//------------------------------//
// Cacophonic 
// Story: Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl 
// by Estee 
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There were always those who believed what they wished, sometimes with that special defiance which suggested any countering evidence had been deliberately created as a means of proving those beliefs true:  after all, if they didn't have all of the correct information, then the palace wouldn't go to the effort of lying to them.  And so there were a number of ponies (and others) who simply knew that the younger could not bear the touch of Sun.  

Their beliefs as to what happened at the moment of contact tended to vary.  A rough majority felt Luna simply went into a coma at the instant that brighter light reached her, and could not be woken by any known force until Moon held sway again.  Others still put their faith in the 'catches fire' issue.  In both cases, any daylight encounters with the actual party involved were typically blamed on carefully-created illusions coating the body of a stand-in:  it was something which had the exceptionally rude trying to make physical contact with horn or wings, and it usually ended with an internally-grumbling alicorn levitating the offender towards the nearest exit.  (The captured pony would frequently spend the remainder of their increasingly limited time in her presence trying to flail their legs towards the wings, as clearly the horn was real enough.)  The younger had been the most talented illusion-caster of her generation, had taken up that title again in the modern nights, was fully aware of just how hard it was to keep a fully realistic simulation of a pony body going in realtime -- and so as much as anything else, the insult taken regarded somepony having decided it would be just that easy.

Ultimately, all such beliefs were false:  after all, it was impossible to be there for the exact moment of Moon's raising without having awoken some time before.  The younger suffered no injury from the touch of Sun -- but as with her sister's reaction to Moon, anything over a few hours served as an ever-escalating irritant.  Each was slightly weaker during the time of the other, but that was something which required witnesses who understood their true peaks and could thus tell when they were operating below that capacity.  (The harder part was being present when those peaks were actually being exerted.)  But neither was driven into magical sleep, and the elder hadn't heard a rumor about the white form simply freezing for centuries.  

(There was something in Celestia which actually liked the image for its sheer audacity:  her body trapped beneath a Moon-created thick coating of clear ice, which shattered away in all directions at the moment daylight reached her.  She suspected the originator had once seen a cockatrice victim successfully breaking out of the shell and simply taken the idea sideways.  The concept of a stone coating appearing and vanishing with Sun or Moon also struck her as a good start for some kind of fiction -- but she hadn't been sure about the rest of her idea, the creative arts had always been Luna's dominion, and in any case, it usually wasn't so much a matter of getting a castle above the clouds as just bringing the clouds that much lower.  Besides, a third of the nation's castles were made of clouds to begin with.)

Their hours overlapped:  that was just the natural cycle.  Noon (or, in the elder's case, one in the morning) was difficult to reach, and for the sisters to interact during the heart of each other's hours generally indicated either crisis or insomnia.  But at the respective beginnings and ends of those mark-assigned shifts...  they usually got to see each other.  They made an effort to take first/last meals together.  They wanted to be there for each other.  And during the earlier parts of the Return, when a major story broke, there had been an occasional desperate rush through the palace as Celestia attempted to complete a personal seek-and-destroy mission for all palace-hosted newsprint, because the publications tended to arrive shortly before dawn and the one thing the younger definitely possessed was a decidedly shorter temper.

Of course, life and sibling interactions had a certain flow.  The palace had a subscription to just about every publication (mostly gifted by the publishers, although the Tattler charged full price and occasionally tried to kick in an increase on the delivery fee), and Luna had silently doubled that number while ensuring a few were dropped off in locations which she could usually get to first.  It was no longer possible for Celestia to delay the explosion through censorship, and so some of the overlap hours following a major event were now spent in going over the articles together.

As explosion-preventing tactics went, 'talking it out' didn't have what the elder considered to be a spectacular success rate, but it did ensure she would be in protective proximity when it all went off.

"Not quite as early as expected," the younger noted from her throne as Celestia wearily trotted into the room, sunspots and little flares playing over the surface of field-carried publications.  "And that is after I advised you to gain as much rest as possible, promising to wait until you arrived, even offering to take Sun for the cycle...  while knowing you would ignore all of it.  What has kept you?"

"I checked on Cerea," the elder sighed.  "I thought it was going to just be a peek into the cell, but -- she woke up."  The white mare slowly shook her head.  "I'm not sure why.  I was doing everything I could to be quiet..."

The younger silently meditated on what usually happened when somepony who was twice the size of the average citizen attempted to practice stealth -- then discarded the fast-approaching smirk.  "A guess?"  She stood up, started to trot down the ramp.  "She scented you.  It does not break my code to tell you that her dreams include scent, sister, and do so at a level of refinement I have never seen.  And I did what I could to calm her sleep, give her a chance at true rest while staying away from her nightscape -- but the effect has a maximum duration, and scenting your presence in the hall might have been enough to wake her."  

Celestia slowly nodded:  the newspapers bobbed in time with the movement.

"No magic," the elder stated.  "But we can't dismiss biology."

The younger nodded back as she reached the bottom of the ramp, stepping off onto silver-shot marble.  "Did you speak with her?"

"Just for a minute."

"And..."  The dark mare briefly paused.  "...her condition?"

Celestia's eyes closed.

"The first thing she asked me was if there had been any suicides."

Dark fur slowly shifted across the course of a carefully regulated breath.

"While fully prepared to blame herself for every loss," Luna quietly observed.  "But I have already seen the overnight tally, Tia, and so I know that you were able to give her the true total."

Purple eyes gradually opened.  "When we both know the only number she was going to hear from either of us was 'zero'."  A little sigh.  "I'm just glad it happened to be true for Canterlot."  More slowly, "But we still have to wait on the rest of the continent, and --" a deeper breath "-- we have to watch out for somepony blaming any deaths on her.  The next sole survivor of a monster attack who decides to reunite the family in the shadowlands -- you know Wordia.  She'll imply that pony would have found a way to go on, if it wasn't for having to live in the same nation as a centaur."

"The focus of all blame for a time."  It wasn't quite a sigh.  "I seldom have the opportunity to feel grateful for the illiteracy of another.  Nightwatch has informed me that condition will not last -- but for now, we can keep her away from these words."  

Celestia carefully lowered her body, arranged limbs into false comfort as belly and barrel pressed against the floor.  Luna moved to face her, then matched the position as sunlight began to split the papers between them.

"Some of those are mine," the younger noted.

"I thought it would be easier if we each had a copy to read."

Wryly, "An uncensored copy?"

"I haven't done anything to them --"

"-- on this occasion," the younger concluded.  "So.  You did not indulge in any 'sneak previews'?  Because I chose to use some time for reviewing the police blotter, and thus had no chance to review.  Additionally, you might recall that I had promised --"

"-- I saw some of the headlines."  Celestia shrugged.  "That was inevitable just from picking them up.  But I haven't gone through the articles."

It got her a somewhat dubious nod.  "As you say."  A pause.  "You said it was the first thing she asked about.  Which queries comprised the remainder?"

"Riots.  Protests -- we've got some fresh ones arriving for the Solar shift:  I had the snowfall stepped up accordingly.  And she..."  The elder hesitated.  "...asked me for something."    

The dark eyebrows went up.  "Truly?"

"It surprised me too," Celestia admitted.  "She's been almost completely quiet there.  I've barely heard her ask for water."

"I feel," Luna slowly began, "she sees her mere presence as something more than imposition.  Nightwatch has generally needed to inform me of when a true need exists, and that from observation.  Such as observing that she has been attempting to clean all of her clothing using the restroom's water flow, because sending out laundry would be increasing our burden."  And in the tones of carefully-measured understatement, "So I am rather curious as to what she would actually request."

Celestia told her.  The dark eyebrows climbed higher.

"Interesting," the younger observed.  "And did you grant it?"

"Within twenty minutes," Celestia replied.  "She was already starting with it when I left again."  A little shrug, magnified by both the size of the white body and the burdens it was preparing to carry.  "Would you like to hear some good news?"  

Luna's ears perked.  "If only as a reminder that such can still exist?  Yes."

The elder took careful stock of her sibling's expression, waited one extra second before proceeding.  "They're home." 

And then drank in the results, because it was still so rare to see Luna truly smile.

"The briefness of that summation," the younger immediately decided, "implies the safe return of all, along with full mission success.  Correct?"

Celestia nodded.  "I only got the scroll about seven minutes before I went for the newspapers."  A small frown.  "And it flickered in.  We've spent four years waiting for someone to try using a lockdown effect directly on Spike, and it finally happened.  Getting communications from him during missions just became a lot chancier."

"Assuming the party who made the attempt spread the word, and that was not one prone to communication with those who did not share his interests," Luna pointed out.  "It is somewhat less likely for another to think of it independently.  In this case, they had rather more knowledge of how we had been operating, thanks to that --" the word was nearly spat "-- spy.  In the best case, two were aware that dragons have their own means of accessing the aether:  it may stop there for a time.  But --"

"But we'll start preparing for the worst," Celestia intercepted.  "I already sent a scroll back."

"Your request?" Luna checked.

"Basically to keep Trixie there, stand by for further instructions, and don't come to the palace," Celestia filled in.  "Twilight's going to see most of the headlines --" this triggered the briefest flash of a wry smile "-- because dealing with a librarian who puts out her own received periodicals in the morning comes with certain problems -- and without my directly telling them to stay put for a while, you know she'd be on the first train out.  But they need time to heal, Luna:  Fluttershy has a sprained wing, Pinkie cracked her left hind hoof...  the current situation doesn't justify bringing them in when they're injured.  So all I gave them was a shorthoof briefing and the order:  stay in Ponyville until we call for you."

"Your former student," Luna pointed out, words forced into a frozen steadiness, "has been developing something of an independent streak.  Can we rely upon her following that order?  Because if any would have cause to, shall we say, reexamine our evaluation of Cerea as 'harmless unless attacked'..."

The purple eyes briefly closed again.

"I know what they almost lost to Tirek," Celestia softly countered.  "I also know they haven't forgotten.  So I'm just going to hope they trust me enough to let themselves heal.  And that's not just from the mission injuries."  The sigh rustled her wings.  "For what it's worth, I'm half-expecting Fluttershy to be the one who decides she has to come, no matter what I tell her.  But...  we'll see what they do.  I already told the Guards to inform us if any of them tried to get in."

"We will begin to deal with that," the younger firmly said, "if it should actually occur.  In the meantime, we have more than enough to do."

"And speaking of starting..."

Celestia inclined her heads towards the newspapers.  The younger nodded, and folded headlines were unfurled.

"The Tattler?" was a natural inquiry.

"Bottom of the stack."  The elder sighed.  "I figured we were better off working our way down to it.  In several senses."

Luna nodded, and both siblings began to read.  It took about eight minutes before Celestia openly snickered.

"Who?" was Luna's immediate inquiry.  

"Garoun," Celestia replied.  "He described her -- verbal demonstration as 'The natural linguistic consequence of spending so much time around Guards.'"  

The snicker retriggered in the opposing form.  "Is that how Mr. Charger summarized the event?"

"And that is the only way he described it," Celestia smiled.  "Which, so far, makes him the lone pony to figure out what actually happened.  A status he'll probably maintain."  With full sincerity, "I'm going to miss him when he retires next year."  

"There have been times when that insight worked against us."

"Yes," the elder agreed.  "But reliably so, and always in neutrality..."  

More pages turned.  

"If not for his current profession," Luna eventually observed, "I would consider hiring Dejected Overcast as a consultant.  This article contains a number of rather fine secondary riot-breaking techniques, most of which would be unknown to anypony who had not read through the full police and Guard hoofbooks.  His summary is exactingly comprehensive."

"Except that we'd be hiring someone who's openly assuming they'll all eventually fail," Celestia pointed out, then switched to a fresh paper, followed quickly by an equally fresh groan.  "Oh, no..."

"Sister?"

"The Bugle put Raque's opinion column on the front page again -- and here we go.  'I encourage everypony to participate in the palace's Meet A Centaur Days!  After all, how can we truly say we accept someone unless we get the chance to say it directly to her face, while remembering at all times that the distortions of those features are hardly something the poor thing can help?  And when you let her pick up your foal, watch as she cradles it against her --'"

Celestia paused.  Winced.

Luna, who'd quickly switched to the Bugle in something approaching self-defense, had just reached the same portion.  "Ah.  So we learn that a mare who claims friends from all species can somehow have no idea what a 'bosom' is."

The elder silently nodded.

"Or how to spell it.  Admittedly, a rare word to see rendered in Equestrian, but it remains an error which was not caught or corrected by her editor."

Again.  The wince had effectively doubled.

Luna took a breath.

"A regrettable coincidence," she decided, "to have the error come so close to our term for 'speartips'."

There was a brief pause while the corrective scroll was composed and sent.

"Still not the best image," Celestia sighed once they were free to read again.  "Asking ponies to let her hold their children is taking it too far, too fast, and it'll keep a lot of hooves from approaching those sessions.  But that's Raque.  Never suggest a single hoofstep when a gallop will fail..."

Eventually, they were down to the last paper:  one copy each.  Something which had been originally placed into the stack with a fold which left the back page on full display.

"Let us compare summaries before we conclude," Luna offered, mostly as a way of putting it off a little longer.  (Celestia nodded.)  "Based on what we have read, what do you see as most likely to have granted her any degree of public chance?"

Immediately, softly, with gaze lowered, "Crying for the dead."  The huge mare softly sighed.  "They weren't expecting that."  The right wing partially unfolded, just enough to potentially tuck the white head beneath it.  "I wasn't expecting that.  It was the first thing which seems to have made some of them briefly see her as a person.  But they were the only direct witnesses, and...  it won't mean as much for the laypony.  Not when they're just reading it."

"Yes," the younger quietly agreed.  "But it was mentioned in the majority of the articles, and so perhaps there will be those who think about the words somewhat more deeply."  Full constellations dimmed within the mane.  "As a monster is that which cannot care..."

Both heads dipped, and the sisters took the moment they needed to put the memories away.

"Tentative allies, here and there," Luna decided.  "None but those on Ms. Marshdew's level who fully, almost mindlessly claim to welcome her simply because we had decided to do so, but a number willing to at least watch and wait."  Dryly, "I suspect most of those were created by her unexpected linguistic talents."

"But there's a price to pay for that," the elder observed.

"One she had paid on the day of her birth," the younger replied.  "Not knowing that the one collecting that toll would ever come into her sight.  She would have paid that price had she said nothing at all, even if she had agreed with everything the Tattler's readership might ever desire..."

There was an odd echo within the words, and it brought the elder back to the first time something like them had been said.

"Because for those who hate," Celestia quoted, "there's never such a thing as 'enough surrender'."

Luna silently nodded.

"And there is always one more thing to take," the younger quietly finished.  "So.  Knowing that the only thing we will regret more than reading what Wordia Spinner has written is already having guessed the majority of what it might say..."

Light and dark coronas reluctantly flared.  The paper flipped, and each briefly regarded the ink stain which was soaking into their respective portion of the marble floor because it was easier than looking at the words.

"Another front page opinion column," Celestia made herself say.  "But we expected that."

"Facts buried within," Luna added.  "Or rather, facts simply buried.  There should be no issues in identifying the murderer."

They read.  It took a while.  The author's sentences were something of an acquired taste and for those who lacked a predilection for such verbal cuisine, the results kept trying to come back up.

"'Demonstrating a vulgarity of mind to equal the monstrosity of her body'," Celestia slowly quoted.  

"'possessing every possible kind of physical deformity -- something which must not be allowed to distract from the warping of mental and moral'," Luna picked out.

"'Openly mourning the imprisonment of the one who caused so many deaths...'"

"An opinion column," Luna starkly said.

Darkness coated the white mare's voice.  "The word 'propaganda' was taken.  Just keep going."

They forced themselves to continue, syllables soaking acid into their eyes.

"I could wish for more research," the elder said.  "Three newspapers remembered the historical precedent of dropping charges incurred during first contacts.  Something which was done for ponies a few times, because it's hard to meet a new species without stepping on a cultural taboo."

"While she implies that we only did so because we are frightened of 'the centaur'," Luna noted.  "Even more so than we were of Tirek.  Afraid to imprison her.  Afraid to fight.  Afraid to truly deal with her at all, and so when the thrones have failed, such should be the province of citizens..."

"With that last not being directly stated," Celestia reluctantly decided.  "Expertly implied.  In a way which verbally avoids collecting any blame for what her readers might do."

"I have never said that she was not expert in her craft," Luna declared.  "It is simply that very few care to watch somepony sculpt in manure."

More sentences went by.

"Remember that first contact where they insisted they were the only true sapients?"

"Yes.  Prance still exists."  

They mutually moved to the next paragraph.

"Fear."

"More fear."

"Terror."

"Grotesquerie."

"Nightmare -- sorry..."

"Do not be.  The actions of nightmare is what she meant to imply.  Although having this as its intent would have meant a degree of sharing which it never would have been able to comprehend."

"Have you found any mention of her name?"

"Not a one.  Ms. Spinner seems to feel that 'centaur' suffices.  After all, to grant the dignity of a name is not an honor one generally assigns to monsters..."

They finished.

"So barring a rather spectacular reaction from one of the other nations," Luna softly concluded as the final stars in her tail nearly winked out in concert with the appearance of the terminal period, "we have met the enemy."

"And they," Celestia wearily observed as a body exhausted in more ways than the physical allowed a heavy head to dip onto cool marble, "are us."