughts into words.  “As the Princess of Friendship, I am quite sensitive to hate.” There was a long sigh from Twilight. “I lived in fear of upsetting others. For the longest time, I was the neutral princess. Well, sort of. I did have a few strong stances. But the idea of somepony hating me caused me a lot of problems. I had trouble taking bold, decisive action.” She paused, and her head tilted towards the ceiling. “I lived in so much fear back then. The idea that somepony might hate me, or hate what I did, that paralysed me. That was a tough lesson to learn. One that I could not learn on my own.”  A tough lesson? Sundance wondered what she meant by that. Should he ask? If he waited, she might tell him; odds seemed good that she would use her own experiences as instructional aids. Twilight wasn’t like Celestia, not at all. She was warm, earnest, forward and open. Celestia was aloof while Twilight seemed far more direct. For obvious reasons, Twilight was easier to be friends with.  “I got scared this morning and said dumb things,” Sundance said to Twilight.  “Heh”—there was a dismissive wave with Twilight’s right hoof, which moved with startling suddenness—“I got liquored up in Las Pegasus and committed epic acts of stupidity. While I still don’t remember getting married, I have watched the crime evidence film. Quite a number of times, actually. For a time, I would wake up at night, all sweaty and worried about what I’d done. Now, while I am a princess, and something of a focal point for the public eye, as it turns out, I think about me and the things I’ve done more than the ponies around me do. The reality is, I care more about my screw-ups than everypony else around me does.”  Sundance blinked slowly while he tried to process what had been said.  “Everypony is too busy thinking about their own failures and worrying about what others think of them to spend too much time thinking about your failures. Whatever those might be. You are going to make mistakes. Sometimes, you will do dumb things that your peasants laugh at. Occasionally, they might be angry with you. But remember… they are just like you in all the ways that matter. When they are struggling with mistakes from their past, try to reach out to them. That’s your opportunity. Your chance to do something meaningful when it matters.”  “I used Holly’s past against her and made her cry.”  “Ouch.” With her face crinkled from her powerful cringe, Twilight’s countenance took on that of an old mare. “That’ll take some work to fix, Sundance. Luckily, you have time. Lots of time. Lots of free time. You need to work on fixing that.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “But don’t undermine your own authority. I’m still working on the subtle nuances of sorting that out, actually. I tend to make a mess of things.”  “Well, before this happened, I hadn’t really made too much of a mess of anything.” He absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck again and tried not to think too much about how things went wrong. “She’s right. I just sort of bumbled along and allowed things to happen.”  “No, she’s wrong.”  “She is?” Uncertain, confused, he pulled his hoof away from his neck and tried once more to read Twilight’s face.  “From what I understand, you turned your barony into a corporate entity.”  “Oh that.” He found himself wondering how he might explain this to her. “I really didn’t make that decision.”  “You didn’t?” Twilight’s expression was now one of genuine surprise.  Again, he began scratching at his neck with the hard edge of his hoof, so much so now that his scars turned itchy from the irritation. “Rustic had a plan to save the barony. I wasn’t sold on it right away, but I came around when I saw the good that could be done. Me being me however, I allowed it to happen.”  “Hmm.” The low throaty hum from Twilight resonated in her broad, well-muscled neck. “There’s a friendship lesson… trusting in your friends to save you.” Her head turned and her good eye brought its intense stare to bear upon him. “Having to trust in somepony, hoping that they don’t take advantage of you. That’s part of what I hoped to discuss today, Sundance. That decision to corporatise your barony.”  Twilight didn’t seem upset, though Sundance wasn’t immediately reassured. She might be using her princessly powers to hide her feelings. For all he knew, she might be furious with him—but that didn’t seem to be the case. In fact, that seemed unlikely, but Sundance could not dismiss his concerns outright.  “Right now, it seems that I have to trust in you… and hope that you don’t take advantage of me.” Nopony was more surprised by the words that had come out of Sundance’s mouth than he was. In awe, he blinked a few times, and it took him a moment to establish that he had, in fact, said them.  “Well, I am also one of your investors, Sundance. My mother and I both. If you need reassurance, trust that I want a return on my investment, and that I will do nothing to endanger it.” A merry twinkle returned to Twilight’s eye and both of her ears were now forward-facing.  “Your mother invested so she could have a safe spot to stash orphans,” Sundance said to Twilight. “What are you after, I wonder? With you being the Princess of Friendship, I suppose I can give you the benefit of the doubt as far as your intentions go.”  “Friends with benefit of the doubt.” As she spoke, Twilight rolled her eyes and then ended her sentence with a punctuative snort. “I think it is time to turn this conversation into something a bit more meaningful, Sundance. More than enough time has been spent breaking the ice and getting to know one another. We have business, you and I, so let’s discuss it, shall we?”