//------------------------------// // Lurid // Story: Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl // by Estee //------------------------------// She had been sent back through the doors, put out of sight while those within the courtyard were dried, warmed, and given a second chance to brace themselves for her presence. Royalty had softly debated that for a moment, considering whether keeping her there the whole time would give the crowd that much more opportunity to become accustomed -- but they had also felt it was something which would keep the previous base state from fully returning, and so the temporary banishment had occurred. Waiting again, with her body away from the moonlight. She was trying to tell herself that helped, but... the first exposure had already taken place. It took effort not to clench her hands, her hooves kept trying to canter, she wanted to run and she wanted to gallop and when she thought about the possibility of spending a lifetime in watching herds either flee from her or move in for the kill, she almost wanted to hit something. But she was about to meet them, at least if the same thing didn't happen again. She had to retain control, because her limited direct experience with being the subject of human media had suggested what would take place if the press conference were to be postponed. The newspapers would only have a single topic for their articles: the panic. She had appeared, they had run, and then she had been hastily concealed once again. Days of paragraphs which discussed nothing more than the possibility of seeing that recur every time a pony spotted her, with no soaking clouds prepared to shock her victims back to sanity. It had to be tonight. And that meant she had to hang on, retain full control, act as nothing more than a fully rational being, because it wasn't as if anything could be done about the moon. She suspected the guards around her knew something was wrong: it wasn't as if she was holding back every last physical sign, especially as those were a relatively safe place to channel what was happening inside. They probably didn't know how to interpret flushed skin. But for the rest of it... she felt they'd decided that witnessing the mass panic had shaken her, and there was some truth to that. It just wasn't the whole of it. It had been, if looked at from a strictly rational viewpoint, fairly educational. Especially the part where a few among the crowd had potentially, instinctively decided that the best preparation for fleeing was through dumping all unnecessary weight. The horses of her home couldn't vomit, and so some forms of rather basic illness had the potential to be fatal. Cerea could, although she had wondered if the sensation was more wrenching for centaurs. And as it turned out, so could ponies. She hadn't been expecting that. Go figure. The left-side door opened again. "We resume," Princess Luna told her, carefully stepping inside. "There are... somewhat fewer to face now. A number came to the conclusion that they could not be in the Courtyard without succumbing a second time, and so they departed accordingly." "I still don't know where Tombstone wound up," the white mare sighed. "He chose to teleport out," the other Princess stated. "Without true thought. That meant his destination would have likely been whatever he subconsciously saw as the place of greatest safety. If that was within his range, then that is where he appeared. And as he has not returned, the first assumption is that he chose to remain there." "Most dams," Princess Celestia wearily indicated, "rearrange the colt's bedroom after the stallion moves out." "In which case, neither of us knows where he once lived and his recoiled form had a chance to land upon a mattress." The dark mare's exasperation was expressing itself as twitching flight feathers and flaring stars. "Cerea, are you prepared?" "...yes," was the most she could manage. "Then here we go," Princess Celestia told her, already moving back into that flanking position. "Again. Stay with us..." More words drifted up from behind Cerea. The disc took its time about stuttering through the overlapping terms before settling upon one which it seemed to feel its wearer would comprehend, and so the girl inadvertently learned that the ponies might have some form of cinema. There really didn't seem to be any other reason for the half-muttered overheard comment (something which Acrolith had probably made to herself) to have been rendered as "Take two..." Princess Luna was on her right, the white mare at the left, and both kept pace as Cerea forced her legs to trot forward. Back into courtyard, moonlight, and the miasma of terror. There was something less of that last now, at least when compared to what had been present at the moment of her retreat. Part of that was because the first scents had dissipated with time, and there was also a lower population present to create new ones. It meant that what was present didn't threaten to overwhelm the olfactory world, at least at that moment of first (second) contact, and so she gained the opportunity to look around a little more. The opalescent paving stones shimmered in the moonlight. Some of the benches were slightly out of alignment: hastily pushed back upright after the herd's attempted departure had knocked them over. There were two more of the copper grates, and a few ponies were staying close to the heat. It was a little warmer overall -- but the storm continued to swirl outside, rendering the courtyard into a vacuum within a world of white. She could still hear the rhythmic sounds which came from the chanting of distant protesters, but the disc failed to render those faint noises into words. Sight found the original gaps in the olfactory world before scent itself did: a natural survey of the crowd (now down to less than fifty) spotted the griffon again, then a well-groomed yak who was more than a little undersized when compared to what Cerea considered to be the real thing, and finally stopped with the donkey. Vision told her more than scent did, even under the full moon. Because at the moment she reached into the olfactory realm, Cerea hit a wall. Most of the ponies in front of her could be scented, and those odors changed in the way she'd been expecting: the surge into fresh fear, complete with harshened breathing and self-lashing tails. But at the far right of the group, odor stopped, and did so at the place where the fur of those waiting rippled, shifting straight up -- -- three of the ponies broke. Two stallions, one mare, and all on the blocked side of the wind wall. Rushed for the aisle, and galloped out into the night. The remainder shivered, shook -- then slowly refocused on Cerea. Evaluating her through the invisible cloud which saturated the air, and too many of their expressions were unreadable. The Princesses silently watched the departure of the trio, then led Cerea up a small ramp to a minor stone dais, one which rested about eighty feet away from the palace doors. Nightwatch accompanied the procession, staying at the ordered distance. The few ponies who'd been waiting on the dais itself shuffled a bit: the doctors went towards the left, while Crossing Guard silently shifted right. Cerea reached the forward edge, her forehooves stopping just behind the little elevated rim: something which didn't quite reach her ankles. The crowd stared at her, and there was a moment when she was almost grateful for that because it was still a crowd. Some trembled. Others were locked into something closer to a faint vibration. And there were those she recognized from the pictures, along with one mare whom -- Princess Celestia took a deep breath. "Thank you for staying," she gently told those who remained. "I know it's not always easy to meet the demands of your profession. Not when your marks ask you to be present at events which others would flee from, so that you can tell them what had happened at the last. And that's what we're asking you to do now. To remain, and to report events to those who could not be here." Purple eyes looked to the right. (It was possible to recognize the brief moment of shock when they found a vertical break in the sight line.) The other mare took the cue. "I say the following," Princess Luna continued, "for the benefit of our guest. We have representatives present from both multiple publications and nations. There are also those here on behalf of --" and Cerea felt the temperature dip "-- what shall be described as 'special interest groups,' who insisted that they be granted a chance at presence. After a rather spectacular display of claiming what they perceived as their rights, it was decided to let them enter the Courtyard." The dark eyes made a rather pointed survey of the area. "Following what I am hoping was the final round of departures, I believe we currently have four remaining." She wasn't always all that good with the dark mare's tones. Spotting underlayers of meaning was somewhat easier. Ponies they didn't get to brief me on. Cerea forced her tail to remain limp. "And this summary is also for her," the white mare calmly went on, the borders of that strange mane shifting slowly with each word. "Because she was waiting while we talked to you, and so she doesn't know exactly what we said." She had an idea. There had been more words in the cell, while her hair was still being braided. (She could feel the oddly-focused weight following the curve of her upper spine, and it was something else to distract her under the moonlight.) The Princesses had worked out every stage of the plan, at least for the parts they could directly control. The things they would do. The large white rib cage swelled with the pressure of an exceptionally deep breath. Feathers rustled. "You are looking at the victim of a crime," Princess Celestia told the gathering. "She stands upon the dais of her own free will, waiting to speak with you. But when it comes to her presence in this nation --" a little more softly "-- that's something she didn't choose. She was a student, studying a foreign culture. Something stole her away from that, and it brought her to us. Lost in a culture she never knew existed, something she hadn't even imagined could exist. Wrenched away from her home and everything she had ever known." The white wings spread. One of them arched over Cerea's lower back. "I would appreciate it," the larger Princess steadily continued, "if everypony here would think about that for a moment, and do so as you look at her again. To imagine that there was a moment when you were in Equestria, and that was followed by another when you didn't know where you were at all. That you had no idea where your home was, or what had removed you from it. That you were in a wild zone like none you had ever seen before, disoriented and lost and frightened." A few of the large watching eyes squinched shut, and did so a second after the wing draped itself across the top of Cerea's skirt. Something the centaur barely felt, although the multiple gasps and little shrieks from the audience reached her without issue. The dark mare cleared her throat, and the white wing folded again. "That is the state in which she spent days," Princess Luna took over. "Lost in the wild, barely able to find food -- and when she felt she had located sustenance, it nearly led to her death. The first living thing she met in our nation was a root angler --" It only took a split-second for Cerea to realize that little detail had not been in the original presentation, and it was the same moment when she heard five new little gasps break through the night. "-- at a time when she did not know they existed, much less how they kill. And yet she stands before you now, when that encounter did not serve as her sole battle. Why did she so desperately charge towards Palimyno, when at last she sighted buildings? Why did she vault the bushes? Because she felt that she had found a place where she could seek help." "But she knew nothing of us," Princess Celestia picked up the flow. "Nothing of what had happened, just a few moons ago..." The white head dipped, and the script broke at the same moment as the mare's heart. "A moment of silence," the only true horse requested. "For those who fell during his attack. And for the ones who felt there was only one way to never feel that fear again." Every head bowed. One mare did so half a beat behind the others: something Cerea only saw because she hadn't known the Princess was going to do that, and she'd needed to watch in order to know what she should do... ...there were deaths. There were suicides. The weight settled across her entire body, driven deeper by the light of the moon. There was no part of her which did not sink from sorrow, and it was followed by hatred. Loathing of an entity she had never seen. The thing for which everyone believed her to be nothing more than a distorted reflection. They took their own lives because it meant never having to face a centaur again. There are ponies out there who lost members of their families and every time they look at me... She hadn't seen a picture of the one who’d preceded her. But she knew her herd's stallions, ugly and brutish and crude, and the males of her valley merged into a single huge form, something where she barely had to aim the sword's blows because there was just so much to hit, and her inner self swung over and over and -- -- it took a moment before she recognized the sounds of movement. Another before Cerea realized she was crying. It could be seen as shameful, to show such emotion before a crowd, even with the moon offering excuse. To be so base as to simply weep. But ponies had died, everything about those deaths was now tied to her, and ponies had died... ...the Princesses were staring at her. Everyone was staring. She could feel Nightwatch's silver gaze. So close and not close enough. (Scattered throughout the crowd, beyond what she could readily see, six twitching tails began to slow.) She sniffed, because her nose ran when she cried. Brought her head up again and forced herself to face the crowd. The dark mare took a breath. "I wish to thank police captain Nightwalker Statute for her final exercise of discretion in the matter," Princess Luna stated. "A commendation is being forwarded. For without that moment of mercy, the only crime committed on that night would have been ours. The execution of an innocent, as a punishment for deeds which had never been hers." One pair of golden eyes looked away. "Your mark asks that you find the truth of events," Princess Celestia stated, and something about the words felt oddly forced. "And now that she is standing before you, the Diarchy is making a request." "You hear things we do not," the dark mare added. "Possess sources which speak only to you, or so multiple articles claim." "So if you hear anything about what might have brought her here..." the white horse softly finished, "...please tell us. Because in the end, even after you tell everypony that it's safe -- that's the help she needs most. But until that day, we have chosen to give her the chance which she has earned. The opportunity to live among us. To take the first hoofstep towards acceptance." "To become part of our nation," the dark mare concluded. "We stand before you, unafraid. We welcome her. And in the face of that -- what will your own choice be?" Royalty looked at her. And with the moonlight enhancing everything, each moment of sorrow brought into sharp relief against the frame of a lost household where the name had almost seemed to meet something, she gathered herself as best she could. Took a shallow breath, because a deep one produced too much movement in what the ponies lacked. Let her arms stay at her sides, as they probably didn't know how to interpret gestures. Spoke, and magic which had been ready for the bare whisper carried her words to everyone in the courtyard. "Prithee --" White and dark blue hind hooves simultaneously kicked her hocks. The girl swallowed. "My name is Cerea." Forcing herself to look at those in the crowd now, as much as they had to will themselves to look at her. "I... never meant to scare you. I hate that I scare you. But I can't help who I am. What I am --" I didn't know. "-- and I'll do whatever I can to make that easier, while I'm here. But I..." It was so easy to blame the moonlight for everything. The pain. The invisible wounds inflicted by every stare. The moisture on her eyes. "...I just want to go home..." The dark wing softly, subtly nudged her. She barely felt that either, although that one shriek was becoming familiar. "All right," Princess Celestia gently told them all. "We're going to get her some water. After that, we'll take questions. As this is the first time she's meeting any of you, please follow the protocol you used for your initial appearance at a press conference: before asking a question, give your full name and the publication you're representing. Those here on behalf of their groups should identify them. We'll allow followup questions if they flow from the original inquiry." "We are hoping for intelligence, politeness, and insight," Princess Luna stated. "Conduct yourselves accordingly." They didn't. "Is she pregnant?" A large white forehoof partially lifted from the dais before coming back down again. (Cerea, who had yet to witness a facehoof, had no idea what the aborted movement meant.) "Is this question meant for the Doctors Bear," the white mare queried with what felt like an almost heroic excess of patience, "or Cerea? If it's the latter, please address her directly." The pegasus rather visibly thought about it. "The doctors," the mauve stallion decided. "Because she might not know." Both unicorns immediately looked at Cerea, who managed to confine her reactions to the tiniest of head shakes. There was a certain base requirement for becoming pregnant and, outside of potentially founding a new religion, she lacked it. And when it came to the requirements for a partner -- I didn't know... "She isn't," Vanilla Bear stated on her behalf. "Oh." The stallion took another look at Cerea's upper torso. "Was she pregnant? If that's the case, how many does she usually deliver in one -- " "-- I am uncertain as to whether you wish for your readership to fear the arrival of foals," Princess Luna tightly interrupted, "or have them mourn for a parent who was torn away from her children. Regardless, given that you live in Canterlot and, through embassies and citizens alike, been exposed to a somewhat-mixed populace, I would have hoped that at a minimum, you had encountered ageládas/ --" the wire hissed "-- /female minotaurs before this. We show development only when actively nursing or preparing to do so: other species do not." The hot tide of red which had been moving towards Cerea's neck momentarily paused. They have minotaurs? It would have been a curious mix of emotions even without the moonlight: frustration, exasperation added to a touch of jealousy, and a sudden surge of pure inferiority. Even here, I'm no better than second to -- -- actually, that might not be it at all. What the ponies named as a griffon had every possible human aspect removed, and the same could easily apply here. And given the presence of a yak and donkey, until Cerea saw some proof in the form of an actual specimen, she was just going to assume they were talking about cows. "What's happening with her skin? Is she summoning some sort of power?" It was almost possible to hear royal teeth grinding against each other. "It is somewhat easier to distinguish a blush," the dark mare stated, "on those without fur." "Could we get a private photo shoot? Informational purposes only. With and without clothing. We've got some room waiting on Page Three --" The blush completed its interrupted journey. "-- and the Trottingham Solar should consider its opportunity fully wasted. Next?" The pegasus, driven back down by the force of stare and voice, made a rather poor landing. An off-white unicorn mare with a curly brown mane cleared her throat, doing so at the same time her horn's light flashed once. "Very well. Follow the format." "It would be my honor," the unicorn proudly declared from the far left edge of the gathering. (Princess Celestia's forehoof shifted again.) "Raque Marshdew, with The Palace Bugle. Hello, Cerea!" Cerea's memory brought up the picture, matched it to the mare as the memory of Nightwatch's words whispered in her ears. "She's openly pro-palace. It -- can go too far sometimes. Princess Celestia's said that if she ever accidentally burned down half the capital, Raque's first article would be about the need for land clearance. The followup would probably be the benefits of adding ash to soil. Um. But she's also kind of a... hypocrite." "How so?" "She writes about things which really open-minded ponies should do, but it doesn't mean she'll do any of them. Like when we got the butcher shop in the Heart. She encouraged ponies to eat meat for a week as a sign of tolerance, and we really can't. Not without getting sick. But when she went to a dinner with the Princess, and Anise served her what she thought was a steak..." "Hello," the girl uncertainly said, as moonlit emotions pushed and prodded from all sides. "So I just want to have this on the record," Raque brightly said. "When you were escaping from Morgan Castle. The injury you sustained in blocking the statue's fall. Was there any potential for it to be fatal? Did you take a mortal blow to save ponies?" "I'm..." She swallowed. "...I don't think so. It hurt..." It was about as much as she'd gotten to speak at any single time, and she didn't feel like she was becoming any more articulate. The surgeon's horn flashed, and the crowd's attention refocused. "She already had multiple wounds by that stage," Chocolate Bear informed the audience. "We determined minor lacerations, bruising -- surface and bone -- plus a minor muscle tear: those have healed. The statue hadn't exactly been sterilized before contact, so it's possible that it aggravated the infection." "Which would have killed her," Raque decided, "if ponies hadn't helped." "From all indications," the brown unicorn said, "yes." "So she saved ponies," Raque smiled, "and ponies, in turn, saved her. Thank you, Doctor Bear." An earth pony mare raised a foreleg: Celestia nodded to the mare, and shimmer-grey fur was lowered again. "Doric Corinthian," the new mare's oddly-accented voice stated: a pony whose picture hadn't been in the briefing sheets. "Polis Gazette." Nightwatch's hover moved subtly closer. "Um," the Guard said. "Because she doesn't know about that, maybe you should..." The grey mare nodded. "International press," she further identified herself. "From Mazein." Which registered in wire-touched ears as May-zeen, and told Cerea absolutely nothing she could use. "We haven't heard a lot about where she's from, or why it can't be reached by normal means. The Gazette recognizes that much of the world remains unexplored, and that first contact with a previously-unknown sapient species was made as recently as twenty-nine years ago. So my readers will certainly understand the idea of an uncharted land. However, given sufficient effort, exploration is both possible and, in many parts of the world, ongoing. Why the insistence on having magic send her back?" Purple eyes slowly closed, opened again. "Because there's no other way to get there," Princess Celestia replied. "I have to ask for your trust on that. We won't see anyone else from her home unless something happens, and they are incapable of reaching out to us. Exploration won't help." "How do you know, Princess?" Doric challenged. "Without having looked --" "-- it's not a matter of looking," the white mare carefully interrupted. "Magic brought Cerea here. Magic has to send her home. And without that magic, I can't even show you where her home is." "That," the columnist starkly said as her ears went back, "sounds impossible. Or like an excuse." "Until the moment she appeared," the taller Princess softly countered, "I would have told you that her arrival was impossible. My excuse is never having seen the magic before. We are trying to reverse-thaumgineer the process. The palace will call in multiple resources to do so, and we hope for the process to accelerate when the Bearers return. But nopony is going to try and send a returning spell from theory to horn in a single leap, Doric, because we know how trying to create new workings on the spot usually works out. Or rather, how it almost always doesn't. We're trying to keep her from being hurt, or finding herself somewhere worse. We need time, we need the workings -- and for now, that's all I can tell you." The grey mare's fur slowly settled back into its natural grain. "Can you update us on their mission?" "You'll know shortly after I do," weary-seeming royalty responded. "And if you find out first, please tell me." Doric nodded. The donkey got off his bench. There was initially something about him which made Cerea think of a bulldog. Then she looked at the broken roan pattern of his coat, and the thought went into reverse. Because bulldogs were ugly. They were objectively hideous, with eyes which seemed to be perpetually on the verge of watering, teeth that didn't fit in their mouths, jowls that pretty much went everywhere because the slobber had to be delivered somehow -- and from all of that hideousness came a fundamental joy. For a bulldog, the worst had already happened: they had been born as a bulldog. Everything which came after just had to be fun, and that unending optimism made them utterly endearing. The donkey's posture suggested the universe had treated his birth as the X on the map for a century-long drilling operation. "Continuing the international trend," he slowly stated as a naturally-droopy tail did its best to suggest it was only attached by a slowly-departing pin. "Dejected Overcast. Daily Downer, out of Eeyorus." Cerea silently congratulated the disk for having perfectly captured the mood. "It seems to me," the sagging voice assembled syllable by syllable, "that tonight may have served as something of a preview. Every time she goes out in public, there's going to be at least one pony who's seeing her for the first time. The palace can't have riot-breaking conditions perpetually set up over the entire city: not only would it destroy the weather schedule, but the team would quickly exhaust themselves. At some point, a simple stroll towards the Heart --" the shaggy head inclined towards Cerea "-- central shopping district, miss: wasn't sure you'd heard that yet -- could set off a reaction like this city hasn't seen since Gristle's opened. As a starting point. So my question is for the Princesses. Does the palace have a plan for having ponies acclimate to her presence and if so, does it realize that it can't convince everypony that she's safe, no matter what it does?" He sat back down. Waited. It won't be everyone. It can't ever be -- Her hooves were trying to canter again, and both hands were trying to wander behind her back. Posture began to collapse on itself, doing so at the same moment where her tail sought refuge between her hind legs. "For the latter," Princess Luna slowly said, "yes, we are aware that a perfect introduction is impossible. Should the whole of Canterlot somehow agree on a single topic, there are those who will travel into the city and encounter her with no warning. We have asked you to spread the word, and we recognize that such distribution cannot be universal. Even if -- or rather, when -- we send one-sheets into every household, we will inevitably have the one pony who never reads them, for he sees such things as the government trying to tell him what to think." A unicorn mare openly snorted. Cerea didn't look in that direction. She had looked there once, and then she had very carefully not looked again. "We will remain alert and ready to defuse any situation as best we can," the dark mare continued. "But it is the same issue which afflicts law enforcement. We do what we can to prevent -- but there will be times when we must respond." "With the first part of your question," Princess Celestia carefully assumed control, "we were thinking of hosting a series of limited exposures, similar to Open Palace nights. Allowing ponies to come and meet her in groups. There was some discussion of starting with the schools --" It took a second to isolate the scream of purest outrage, plus one more before any part of it resolved into words. "THE SCHOOLS?" "Yes," the white mare stated. "Because children can recover more quickly from trauma than adults, and are also quicker to adapt in new situations --" "YOU INTEND TO FORCE THE UNNATURAL UPON THE INNOCENT! TO MAKE THEM THINK IT'S NORMAL!" The overweight unicorn mare shook with rage, and a coat like rotted pearls shredded the moonlight. "MY ORGANIZATION WILL NEVER PERMIT --" Which was when dark energy clamped down on her jaw. "You are speaking out of turn, Mrs. Panderaghast," Princess Luna softly stated. "I am almost certain that when I release you, your next words will be to declare that I have violated your right to speak at all. I have not. I am simply enforcing the order. I have always allowed you to speak, although I do occasionally find myself questioning the number you claim to speak for. And as you do not attempt to pass for any level of journalist -- and in any case, the head of an organization which claims to promote unicorn rights cannot fly the banner of neutrality -- you are here at our sufferance. I will let you know when the time has come for you to try and make us suffer." The dark light winked out, and the high-piled mane teetered with fury. "PRINCESS CELESTIA! ARE YOU JUST GOING TO LET HER --" "-- I think," the controlled voice cut in, "you forgot whose Courtyard this is. Even with the reminder directly over your head. The dominion covering the laws which bring Cerea into our society was claimed by Princess Luna in the first nights of our nation. And in the nights following the Return, they have become hers again. I'm here to advise, fillies, gentlecolts, and sapients. No more. So if she wants to enforce decorum..." The other royal horn ignited again. Mrs. Panderaghast shut up. "I think that brings us," another unicorn mare said (and it meant Cerea had to look again at last), "to questions of law." There was something strange about that one's appearance. Cerea didn't know how to judge beauty in ponies: health was easy to spot and she could tell how much grooming had been put into someone's fur, but it didn't tell her what the little horses found attractive. But with this mare... In the most basic description, the color of the fur was blue, with tail and mane (both worn long, and falling solely to one side) white, while the eyes were red. Her horn was on the short side, narrowed quickly, and stopped when the tip started to slice air. Her grooming was decent enough, even if the fur seemed to be a little more slicked down against her form than anyone else's. And the nostrils seemed to be a little too large for the snout, as if she had been locked in perpetual inhale. Sniffing around for a story. But with the colors... each one felt as if it was somehow off, rotated a single subtle degree along the wheel in exactly the wrong direction. She had a way of sitting on the bench which stated that she might not own it, but she was fully prepared to prove that you didn't. Her lips were thin, she smiled too much, and when that mouth was smiling... It would take Cerea some time to figure out exactly what was wrong with the smile and when she finally saw it, she would wonder why any thought had been required at all. It was so obvious, when you looked at it properly. Everything about the mare was on open display at all times. You just needed the right perspective. "She hates you." "I know I surprised her in the hallway, but --" "-- no. She hates you." Starkly, "It doesn't matter what you did, or what you'll ever do. Anger sells papers. Hatred engraves the plates. She hates you. You could save her life and she'd thank you, because it would give her that much more time for hate. You were her enemy on the day you were born, and she just -- waited to meet you. The same as she's done with all of her other enemies. Including me, because I won't hate you. Anyone who doesn't hate you is wrong..." She'd stood perfectly still for a while, in the light chill of the cell. "You've met someone like that," Nightwatch had quietly said. "Yes." It was a smile where the lips were pulled back a little too far from the teeth. The smile of a predator. "Wordia Spinner," the mare declared, and got up just enough to send her forelegs into the most base mockery of a Greeting Stance to ever put Ms. Manners into an apoplectic fit. "Proudly representing the Canterlot Tattler. I have several questions, and they all share a theme: the law. So I do hope the thrones will allow me to continue along the general line for a time." Neither Princess said anything. Waiting. The reporter pretended to look at Cerea: the actual sight line went somewhere over her right shoulder. "Of course," she added, "this is our second meeting." With something which could never be merriment, "I do apologize for running out on you the first time, but I had a deadline to make. And of course, it helped to have time to prepare. So..." Cerea took a slow breath. Focused. You're still scared. But it was now a question of how the mare would use it. "As I understand it from the first part of the briefing," Wordia began, "she is being treated as an immigrant. Would that be correct?" "Correct," Princess Luna echoed. The air crackled with frost. Cerea's arm came up again. "There are certain requirements which an immigrant must meet," the reporter steadily continued. "One of the first which comes to mind is criminal record. She took some pains to escape from her cell, in spite of her obvious innocence. Why does an innocent feel the need to escape? Surely it all would have come out during the trial." "Why was an innocent attacked?" Princess Celestia softly countered. One thin eyebrow went up. "Interesting..." Wordia decided as her horn ignited: the glowing quill rose off the bench, went to the pad, and made a few notes. "I would say the sudden appearance of a centaur qualifies as a natural disturbance. Tirek, after all. I'm sure everypony understands an attack: in fact, some of the things you've said tonight suggest you can see it that way. Rather unusual for the palace, but..." A light shrug. "...I'm always happy when we're in agreement. Still, no attempt to communicate --" "-- rather difficult when one does not speak the language," Princess Luna shot back, "and loops of field are moving for the throat." "-- and didn't wait for the trial. She escaped, while causing injuries..." More notes. "Her own," the white mare stated. This was ignored. "And before that, she fought. And yet you say she's peaceful. There's an argument to be made that any degree of fighting..." The smile widened. "And of course, as Dejected pointed out, there's always the chance for something else to happen, especially when parents storm in to ask what you've been showing to their foals." Cerea's hands were clenching. Everyone could see it, she couldn't seem to make it stop... "I've been thinking about that," Wordia smiled. "But even after she's already made such a poor first -- and second -- impression... not deliberately, of course! -- I do think she deserves the chance to prove she's peaceful. Under the law. It's simply a law which doesn't exist yet. And since I have the Diarchy assembled before me, I'd like to propose it now for the Night Court's vote." "Which is?" was all Princess Luna said. "Simply this," the unicorn shrugged. "That to truly prove she is peaceful, she will never attack another. Regardless of circumstances. And doing so will see her immigrant status revoked, followed immediately by deportation. Reasonable, yes?" It was possible that just about no one heard Nightwatch's gasp, not when having it reach the benches meant traveling through a storm of sudden murmur. Cerea barely heard the reaction from the little knight, the only pony she'd told about the laws, and her fingernails bit into her palms as every muscle in her arms tightened, legs fighting the urge to charge as it began all over again -- -- cool air washed across her fur as wings flared out, and Princess Luna jumped down from the dais. The dark mare casually approached the reporter. Even, measured steps which ended directly in front of the mare, as a silver-clad left forehoof came up. "Princess Luna," the armored focus of power politely said. "In the full title, that would be Princess Of The Night, Our Lady Of The Evening, Custodian Of The Stars' Memory, The Mare Of Dream, High General Of The Second Army, She Who Watches Over --" paused. "The full recital occupies a considerable amount of time. Suffice it to say that sufficing should be said and so 'Princess Luna' is generally sufficient." The raised leg politely extended forward. "I would hope for this to be a pleasure, although I confess to certain doubts which should have no reason to exist --" "-- what," Wordia Spinner interrupted, "are you doing?" The hoof slammed down. Several columns vibrated. The nearest wall of snow slumped into the Courtyard. And the mare pulled ever so slightly back. "My apologies," the Princess softly told the unicorn. "I had thought you were somehow under the impression that we were meeting for the first time. I know you, Wordia Spinner. We have spent hours together in this Courtyard, you and I, and that has created a rather strong degree of acquaintance. Something enhanced by my habit of reading your articles on every news day, simply to become that much more familiar. There are ways in which I feel I truly know you -- and so let me make a prediction. On the record, especially as I suspect yours is among the few places where my next words will not see print." The white horse did nothing more than observe. Nightwatch managed to smooth out the disrupted hover. But there were ponies pulling back on their benches all over the courtyard. Ponies who were... ...scared... "An ambitious plan," the Princess half-whispered, with magic carrying the words to every listening ear. "It truly allows you to have everything your own way, does it not? I read your most recent article, Ms. Spinner. The one in which you coined the term which you are hoping to use again. 'Centaur panic.' The concept that those facing her would, when they attack, be acting naturally. And if she fights to defend herself, you are proven right while she is exiled. If she flees, there will be other chances, and should she simply endure... what kind of obituary have you written? Does it honor her, for observing the principle you assigned to the last? I have certain... doubts." The long white tail was starting to lash. The Princess didn't move. "We might view this as an aspect for the hypocrisy of tolerance," the dark mare stated. "The distorted view which states that to not agree with your hate proves us as the intolerant ones, because true tolerance would surely be to do nothing more than stand and take it. The hypocrisy of pacifism, perhaps? That if one is truly dedicated to peace, one will grant those who wish for their death the gift of a stationary target? Centaur panic, Ms. Spinner. A panic your writings will be designed to encourage, knowing that there is but one centaur and surely somepony on the jury will decide the fear is forever justified. You wish for a law to pass through the Night Court, and perhaps there is enough terror there to create a majority -- but I would have to sign it. How do you see that as happening? That you can create enough public pressure to persuade me?" And with the smallest of hoofsteps forward, "I faced down Discord in his prime, Wordia Spinner. What are you?" The unicorn's back left hoof went off the bench. "You wished to place yourself upon the record," Princess Luna continued as the third nova went off near the tip of the tail. "That you, and only you, had tried to present the lone reasonable solution. And from there -- negotiations? So many kicks before she can respond? No, even better --" The dark mare smiled. "-- the thing which you saw as simplest to acquire and enforce. That where the majority might truly support you, out of that same fear. A most basic request, something I would surely agree with in the name of concession and having you falsely back down..." Her horn ignited. Wordia Spinner's back legs crashed into the paving stone as the corona intensified, and dark light projected -- -- backwards, going well over Cerea's head before moving down to the doors, opening both as the light flashed three times. Multiple hoofsteps began to trot forward, emerging from the hallway. There was also something of a sliding sound, one Cerea had become familiar with in her attempt to prevent it from becoming too loud. The noise produced by hemp skidding across stone. Four ponies screamed. The griffon's wings flared out. One earth pony stallion tried to hide under his bench and wound up knocking it over: a minor domino effect echoed forward from there. And the Princess simply smiled, as Cerea's ears twisted towards that sound, fighting the urge to fully look back, to run towards what couldn't possibly be happening and claim it before royalty changed its mind... But she wound up turning. Just enough to see it, and considered that it probably hadn't made too horrible of an impression, at least not when compared to what had already happened. After all, most of them were staring too. "You wished for her," Princess Luna stated as the four-pony team dragged the net-bound sword all the way into the light, "to go unarmed." Mouths were now frantically delving into saddlebags. Light pulled out pieces, set them aside, went in again. "Because a unicorn could potentially counter a unicorn, a pegasus might try to unweave that created by another -- but what can a centaur do when attacked by magic?" The smile thinned. "Anything she wishes to. Cerea, will you pledge before the press to only use it in the defense of yourself or others?" Hope hurt. Hope was torture. Joy could be nothing more than the moonlight amplifying the faintest thread of desire. The magnified delusion of having a chance. But it was her sword. The only thing which granted her the possibility of standing against magic. And the Princess was giving it back. "...yes." "Then take up your blade," the dark mare said, doing so while the power of that gaze was still fixed on the reporter. "Now." It took some time to get it untangled from the latest nets, more to free the scabbard. The total proved sufficient for the ponies to finish at their tasks and so in the instant she turned back to face them with hilt in hand, she received a reminder that the species had gotten around to inventing photography. Dozens of flashbulbs went off. She could readily picture it (and the moonlight was making it hard to stop). She had been given a chance, and that had in turn created a Photo Opportunity. Her holding the sword was going to be the front page picture on every edition. The monster reclaiming its weapon. (She was wrong.) It would induce fear. It might incite more riots. Ponies could easily be hurt, and Cerea's second instinct, even freed from the possibility of once again living under those horrible laws, able to freely defend herself at last, was to wonder if the dark Princess had made a mistake. But she was wearing her sword. A sword which could actually do something. And Princess Luna had returned to the dais. "You had initially mentioned," the dark mare said, "that you had several questions." Her head tilted slightly to the left. "The next?" Wordia was back on her bench. The white tail was still lashing. "We were dealing with her criminal record," the unicorn finally resumed. "No charges for the riot or escape?" "None," Princess Celestia replied. "And in this mysterious place which nopony will identify? The one which may have so many more centaurs about?" "She is," a new voice stated, "by her own admission, part of an extremely small minority. And detainment only, Wordia." Red eyes blinked. "So there you are, Crossing," the reporter decided. "I was wondering what had happened to your voice. But of course, you're taking her word for it." "We'll run a full background check once we make contact with her last place of residence," replied the head of Immigration. "Of course, should we manage to do so, I think we'd benefit from the assistance of a professional. Like a reporter." The disc rendered the next noise from Nightwatch into something of a snicker. Portions of the white tail tip were beginning to fray. "Which would bring us to communication," Wordia announced. "Now of course, some would say it's perfectly natural that a new arrival wouldn't speak Equestrian. Or any other language which anypony knows. I would like to hear her native tongue at some point, simply to help identify a region --" looking past Cerea's right shoulder "-- you can speak, can't you? Without magic to organize whatever limited amount of sapience you might possess?" Her spine went tense. It did so from neck to the base of her tail, representing something of a major feat. "Yes," Cerea forced out, as moonlight beat down upon her skin. "Good... we may come back to that... and it even potentially means you could vaguely recognize that magic is the only means by which you can currently communicate. An immigrant must be capable of natural speech, and while the device you wear belongs to the nation, I'm certain the nation will at some point need it back. Or have certain concerns about seeing one of the rarest creations in Equestria ruined through clumsy contact with a sword tip." I am not clumsy. The mare hated her. It was so easy to hate the mare in return, and the moon was so bright... "So it might help your rather weak case," Wordia smiled, "if you could give us just a touch of actual language. A few syllables will do. Assuming your rather strange mouth can even --" But that was when Cerea's right hand shot up, almost wrenched at the disc while ponies watched her and the Princesses turned to look at her face (so few could look at her face), all murmurs and words became neighs and whinnies as the wire lost contact, she brought the disc down as she stared directly as Wordia and every word she'd learned rushed through her brain, but none of them sounded right because they were all apologies and requests for assistance and foal words, they were foal words and nothing among them would serve to show this mare that she wasn't just a thinking being, but one who was starting to think she'd had enough. She didn't have anything strong, not from what Nightwatch had taught her. But there was more than just the little knight -- "Hneiya hfffnastsnnnny, mffpt nas ssscemnay heeeyla!" The verbal blast hit dead-center, sent off-blue ears straight back as the mare's jaw dropped. It was the reaction Cerea had been hoping for: the inability to deny that she could learn the native tongue -- -- but then everything else happened. A series of sharp, short neighs rang through the night. Rib cages convulsed all over the courtyard. One stallion tucked his head under a shaking wing. Other ponies curled up on themselves, pushed snouts into their own fur to muffle the noise, Wordia Spinner was completely frozen, the yak had dropped to the stone and was kicking out in all directions, the Princesses were staring at Cerea with expressions which couldn't be mistaken for anything other than shock, Nightwatch was frantically flying across the minimal distance and Cerea suddenly realized that she had no idea what she'd actually said. Fingers desperately coaxed the wire to move faster and when it finally touched the tip of her ear, the raucous laughter nearly drove her off the dais. "I told you not to listen to us when it was off!" a close-hovering Nightwatch desperately whispered, words lost to all but Cerea in the midst of the mirth. "I told you! I know that was from Bulkhead, that was his accent, that was Bulkhead and you just --" "-- what did I say?" Cerea frantically breathed back. "I don't know what it means! It just sounded... authoritative..." "He says it when he comes on shift! Because he's Bulkhead, he's a senior Guard, everypony knows it's just something he says --" "-- what?" Nightwatch inhaled. "'Okay, asshole: I'll take it from here'!" Cerea's hind legs came within a heartbeat of bucking her halfway off the dais: the fore went through a massive twitch which, if allowed to express itself fully, would have put her over the crowd and down the snow-carved path at top galloping speed, never to be seen again. As it was, the braid whipped to the right, her tail came very close to knotting itself, frantically heaving breaths finally gave the bra a real test, and she became aware that neither Princess had blinked for twenty seconds. "I... I'm sorry..." She was, at least on the level of humiliation. She had reflected poorly on those who were trying to help her, and that required all sorts of apologies. But the words only reached those on the dais, because nopony else could hear them through the laughter. "Well," Princess Celestia quietly said, "I think that means she'll try to skip the full sapience test. Some do claim that the final proof of true thought is a sense of humor..." "She'll hate me," Cerea forced out. "Forever." "I believe that had been previously established," Princess Luna shrugged. "I will not argue the perception of enemy -- but I might ask you to look at the full gathering." Frantic blue eyes moved across the group. A few weren't laughing. Mrs. Panderaghast was hosting a one-second class in a new pony expression, and white-hot embarrassment burned scandalized into Cerea's memory. But the rest... "You are not her only enemy," the dark mare stated. "She is rather casual in their creation. And what happens when you establish yourself among that number?" She couldn't answer. She wouldn't let herself think of it, and so spent the entire time waiting for calm to resume in trying not to canter in place upon the stone. After a while, when it was down to a few scattered giggles and rib cramps, Princess Celestia stepped forward. "We do have other reporters who would undoubtedly like to be heard from," the white horse smiled. "And as we just lost some time, with first-edition deadlines undoubtedly approaching if this goes too deep under Moon, I'm going to limit you to one additional followup, Wordia. I'm sure we'll see the rest in your column tomorrow, and I may have a response sent to the Tattler's offices. So make it a good one." The unicorn mare glared at every occupant of the dais, tail lashing faster than ever. Princess Celestia's only response was to slip into a posture which Cerea's mind insisted on describing as 'aggressively relaxed.' "I think we've proven language capabilities," Crossing dryly added. "Although I'd hope everypony would be willing to give her some time to, let's say, expand her vocabulary --" they waited the next wave out "-- so what does that leave?" "One more?" the aggravated reporter checked. "A mere singleton," Princess Luna responded. "Quickly, if you would?" The white tail stopped moving. It did so all at once. There was a moment when it had been beating against the air in the surest sign of a pony who was something less than happy, and then it stopped at the exact moment the mask dropped away. "Employment," Wordia smiled, and sharp points made from imagination formed at the tips of her teeth. Cerea heard Crossing swallow, felt Nightwatch's wing brush against her upper back on the downbeat, saw the massive white rib cage swell... "She's not a student," the unicorn reminded them all as the lurking trap finally closed. "That's another set of forms. She's going for citizenship, if she makes it that far. That's what immigration means, doesn't it, Crossing? She'll be taking those classes, even if she empties out the classroom just by showing up. But it means she's not protected by the laws which would cover students. An immigrant isn't a guest of the palace. An immigrant needs to have a skill. A job, and to find one within two moons of entry. Most have employment waiting for them when they enter, or can prove their ability to gain it. They can certainly be out of work for a time... but it's a little hard to ask ponies to have their taxes cover someone who isn't really part of the system yet, isn't it? That just doesn't look good. Integration requires work: I seem to recall Princess Luna saying that when Gerald Gristle came in. So -- what does she do? Who does she work for?" The smile widened. "I hope I can be forgiven," Wordia added, "if I have certain natural doubts regarding her capacity to do anything involving direct contact with the public. While understanding that it's really not her fault, of course..." "-- we can skip this part for now. It's something we can't deal with yet. We'll answer this one when the time comes." Cerea now knew exactly what had been within that temporarily-dismissed section of paperwork, and all of her senses felt as if they were crashing in on each other, the entire system collapsing under the weight of unstoppable horror. No one. No one would hire her. Not when her mere presence could set off a panic at any moment. She didn't have the skills which allowed her to perform a normal job in total isolation, her attempt to fake being a food vendor at Miia's side had led to the most natural outcome: torn blouses (or rather Suu, who had been simulating their clothing, giving up completely), and there had been some talk of having her look for rulebreaking liminals -- but that was really the job of Zombina's squad and while it would have been helpful for a knight, there hadn't been time to see anything come of it. She knew how to farm, because every centaur had to help maintain the herd's food supply. But Nightwatch had told her about earth ponies. It didn't feel like there were many smithies in operation. She would need to open one herself, she didn't have money, and who would loan her the start-up cost? How was she supposed to deal with customers? Would anyone ever enter a shop she operated, or would she just trot up one day to find the entire thing had been set ablaze? ...where am I supposed to live? Who would rent to me? Where could I even buy food? In the herd, all of those questions had been answered. Within the human nations, the same laws which had prevented self-defense insisted that she not be completely closed out (although a lot of people had tried to work within the loopholes, and she had reluctantly admitted that the all-you-can-eat places might have a point). In the land of ponies, there was a real, unstoppable, unsolvable problem. The Princesses had tried to welcome her into their world. A world which had no place for a centaur. Her head was spinning, reason spiraling into fragments under the pressure of realization and moonlight. Both arms began to come up, hands clutching at her hair as her breathing quickened, the panic attack was coming, it was going to happen in front of everyone because it had all failed, it never could have worked and it was disintegrating where everyone could see, she was going to come apart -- -- her arms were tingling. She looked down, just as the coolness of the dark light gently pushed them back against her sides. "A fair question," the entity on her right allowed. "Where should she be employed? A sapient capable of learning quickly, adapting to new situations with blazing speed? Who rushes towards danger in the name of protecting others, wielding a weapon which gives her a power nopony possesses?" The Princess smiled, and did what the best of royalty had arguably been created for. She spoke words which changed the world. "She is employed by the palace," Princess Luna told them all. "As the newest member of the Royal Guard."