//------------------------------// // Chapter 8: Muscle Memory // Story: The Filly Within // by Detsella Morningdew //------------------------------// "Hoo boy." Applejack stood at Golden Oaks' door, not even bothering to close it. The other two Crusaders had already zipped past her to their friend, who was hugging her sister in a way that looked awkward for both of them. Twilight was writing something down on some parchment. And it was one A.M. It also seemed to be the case that Sweetie Belle was a robot. Like, the comic book future-y kind, not the Weather Factory, or even Flim and Flam kind. She almost felt insulted that Twilight wouldn't bother to tell her, but grudgingly accepted the fact that she probably wouldn't have believed her. Though perhaps Twilight's lack of talent at pranking might have convinced her in the end. Once she got a hold of herself, and the other two Crusaders settled down into writing on paper like Twilight for some reason, she kicked the door closed, and trotted over to the librarian. "Twilight, have you sent a letter to Celestia?" She looked down. "Not yet." "She needs to know about this." Twilight pointed at Sweetie. "Do I really need to? Almost everything I've found out about her points to her being the real one. This is actually Sweetie Belle." Applejack sighed. "And she still needs to know. Tell her all about it. I don't know anythin' about this sort of stuff, but you do, and she probably does, too. Probably even more than you do." She glanced significantly at her friend. "You still trust the Princess, right?" "I do. And yeah, I know. I should tell her." Twilight looked over at Sweetie, who was almost obscured by the bodies of her friends and family. "It's just... she's been through a lot in the past few hours. I don't want her to have to deal with... anything, really. Not more than she already has to." "And Celestia is a reasonable pony. She trusts you. I'm sure that if you explain the situation to her, she'll make sure that Sweetie Belle is protected enough." Twilight winced. "You're right. I just can't shake the feeling that all this is my fault, somehow. Like maybe I could fix everything before having to ask for help." Applejack smirked. "Don't that sound familiar." She chuckled. "Okay, you got me there. This won't turn into Applebuck Season, I promise. First thing in the morning, I am sending a letter. Just... not tonight. She's probably asleep, anyway." Twilight shot a look up the stairs. "I'm just surprised Spike can sleep through all of this." She smirked at Applejack, but the expression faded as she noticed what her friend was doing. "Um... AJ? Why are you... sniffing?" Applejack furrowed her eyebrows. "It's probably nuthin', but something smells... off." She looked in Sweetie's direction curiously. Twilight shrugged. "Well, I didn't exactly have time to clean up, and both Sweetie Belle and I got pretty muddy from the storm." Applejack waved a hoof vaguely in front of herself. "I know, Twi. But I know mud, and it doesn't smell quite like it should." She stepped closer to Sweetie, then paused, asking Twilight an unspoken question. Twilight nodded. She stepped up to Sweetie's side. Her friends and her sister looked a lot more relaxed than earlier, and besides some questioning looks, none of them moved to stop her. Sweetie managed to look confused despite her robotic face. Applejack got right up to Sweetie's barrel before recoiling. "Yeah, there's definitely something wrong there." "Wait, really?" Twilight trotted over. Sweetie's hooves danced over a piece of paper. What's going on? Applejack caught on to what her friends had been doing. Something smells strange on your side. It could be worrying. We don't know yet. Twilight stepped closer, and examined the area closer. It seemed to be made up of large, painted metal plates. Fairly clean ones, actually, since she had fallen into the mud on her other side. Her magic added a line to Applejack's paper. Sweetie? Is it all right with you if we open this section? Despite her earlier mechanical troubles, Sweetie managed to roll her eyes at them. I am incapable of feeling pain. Applejack snorted. Less sass, please. That wasn't a yes. Fine. Twilight put her quill to the paper again. Don't worry, I'll be careful. I won't remove anything I don't absolutely have to. Sweetie looked away, and passed the paper back a few seconds later. Thanks. Twilight probed the plates with her telekinesis. Whoever built Sweetie, they must have been a unicorn, designing everything with unicorns in mind. The bolts were purely internal, with a rather novel head design suited very well towards telekinesis. They also had a very wide thread, and were coated in a rather stiff rubber for some reason. She pulled the now freed piece gently away. click She froze, looking quickly at the back of Sweetie's head to see if there was any reaction, but found none. And the slight whirring as Sweetie adjusted her posture was a pretty good sign that she was fine. Twilight looked back at her barrel instead. She frowned. It certainly wasn't what she was expecting to find as the internals of a machine as complicated as Sweetie. In fact, Twilight was very sure that she wasn't looking at Sweetie's internals at all. The plate was certainly heavy enough. So why was there a separate rubber suit underneath? The only thing she actually saw that looked nearly complicated enough was a small indent of a sort of clear plastic, with some small wires of colored rubber, and some transparent threads sprouting from each one. The threads sparkled, even with the low light in her library. She set the metal plate aside to get a closer look. The indent was square, but made in a way that introduced indents, imperfections that looked purposeful. The transparent nature of the plastic made her briefly excited that she might be able to peer deeper into the machine, but the rubber seemed to cover even the back side of this mysterious object. Twilight snorted. What, were the ponies that made her obsessed or something? Rubber was on everything. I suppose that was a good thing. The lightning might have done even worse, otherwise. Still, these don't look like normal wires. The worst part was, there didn't seem to be any obvious way to dig deeper. And the sparkly bits at the end of the wires seemed to eat at her telekinesis, so she was very reluctant to probe much deeper that way. Applejack tapped a hoof on her shoulder. "Twi? I found what I was looking for." She picked up the plate, and showed her the inside. Twilight gasped. She found the counterpart that fit into that indent. But, more than that... More than half of the plate was coated in a charred substance. A charred, organic substance. She grasped the plate with her telekinesis. "I need to get this to my lab, now." Sweetie was bored. Twilight had left an hour ago. And the other Crusaders had gotten tired of writing notes, and left soon after. It was a good talk, though. And her sister did eventually get too tired to stay. She couldn't feel the hugs, but they were nice, anyway. There was a problem, though. Unlike her sister, and even her friends, Sweetie Belle didn't feel tired. What happened to being tired? What happened to sleeping? Is that just another "function" I haven't figured out yet? Being bored was apparently a function that worked just fine, though. And with all her friends and her sister already gone, and Twilight in her basement doing Celestia knows what with her left side, she couldn't even continue working on trying to figure out her darn sense of hearing. She could still hear things from her memory perfectly well, though. "Sweetie, we are not mending socks. Will you ever learn to be a proper lady?" It was just that they never seemed to match up with what she was "hearing" now. Even her sight seemed a little different. She had learned that there was a separate aperture that she could control when taking in visual input. She could even use that new aperture to give the exact same effect as rolling her eyes. It wasn't quite as cathartic as she had hoped. Still, without ponies in the room... I'm pretty good at controlling my hooves now. Maybe I can try walking around.