Extract from the diary of Star Swirl the Bearded (used with debatable permission):
The transportation infrastructure of Equestria has advanced by leaps and bounds, even beyond what should be expected over more than a thousand years of absence. Travel from one side of the country to the other can be done in mere days without the aid of magic, not months with that aid (pegasi notwithstanding). I remain as astonished by it now as I was all those months ago when I first left limbo. And to think that ponies treat this with the same casual nonchalance of baked bread!
And since I still get the feeling every now and then: HOLY CRAP. TRAINS. How in the heavens can ponies be around them without panicking? They are gargantuan for their speed and make the most unsettling hissing noises. They tremble most disturbingly whenever they move, and I cannot shake the feeling that the engine is mere seconds away from rattling itself to pieces. Each and every thing about them SHOULD NOT WORK. And yet it does.
Most unfortunately, trains are the primary method of long-distance transportation in these days. They are both fast and alluringly cheap. I doubt I shall ever take them myself to any great extent; the potential danger is too much. Besides, hoof travel was acceptable a thousand years ago and I see no reason why it should not be acceptable now. It has served me well in my travels across modern Equestria. To ride trains is to flirt with danger.
“All aboard the Deadly Deathtrap of Death Express! Of Death!” the conductor yelled.
Train stations in Equestria were all the same, it seemed. A platform, some benches, a quaint roof, a lengthy building for… whatever the station needed. Star Swirl could see that much, even though this particular station had been completely bricked in, meaning the only way off was to get on the train.
The train where the engine was bulging, the pressure in the boiler was so high. Steam was leaking from every seam (and there were a lot of seams), whistling shrilly like some chipmunk’s dirge. Spikes lined the outside of the boiler, ready to fly out at exactly the wrong moment. Even as Star Swirl watched, a plate burst off the engine and one of the spikes embedded itself in a brick. He swallowed and tentatively took a step toward the train. The engine bulged even more.
Again, he attempted to summon his magic and leave. Again, it failed. Stupid dream logic.
“Trains? Really? Still?”
Star Swirl glanced to one side. An alicorn with a body of stars was staring at him with a look of concern on her face. She wasn’t his problem, so he turned back to the train. “That doesn’t matter. It’s going to explode. I know it is. There’s too much pressure in the boiler.” A screw shot out of the engine like a rocket and whistled through the air between them.
The alicorn clapped a hoof to her mouth, failing to suppress a snicker. “For such a smart guy, you can sure be stupid. The real ones have pressure-release valves all around the boiler, and- You know what, screw it.” She pulled a pin out from behind Star Swirl’s ear and tossed it at the train.
The locomotive popped like a balloon: harmlessly and done in an instant. A cloud of steam dispersed from where the engine had been. Star Swirl released a breath and collapsed onto a bench. The train was dead, thank the heavens. “Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t mention it.” The alicorn slapped a door on the wall like a sticker. “Anyway, name’s Moondog. Mom — Luna — made me to help her with dreams and said I should introduce myself to you. I kept saying I didn’t need to, since you hadn’t any bad dreams yet, but she kept saying-”
Star Swirl was barely listening. “Can I just have my dream? This is much better, thank you.”
“…Well, okay then, sure.” Moondog saluted. “Adios, amigo.” And she was gone.
Star Swirl stared at what remained of the locomotive. They were safe, he told himself. Ponies knew how they worked, he told himself. Twilight could probably talk about them for hours, he told himself. He was being silly, he told himself. One of these days, one of these days, he would teach himself just how trains worked so he could use them to get around the country in a reasonable amount of time without exhausting himself through teleportation.
Later, though. Much, much later.
I had an odder dream than usual last night. During a most heinous nightmare, an individual that looked like an ethereal alicorn entered my dream, dispelled the cause of my distress, and introduced herself as ‘Moondog’, claiming to be a construct created by Princess Luna to assist her in her nightly duties. I was too relieved for much conversation, so she swiftly left. I had no more nightmares for the rest of the night and that particular dream yet remains in my mind with an unusual clarity, as if it truly happened.
Assuming she existed and was not merely an image my panicked mind conjured, the individual twisted dreams with a skill to rival Luna’s. Perhaps she truly was a construct; if so, I envy Luna’s abilities. Golem creation was greatly difficult in my time, yet this one not only seemed intelligent, but colloquial to the point that one might say she was truly al
oh stars above
A powerful surge of magic blasted open the doors to Luna’s bedroom, revealing Star Swirl behind. “You created life?” he yelled.
Creating life was (or at least had been) one of those things in magic you Did Not Do. Mostly because nopony knew a darn thing about it. What kind of mind would a magically-birthed intelligence have? Would it try to put itself above ponies or just become the best dang stamp collector it could? What if the latter and it learned that killing ponies somehow enabled it to collect stamps more quickly? Paranoia and caution clung to each other so tightly you couldn’t separate them, and so most ponies who were probably capable of it decided to not even try, just to be safe. And here Luna was, throwing a created being directly into ponies’ minds. Not exactly the greatest of ideas.
This being the middle of the day, Luna took the accusation with an exquisite lack of gravitas. “Many mares do, at some point in their existence,” she mumbled. She rolled over in bed and blinked owlishly at him, if that owl were supremely drunk. “Some stallions, too, if a spell goes wrong. Or right, depending on how one looks at it.”
Star Swirl marched up to Luna’s bed and tried to glare angrily at her. Given who she was, she probably didn’t even notice. “You created life.”
Luna pulled her sheets over her head. “It was an accident.”
“You created life accidentally?”
“That is remarkably common in this day and age. An experiment in automation grew in scope beyond what I anticipated. I took responsibility.”
Star Swirl ripped her sheets away; the sole reason Luna’s resentful glare didn’t vaporize him on the spot was because her eyes were too bleary to properly focus it. As it was, he still swore he felt his beautiful beard crisping. Yet he forged on. “Even if creating life weren’t banned-”
“It is not! Has not been for six hundred years!” Luna wrenched her sheets back and curled into a little pillbug-esque ball. “Those laws were overturned.”
“-do you have any idea of the damage that… construct could’ve caused?”
“The second I learned she was alive, that was my first fear. It was unfounded.” The ball wiggled as Luna adjusted her wings. “Star Swirl, as pleased as I am to see you once more, it is noon and I am tired. Or would you prefer to continue this conversation with me barging in on you at midnight?”
Had Star Swirl been wise rather than merely smart, he might’ve realized the implications of Luna hearing about creating life and still being more concerned with sleep. “If I accidentally let loose a self-aware construct on Equestria, I should hope you’d wake me up!”
“ ’Twas no accident, nor was Our daughter ‘let loose’. She is absolutely safe.” Luna poked a hoof out from her ball and angrily jabbed it in something resembling Star Swirl’s general direction. “Disturb not Our slumber any longer, O miserable stot, lest We unleash Our tireless progeny upon thee, such that she may turn thy nightly reveries to maelstroms of torment. Thy princess is in dire need of rest.”
“I simply wish to-”
“DIRE!” Luna’s horn sparked, and by the time Star Swirl had dug himself out of the castle’s garbage pile, he had decided it was in his best interests to not anger one of the Prime Movers. But maybe the other one would listen.
Star Swirl managed to catch Celestia at lunch, reading the paper and daintily devouring an apple. He cleared his throat but didn’t gain her attention. “My Princess, are you aware that-”
“Almost certainly.” Chew.
“…Are you aware that your sister-”
“Most likely.” Munch. Celestia didn’t even glance at him.
“…Specifically, that she-”
“Probably.” Chomp.
“-that she created life?”
“Yes, and my usually-niece is quite the little workaholic. I barely have any time to dote on her and annoy Luna. Even if I had the time, she wants to be the one to spoil me, not the other way around.” Celestia looked around the newspaper and smiled most punchably at Star Swirl. “I did say, ‘almost certainly’.” Wink, bite, and back behind the paper.
Star Swirl blinked. Celestia had been a mite sassy in his time, but a thousand years had apparently let it grow and allowed her to hone it to a razor’s edge. “I want to talk. With you. Now.”
“Which you’re doing. With me. Now.” Crunch. That was an incredibly crispy apple.
“You know I meant face-to- Why are you even reading the papers? You can get your news far more quickly through your officials!”
“I’m reading the comics. Raven’s an excellent aide, bless her to the highest heavens, but she has no sense of comedic timing. Now, hush. Trotterson’s finally back from his sabbatical.” Snack.
Star Swirl stared at Celestia. “Princess, I-”
Celestia clapped a hoof to her mouth and choked back laughter. “By the fates, that’s terrible,” she giggled. “That’s wonderful.”
“Are you paying me any attention?”
“Certainly.” Snap. “Everything you’ve said, I already know. You come to me, declare that Luna has created life, and say nothing more. What am I supposed to say? Of course I know she’s created life. But you haven’t given me anything else to worry about or discuss yet.”
“And you don’t think this is worthy of discussion?” Star Swirl pointed out the door. “Luna said this was an accident. Very well. What happens with her next accident? What if that one isn’t so complaisant? What if-”
Celestia sighed and folded the newspaper. Star Swirl took a step back when she looked him in the eye. “Star Swirl. Do you trust Luna?” Her voice had gained a slight weight.
“Yes, but-”
“Do you trust Luna?”
Star Swirl swallowed. “…Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“And I also trust Luna. Now, do you really think that if this construct, Moondog, were a problem, Luna would have let her continue on freely like this? Or that I would also just stand by and watch?”
Another swallow. “…No.” The fact that he could tell Luna she created life and she didn’t start panicking or asking what was wrong should’ve been a warning sign.
“So do you think it’s possible that you may simply be overreacting?”
Star Swirl nibbled on a stray beard hair. “…I admit that may be the case.”
“I can’t really blame you,” said Celestia, her voice softening. “I had a similar reaction to yours when I first learned of her. But once I took a step back, I realized that Luna had it under control and I shouldn’t have worried. Even if she still has trouble communicating important information at times.” Her wings twitched. “Send her a note saying you want to talk about Moondog and she’ll gladly do so on her own time. Until then, Twilight and some of her friends did a study on Moondog for her. If you want to read their findings, you can find a copy in the castle archives. Ask for the ‘dream pony report thing’, they’ll know what you’re talking about.” She pulled her paper back up. “Just be warned: it’s… exhausting.”
Actual written records? Perfect. Most science came down to bookkeeping. Ultimately, the main difference between Meadowbrook designing some new, valuable potion and novice alchemists looking for new ways to get plastered was that Meadowbrook’s notes were better. “Very well.” Star Swirl inclined his head to Celestia. “I could do with some reading for now. Perhaps I can finish it off before tonight.”
Celestia’s grin was far more punchable than before, if such a thing were possible. “Trust me. You won’t.” Masticate.
The archivist dropped a three-inch-thick book on Star Swirl’s desk with a THUD. “An Oneiroturgic Analysis of the Tulpa Known as Moondog,” she gasped, “by Princess Twilight Sparkle, Starlight Glimmer, and Sunburst. Part 1, Volume 1.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead.
“Part 1,” Star Swirl muttered to himself. The book had a boring cover, the academic kind meant to show mainly the title and author (authors, in this case) that assumed the reader already knew what they were looking for. Or maybe it was just cheaper; it already looked like it was straining the limits of bookbinding technology. “How many volumes make up this part?”
“Three.”
“And how many parts in the whole set?”
The archivist winced. “Twenty-four.”
“Ah.” Star Swirl flipped open to the first few pages. The table of contents was four pages long. A bit lengthy, but not too bad… until he noticed it was just the table of contents for the real table of contents. The actual table was a good thirty pages, give or take. “…This is also one of the shorter parts, isn’t it?”
“Gee, how’d you guess?” The archivist snorted. “We only have one copy of the whole thing and it still takes up two entire shelving units. Not single shelves, mind you! Whole units, floor to ceiling!”
“Can you show me where? I thought I’d be able to jump around more easily and I’d rather not bother you with getting tome after tome.”
“Absolutely, sir. If you’ll just follow me…”
I swear, this “report” is a maze in a textual form. Each section references at least five others, both before and after, with books so heavy one could use them for ballast on a ship. Roughly half of the most commonly-used terms were made up solely for this report; the glossary alone is its own section (and more closely resembles a dictionary). Each important equation requires four or five proofs to be coherent, each with numerous lemmas.
And the worst part is I cannot think of a better way to organize it. The magic that has gone into constructing this Moondog is… mind-boggling in its complexity. It has been long since magic confounded me, yet each page of these books requires multiple readthroughs to be understood. Of course, golem magic such as this was a dream back in my time (perhaps it technically remains so; Moondog is a creature of dreams, after all!) and it is not hard to gather that this is advanced magic even now. Such extensive, winding explanation is needed to keep the text merely bewildering rather than hopeless. With every paragraph, I can detect the whiff of an editor with an inky cleaver, chopping off word after needless word in a vain attempt to reach some concise, readable state. It is probably a miracle the collection is this short to begin with.
Therefore, I feel no shame in abandoning my efforts before I am one percent of the way through. The time on my hooves is not limitless! My work on that particular spell remains stymied.
In any case, I have sent Luna a letter apologizing for my earlier behavior and asking for a better time to discuss Moondog. My earlier thoughts and worries already feel quaint; besides Luna’s and Celestia’s own arguments, Moondog destroyed my nightmare within seconds on her own initiative. She seems, at the very least, friendly to our kind. (And if Friendship University had been remotely competent, I certainly would have realized that earlier.) Still, even if she is safe, that does not mean I am uninterested in learning.
Alone at his table, Star Swirl examined the menu before him, but couldn’t bring himself to think about what to order. Something was off about… everything, really. Maybe it was the way there was no ground outside the window, only a mountain range far below. Maybe it was the way there were tablecloths, but no tables. Maybe it was the way the other customers seemed to be the same three or four ponies, repeated over and over. Maybe it was the way he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to this restaurant — whatever it was named — in the first place. And those were just the immediate issues. He thought he had a pretty good idea of what was up, though.
When he reached the last menu item, his suspicions were all but confirmed.
HEART ATTACK BURGER
* * * * *
Three hay patties, six fried eggs,
nine slices of cheese, an inch of haycon,
and a syringe full of potassium chloride,
all deep-fried in butter for hours!
“She has quite the sense of humor, does she not?”
The timing was too precise for Star Swirl to be shocked when he looked up. Luna was sitting across from him in her usual regalia, her face expressionless. Star Swirl gave as good a bow as he could manage while sitting down. “One could say that,” he replied. “I suppose this counts as you barging in on me at midnight?”
Luna smiled a little. “I am afraid not. ’Tis only 11:30.”
“I could’ve done this while awake, you know.”
“Of course I know. I merely wanted to get Moondog involved as well.”
As if on cue, a starry hoof reached out from nowhere and pushed the air aside like a curtain. Moondog stepped out, clad in a waiter’s uniform. “Good evening, sir and madam,” Moondog said, bowing, “my name’s Moondog and I’ll be your reality warper for tonight.” It was hard to take her smile as anything but genuine. “What’ll it be?”
Luna rolled her eyes. “Surprise me.”
“Ehm…” Star Swirl blinked at Moondog. Was she really…? Just like that? “N-nothing for me, thank you,” he said.
“Sure thing.” Moondog saluted. “Be back in a sec.” She stepped away from the table and vanished.
His experiences in the past day had taught Star Swirl the idiocy of making snap decisions, and yet… “You brought her in to wait on us hoof and tail?”
“It was her idea. I proposed a simple talk in the collective unconscious. She insistently suggested all this…” Luna made a vague gesture around them. “…extravagance.”
The air unzipped next to the table and Moondog poked her head out. “You gotta admit, it’s a lot more fun!” And she was gone again.
Luna rolled her eyes once more. “And she also wanted to make us comfortable. I keep reminding her that she does not need to make good dreams for literally every pony she meets, and she keeps not listening.”
“As if helping ponies is a bad thing!” Space distorted into Moondog carrying two plates. She deposited the cauliflower-and-cheese dish in front of Luna, while Star Swirl got-
“What is this?” he asked, staring at the blob of… inexplicableness in front of him. It was vaguely bread-loaf-shaped, as far as he could tell, but it lacked color. Not in the “gray and monochrome” sense, but literally colorless, without even black or white. He tried to touch it, but his hoof passed right through it.
“It’s nothing!” said Moondog. “Just like you asked for!” Her grin was almost as punchable as Celestia’s had been. Luna snorted some cauliflower out of her nose.
It might’ve been nothing, but when Star Swirl attempted to carve it up with a knife, the lack of it was carved. Curiosity got the better of him and he ate it. It tasted like nothing. Which was a bit spicier than he was expecting.
“So now what?” Moondog sat down at the table without needing a chair. “This is your show, Mom, I’m just here ’cause you asked me to be.”
Luna turned to Star Swirl. “Well? What did you wish to discuss?”
Star Swirl looked back and forth between Luna and Moondog. While the situation wasn’t unwelcome, it wasn’t what he’d planned on. Maybe- “Could I speak with each of you individually? It would be more personal.”
“Certainly,” said Luna. She glanced at Moondog. “If-”
“Yep, I’m fine with it.” Moondog sprang from her lack of chair. “You go first and I’ll manage the dream realm until you’re done. Any particular spot you want me to start on?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Alrighty. Just say the word and I’ll be back for whatever you need.” Moondog puffed her chest out and saluted. “Adios, madre y amigo.” She disintegrated into a sparkling haze.
Luna turned her attention to Star Swirl, but said nothing. He cleared his throat and said, “My Princess, I deeply apologize for this morning, both what I said and my actions. The… episode with Stygian should have reminded me that I can be hasty to jump to conclusions and slow to discard preconceived notions. Thankfully, this situation was not quite so dire.”
“Just like that?” Luna’s voice was slightly amused.
“I had a day to think and Celestia was very persuasive. I imagine you would be more so if you had been awake.”
“Very good.” Luna inclined her head. “You are forgiven.” She devoured a head of cauliflower and licked the cheese from her lips. Pushing the still-full plate towards Star Swirl, she asked, “Would you like some? It cannot go to your thighs.”
Some small part of Star Swirl registered that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted something in a dream before tonight. Time for a learning experience. He stabbed the cauliflower and chewed; it was nearly indistinguishable from the real thing, from the somewhat-bland taste of the cauliflower to the richness of the cheese. “Do you do this often?” he asked, looking around. “Simply make yourself a relaxing night out?”
Luna snorted. “Of course not. Moondog handled most of it, by her own volition. Were I to do this on my own, I would not merely be the customer, I would also be the waiter. And the cooks. And the chef. And the sommelier. And the architect. And the interior decorator. And the janitor. And… you follow. Hardly relaxing. On top of all of that, my meals leave something to be desired.”
She absently held up a hoof at some unseen waiter. The air unfolded into a wine bottle, which poured out a wine glass and filled that glass with wine. Once Luna drew her hoof away, the bottle vanished. It reappeared next to Star Swirl and poured him a glass as well.
“She always gets taste better than I,” mused Luna. She swirled the wine around in her flute, staring at it. “I cannot imagine how. I was unaware she was even capable of tasting.” She took a drink. “Try it. And be honest about the taste; I know ’tis… lackluster.”
Star Swirl looked dubiously at his glass, then braced himself and took a sip. The wine wasn’t bad, but it was a little stale and lacked richness. “It’s acceptable,” he said. “It tastes like it was taken from the cellar a decade early, but it could be worse.”
Luna’s face was impassive. “It could certainly be better, too.” Somewhere, a bell pealed — a peal in which Star Swirl swore he heard words of some kind — and a moment later, a hole opened up in the space above them. In the space of a second, Moondog reached down from the hole, yoinked their glasses away, reverse-yoinked identical glasses with identical wine into their places, and closed up the hole behind her. Luna didn’t bat an eye, but instead took a drink. A much longer drink than she had with her own wine.
When Star Swirl tried his, there was no contest. The wine was rich but not too rich, fruity but not too fruity, relaxing but not too relaxing, with an elusive aftertaste he couldn’t describe, the taste equivalent of seeing something out of the corner of his eye. It was among the best wines he’d tasted.
When Luna put her glass down, she was smiling with pride. “Exquisite, isn’t it? She has never even had wine, and I thank the fates for that.” She chuckled. “Still, she has much to learn. She can be a bit blunt in her methods and it seems she only pays attention to the psychology of dreams when I remind her to.”
“But she-” Star Swirl changed his tack at the last second; Luna would know full well what he was trying to ask and, if anything, dancing around the issue would only leave her peeved. “She is capable of learning, yes?”
“Oh, most certainly. If you had seen her barely a month after her creation, you would not even consider the question. She…” Luna paused and her wings twitched, but she smiled a little. Star Swirl recognized this, although it’d been ages since he’d seen it; she was gleefully embarrassed. “Do you remember how, shortly after I was appointed Steward of the Night, I kept playing with the moon’s phases?”
Star Swirl didn’t even try to contain his laughter. “How could I forget? You nearly drove the selenologists to drink!”
“Moondog was like that. She knew the value of good dreams, but she did not truly comprehend it, so the dreams she made were often… overblown. Grandiose. Spectacular to look at, but not as useful in calming the mind as I would have liked. But while she certainly still has moments of flamboyance, she now either limits them to easily-missed touches-” Luna held up the menu. “-or ensures they have a genuine purpose. She truly grasps the importance of her work now far more than she once did. In the coming years, I have no doubt she will improve even further.”
Luna picked up her wineglass again and stared into it, her eyes growing distant. “I am… I am very proud of her. The ways she’s grown, the things she’s done, the way she’s always there if I require extra help…” She blinked a few times. “She was initially a mistake I decided to own up to. Now, I truly do think of her as my daughter.” She blinked again, rubbed her eyes, and took a hasty drink.
“You never seemed the motherly type to me,” said Star Swirl. Luna was certainly gentle and caring when she needed to be — she couldn’t manage dreams without being so — but her default setting had always been a little aggressive.
“Nor to myself, until the day Moondog was born. Fortunately, we skipped over the problem phases.” Luna pulled her plate back and gobbled down another head of cheesy cauliflower. Once she’d swallowed, she said, “If you have no more questions, I think it is a fine time for Moondog and I to change places.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like that very much, yes.”
Luna got up from her chair. “Very well. I shall send for her. May your sleep be deep.” A door opened up in the air. Luna looked ready to step through it, only to turn around and swipe her cauliflower right before she left.
Once the door was gone, Star Swirl was left alone, sitting in a non-existent restaurant that, if he paid attention, seemed to be tilting slightly. The other ponies were running through the motions of talking, even though he couldn’t hear them beyond a vague background murmur. Moondog liked verisimilitude, it seemed.
The flame of the candle at his table abruptly turned purple, as did the smoke it cast. The white tendrils from candles at the other tables whipped around, gathering in an aisle across from Star Swirl. They twisted together, coalescing into strands of fine silk and twining into a magnificent dress wrapped around an invisible pony walking to the table. Half a moment later, the smoke from Star Swirl’s candle wiggled into a spiral and spun towards the dress. It moved through the empty space inside the dress, leaving behind traces of an alicorn’s body behind. As the smoke puffed away, more and more of it filled in the “outline”. By the time the figure had taken a seat opposite Star Swirl, she was a very solid alicorn in a regal white dress. It couldn’t have taken more than six seconds.
Moondog cleared her throat. “Whaddya think?” she asked. “Good entrance? Bad?”
“…It was perhaps a bit over-the-top,” said Star Swirl.
“Aww.” Her mane wilted.
“You could simply enter and exit the same way Luna does or you had done before.”
“Yeah, but that’s nowhere near as fun, is it?” Moondog said with a grin. “Anyway, you wanna start over? Go through the introductions again, for clean slate’s sake?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Silence fell. Pony and automaton looked at each other. It was strange, Star Swirl thought, that this… person wasn’t even meant to be seen and could take any form she chose, and yet had a pony as her “default” — and a highly generic pony, at that. If you went a bit farther and took her personality into account, Star Swirl was surprised she looked even remotely physically possible. In its own way, that said a lot about her.
Eventually, Moondog chuckled. “You can ask me questions, you know,” she said casually. She leaned back, one leg draped over the back of the chair. “Remember, Mom dragged me here, so I dunno what I’m going to say.”
“I’m not sure, either,” said Star Swirl. “You’re the first construct I’ve met that has been able to talk back.”
The floodgates opened. He’d been so concerned about the problems during the day that he had never considered the benefits. Yet here he had the first known self-aware arcane construct ever, one who was ready, willing, and able to help him. Star Swirl’s mind started buzzing like a hive as questions jockeyed for position. He settled on, “What was your childhood like? Or your first days?” One of the precarious parts of making self-aware constructs had always been making sure the resulting mind wouldn’t go rogue and turn homicidal, and the one sitting in front of him seemed perfectly safe.
Moondog went silent. And stayed silent. Sitting up straight again, she stared at the candle flickering between them. Had that been too much, too fast? As Moondog kept not answering, Star Swirl began squirming in his seat. “I… apologize,” he said, “if I-”
“No, nothing like that. I’m just trying to think of how to describe it. It’s…” Moondog shook her head. “Confusing. I knew from the beginning that I was made, if that’s what you’re looking for. That was one of the first things Mom taught me. I… I became…” She bit her lip. “…cognizant or self-aware or whatever when I was… about three weeks old. I can remember things before then, but… it’s like hearing of things you did as a baby that you can’t remember. There’s a weird disconnect between knowing the thing and experiencing it.”
“How did you… learn in those first days?”
“Technically, Mom beamed the stuff I needed to know right into my brain.” Moondog stuffed a hoof down an ear. “Before I ‘woke up’, I didn’t really know anything any more than a book knows what’s written in it or a spell knows its purpose. After I woke up, it was just there. Sorry I can’t be more detailed.”
“Really?” Star Swirl leaned forward slightly. “Fascinating.”
Memory had always interested Star Swirl, even outside of magic. Why was so little memory from childhood stored, for example? He’d always assumed it was one of those things that the future would understand. Then he went to the future and they understood far less than he had hoped, the gits. And it seemed even a construct with possibly-perfect recall could experience… dissociation.
For that matter, how did memory influence development? (Ponies these days had at least managed to fit that into a neat little phrase: “nature vs. nurture”.) Of course, any findings in this case would be absolutely inapplicable to ponies, but at least they’d be interesting. “And do you… ever wish you could do something else? Both Luna and Celestia implied you rarely slow down.”
“No,” said Moondog. “I don’t. It’s like- I have a purpose in life, a very clear purpose in life. I’m good at it. It makes life easier for Mom. It makes me happy, it makes others happy. I’m not hurting anyone. And I like doing it.” She spread her hooves. “Really, what more do I need? Besides, do you like making spells, in spite of the work?”
“I should hope one of history’s greatest wizards enjoys making spells!”
“Do you spend a lot of time making spells?”
“…Perhaps a bit more than I should, so yes.”
“Do you like seeing ponies use your spells?”
“Obviously.”
“Swap ‘spells’ with ‘dreams’, and there you go: that’s me. Making something like this…” Moondog swept a hoof around the room. “…lets me stretch my creative muscles. Which are pretty much the only muscles I have.” She peeled back the coat on one of her legs, exposing nebulaic structures inside that looked nothing like muscles. “See?”
“They are certainly well-exercised.” For the first time, Star Swirl examined the restaurant. It was astonishingly detailed and richly colored. In real life, this restaurant would’ve been very much a high-class establishment. Then he glanced out the window, at the mountains beyond. “The lack of ground is a bit much, though.”
Moondog frowned. “The lack of ground?” She followed his gaze. “No, the ground’s right there. See it?”
“Yes, and it is far below where it should be.”
Moondog tilted her head. “We’re- in- It’s called an airship, dude. Look it up.”
“An… airship?” Star Swirl remembered the word being used, but he didn’t have any image to attach it to. Surely they couldn’t mean-
“You haven’t seen- No, this one you need to find out for yourself. It’ll be cooler that way.”
“I… see.” Star Swirl recognized that tone (mostly from himself, annoyingly enough); he wasn’t going to get any more information about airships from Moondog. But when too many further questions to pick just one materialized, he said, “I’m not keeping you, am I?”
“Weeellllll…” Moondog wiggled a hoof noncommittally. “Not really. I technically have work, but Mom knows I’m talking with you, so I can stay longer if you need me to.”
“I…” Question after question ran through Star Swirl’s head, begging him to ask it. He’d be perfectly content to sit here and quiz Moondog all night. But then he remembered last night, the way Moondog had literally popped his nightmare like a balloon. He couldn’t keep Moondog from doing the same for others, could he? (Well, okay, he could. He absolutely could. But he shouldn’t.) “I shouldn’t keep you from your duties. May we pick this up some other night? Say, two days from now.” If nothing else, it’d let him organize his questions a bit more.
“Oh, definitely. Two nights is fine. See you then. Feel free to order something before this dream falls apart, by the way.” Moondog clapped her hooves twice and a waiter appeared next to them, notepad at the ready.
“But seriously, try something.” Moondog began to unravel like she was a mummy’s wrappings being pulled away. “I put a lot of work into this and I’d hate for it to go unused.” The last of her head was yanked away, but her mouth remained floating in the air. “Taste is harder than you think.” Moondog smiled in a way that probably would’ve been friendlier if there’d been anything more than a smile, then vanished in a puff of purple smoke.
Star Swirl looked at the waiter, at the menu. If Moondog wanted to indulge him, then he might as well indulge. He flipped over to the dessert side. After a moment of thought, he said, “Beg pardon, could I get a Death by Chocolate? As literal as possible, if you please.”
“CALLED IT!” Moondog screamed from the air.
I thought Moondog was kidding when she said the lack of ground wasn’t her creation. I was wrong.
HOLY CRAP. AIRSHIPS. WHAT THE DEUCE.