//------------------------------// // Machine Teaching II: Oneiric Boogaloo // Story: How the Tantabus Parses Sleep // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// Twilight took a deep breath in. She let it out slowly. She reached into the fabric of her dream and plucked at a few threads. Just like she’d intended, the castle’s library appeared around her, tables and chairs sliding into existence as shelves unfolded from nothing. She could smell the library’s appearance, literally — as more and more of the library existed, Twilight picked up on more and more of that wonderful unread book smell. (Starlight claimed it didn’t exist, but Spike knew what she was talking about.) Twilight closed her eyes and an armchair plumped up around her. She wiggled into the cushions, sighing happily. A tiny little something sparked in front of her and Twilight could (somehow) tell that the “something” was “someone”. She didn’t open her eyes. “Luna or Moondog?” “Ooooo, nice. You’re sharp,” said Luna’s voice. “Moondog.” “…Too sharp,” grumbled Moondog’s voice. Twilight opened her eyes. Across from her, Moondog was lounging across Luna’s throne like it was an easy chair, wearing Luna’s two-sizes-too-large regalia. “Luna doesn’t go, ‘ooooo’,” said Twilight. “That made it pretty obvious.” Moondog facehooved. “Right. I knew I was forgetting something.” She looked around the library. “You know, this is pretty good.” “Thanks. I’ve been trying to get better at dream magic, and making something I already know seemed like a good place to start. I tried making a brand new library from scratch, but that… didn’t go so well.” Twilight shivered. “All those erasers…” “You know dream-managing’s gonna be my thing when Mom retires, right?” Moondog twirled the crown around with her mane. “Yes! Of course. I just want to keep expanding my horizons, but I don’t have a lot of horizons available at the moment. Dream magic’s really all I have time for right now.” “Alright.” Moondog kicked the shoes off and tossed the crown and peytral away. “If you ever want any help, I’m around.” She chucked the throne into a corner, staying sprawled in the air. “So what’re you here for?” “You know how you and I kind of talked about me subbing for a day after Ocellus suggested it? Well, her saving Equestria from Cozy Glow is kind of a big deal, so…” Moondog took a deep breath. “I’m willing to teach for a day.” It was only with great effort that Twilight managed to keep herself from exploding with glee. “You know you don’t need to, right?” she said as calmly as she could. “Yeah, but I think Ocellus has earned it, and I might need to go into the real world more once Mom retires. Practice.” Twilight discarded that effort and pounced. “Oh Celestia this is great!” she squealed, hugging Moondog tighter than a stress toy. “I’d hoped you would at some point! I just didn’t think right now! Illusion is such a great teaching aid and with somepony — somebody, sorry — as good as you using it, we can-” “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Twilight nearly collapsed as Moondog evaporated out of her grasp. “I know how good I can be, thank you.” Moondog reformed on the now-vacant chair. “So do you have anything you want me to teach?” “Like a specific topic?” Twilight asked as she turned around. She frowned, tapped her chin, and fell backwards into a duplicate of the first chair. “Not really. I usually leave that up to the teachers, since they know what they’re good at. I guess I’d suggest history, since you did so well with Gallus that one time, but that’s really up to you. Do you want some time to think about it?” “If I’m going to choose, then yeah.” Moondog stretched herself out over the sides of the chair. “I don’t want to do something anybody else could do. I’ll let you know when I decide and we can go from there.” “Right.” Twilight gave her cushions a little more stuffing. (She was allowed to indulge!) “And, as much as I want you to, you don’t have to teach if you don’t think you can do it justice.” “I’ll keep that in mind, but I still wanna try.” Moondog stroked her chin and stared at the ceiling. “It’s just… If I sub, it’s gotta be something special.” “Did you hear?” Ocellus near-squealed. “Moondog is our guest speaker today and she’s teaching econ!” “What’s econ?” asked Smolder. “Economics.” Smolder tilted her head. “Uh…” “Studying the buying and selling of stuff.” “Oh. That. The Dragonlands don’t really have that.” “I know, right? How could you even export lava? Although obsidian would be pretty neat…” The first bell for the day hadn’t rang yet, so the entire school was still in that opening hours funk of not-quite liveliness as the faculty and students made their way to their first classes. Smolder and Ocellus were ambling their way from the cafeteria, Smolder still sucking on a sapphire and rather dexterously still managing to speak clearly. She turned the gem over in her mouth, licked a facet clean, and asked, “Who are they, again?” “I told you, it’s Moondog! This is great, she-” “Wait.” Smolder flared a wing to bring Ocellus to a stop. “Moondog? That… dream thingy Headmare Twilight studied last year? That helped you and Gallus study for that one test? That Moondog?” “I know! This is so exciting!” Ocellus’s excited buzzing was so fast and so loud it could supply the sounds for an entire swarm of bees. “I’d asked if she’d ever sub in the future but she said no but then we saved Equestria so she-” “But…” Smolder frowned at nothing in particular as her mind ran through different options. “If she’s… how can… since…” She pointed every which way as she attempted to sort it all out. “Because magic.” “Is ‘because magic’ Ponish slang for ‘I don’t have a freaking clue but I don’t wanna admit it’?” “Probably.” Ocellus wiggled a hoof noncommittally as they started walking again. “And if it isn’t, it really should be. But I tried understanding! It’s just that most of the terms flew over my head and-” Ocellus was on a roll, so Smolder smiled and nodded as she pretended to listen. Because, well, dreams and the real world didn’t mix like that. Right? If they did, she’d hear about it more. Ocellus probably just misheard the name or something and got overexcited, like that time she got “marshmallow” and “Mellow Marsh” confused. There was no way Moondog could come out here. Smolder pushed open the classroom door. “Hi!” said the smiling alicorn-shaped hole in space sitting at the teacher’s desk. “Just take a seat and wait for class to begin.” She gestured to the other desks. “Hey, Ocellus. Save ninety percent of your questions for after class, okay?” Smolder was jarred out of her mini-coma of shock by Ocellus teakettling in her ear. “Doesn’t she look awesome?” Ocellus pushed Smolder to a seat at the front of the room. For a moment, Smolder couldn’t look away from Moondog. Their sub was a sapient dream hole. One that looked like a princess pony, no less. She had the weird wavy mane and everything. And she was sitting at the desk like existing in the wrong universe was no big deal. It was… huh? Just… how? She didn’t know pony magic all that well — or at all, really — but- That train of thought got derailed by Ocellus gushing so fast Smolder wondered when she’d stop to breathe. “-into Neighpoleon! The real deal! And I bet she even got the voice right but I can’t just ask Celestia about it and I don’t know her address anyway so-” By the time Ocellus got to the part where she basically shanghayed Princess Luna’s sort-of daughter into acting out plays for her, Smolder decided to just roll with it. This was Ponyville, after all. As more students filed into the room, Moondog began looking more and more nervous. By the time the bell rang to begin class, Smolder was sure that she’d shrunk an inch or two and that her mane wasn’t quite as floaty. “Lotta students,” she quietly squeaked. She blinked, shook her head, and cleared her throat. “Um. Hello. Class. My name is Moondog and, and I’ll be your teacher for, um, for today.” A vague murmur of greeting, then silence. Somebody coughed. And for some reason, that seemed to give Moondog more confidence. She smiled and slapped her hooves together. “So! Um. Let’s get into it, shall we? Economics and trade. It’s a give-and-take relationship where nobody has everything but, ideally, everybody can get what they need or want. Just like friendships, if everyone has the same things, it’s boring. Flat. Dull. But if everyone brings something new to the table, well, then things get interesting.” Smolder leaned over and whispered to Ocellus, “The six of us are proof of that.” She smirked. “You know it.” Appendagebump. “Now,” continued Moondog, “I’m sure you all know that. It’s not exactly mind-blowing. But it’s really hard to actually understand just how stupidly complex these interconnection webs can get, especially on large scales. So…” From beneath the desk, she pulled out a giant bucket of water — more like a tub, really — that Smolder was sure hadn’t been there before. “To start this day off, we’re going to play a little game, with everyone being a small part of a giant economic network.” Somepony raised a hoof. “Is this going to be like that one time Professor Rarity had us sort out dyes from water?” “Not exactly.” And Moondog upended the tub on the front row. Twilight didn’t think Moondog needed help. No. Moondog could handle — had handled — far more dire things than a hoofful of maybe-maybe-not rowdy students. Moondog was perfectly capable of doing things on her own, and in spite of their agreements, she hadn’t come to Twilight for help yet, which was good news. Moondog was doing just fine by herself. Definitely. She had to be. And so it absolutely wasn’t nerves that made Twilight teleport to Moondog’s classroom to check in on her barely ten minutes into first period. No. Twilight was just confirming her suspicions that Moondog was just fine. She totally wasn’t panicking. About anything. At all. NOPE. It was closer to mild anxiety, anyway! Twilight raised a hoof to knock on the door, then thought better of it and put an ear to the keyhole. It was a bit louder than usual, but still within the parameters she’d designated for classroom volume level. Moondog was saying something Twilight couldn’t make out, but she wasn’t shouting. An almost-perfectly ordinary classroom. Right? Right. She’s got this. You don’t need to worry. Twilight sighed in relief and walked back down the hall. Then she turned around, sprinted back to the door, and knocked five times. She still totally wasn’t panicking. No, she was just being ABSOLUTELY SURE since she was already here and not checking would be a waste and she wasn’t panicking. She waited for a response. And waited. And waited. And waited. It was interminably long, the waiting. What was up? Two seconds after the last knock, Moondog called out, “Coming! Just gimme a sec!” Seven even more interminable seconds later, Moondog pulled the door open. The noise from the room was of student groups talking among each other rather than apathetic students having their own conversations (a hard distinction to make at times, but Twilight had practice). “Hey,” said Moondog casually. “You need something? Everything’s fine here, if that’s what you’re wondering. Although are classes normally this big?” “Yeah,” said Twilight. “Compared to a more traditional school, this is actually a pretty small class, which is good because…” She noticed what was behind Moondog. “…teachers can… be more…” She leaned to one side and her voice went flatter than Maud’s. “Why is the room flooded?” For behind Moondog, the desks had been pushed aside to create a miniature lake where the students were sloshing through knee-deep water, pushing tiny ships from shore to shore. An invisible wall kept the water from spilling out into the hallway. “For science!” Moondog said, grinning. Twilight didn’t raise her eyebrow. It teleported straight to its end position. “We’re studying trade routes and how friendships can be economically beneficial to both parties, and to sub-parties within those parties,” Moondog said with a sigh. “I’ve set up a bunch of islands with fake countries based on different regions of Equestria and Zebrabwe and everybody’s running their own trading company.” “And you needed to flood the room for that because…?” “First of all, it’s an illusion. Look-” Moondog telekinetically grabbed a stack of paper from the desk. She dropped it underwater, held it there for five seconds, and pulled it back out. Water dripped from the stack, but none of the papers actually looked wet. “See? Second, making a map with moving trade ships is a way better visual than drawings on a chalkboard. More interactive, too.” She glanced over her shoulder, then whispered to Twilight, “I think Ocellus is about to try inventing piracy.” “Ocellus?” Twilight looked over the students in attendance. “Not Smolder?” She surreptitiously dragged a hoof through the water. It responded with the expected ripples, but she didn’t feel a thing. “Nah, Smolder’s discovered that she loves capitalism. Once you remove pillaging as an obvious way to get money, she’s pretty great with numbers, and- Wait.” Moondog frowned, then mused, “I wonder if we can teach her exponents in the form of wealth-acquisition word problems.” “You have a magic coin that can split itself to create x coins, identical to the first,” said Twilight promptly. “Each of those coins can split to create x coins, and so on. If you do this n times, using all the coins from the previous creation phase, how many coins will you have once you’re done? And that’s x to the nth power. …Yeah, she might get into that. Maybe I can do the same with calculus…” “But, yeah, things’re going fine. The students’re learning, they’re having fun with it, and-” “Hey! Professor!” yelled Smolder. “Can Fen and I form a shipping cabal?” “Not when you’re that open about it!” Moondog yelled back. “Cabals are secret!” “That’s what I said!” squeaked Fennigan Fen. “It’s called a trade association!” “But ‘cabal’ sounds way cooler! Can’t we just-” “Do I want to know?” whispered Twilight as Smolder and Fen kept discussing terminology. “Not a clue,” Moondog said with a shrug. “I don’t know yet. But you’ll probably want to know. I’ll keep you posted. Or maybe not.” “Thank you. Um…” Twilight couldn’t help feeling a little envious as she took another look at the room. Those were some seriously good illusions. Maybe she needed to ask Moondog for help on more arcane matters than dream magic. “You keep doing what you’re doing.” Moondog nodded. “Will do. Now scram. Maintaining this is a lot of work.” Sandbar nibbled on the end of his quill and stared at the figures on the scroll. “So let me see if I’ve got this right,” he said slowly. “We send these fruits-” He pointed at their two-inch-long ship. “-to Berry Bliss so she’ll give us coal. On the way back, we stop at Headlong’s, Vellum’s, and Huckleberry’s ports, trading the coal for timber and metal. We use those to upgrade our port, then we send Berry Bliss more fruits and repeat the whole thing. After four trips-” “Three,” said Yona. She pointed at a line. “Sandbar forget to carry one.” “Huh. I did.” Scribble scribble. “So… Yeah, three trips, then we’ll have fast enough ships to start making the trip to Maple Grove, and… hmm hmm hmm… so then we can…” Sandbar frowned in thought for another few seconds, then his face lit up in a big smile. “Sweet sisters, Yona, you’re a genius! I never would’ve figured all that out.” “Yaks best at interwoven goods distribution,” Yona said confidently. “Definitely. So if we load-” “Alright!” Moondog yelled. “One minute left! Make your last trades, everybody!” “One minute? Crap!” Sandbar shooed their ship onwards. “Get going, you little ship! Just get one trip done!” By the time the ship got back, barely any time was left to do anything, so Sandbar and Yona didn’t bother starting another trip. “Well, we had a good run,” Sandbar sighed. “Thanks for the help, Yona. I’ll never forget you, Heart of Manelothian,” he whispered to his little clipper. Everything involved in the trading game — ships, land, water, resources — evaporated in an instant as everybody tallied up their earnings. (Sandbar’s and Yona’s impromptu team got fourth, which Sandbar was satisfied with.) Moondog sat on the desk like it was a chair. As her tail coiled its way around her rear legs, she looked over the class, swallowed, and, wings twitching, said, “Congratulations to all of you. You all did great and I bet you all learned something. Of course, real life isn’t a competition, but it definitely puts the benefits of friendship in perspective, right?” A brief discussion period followed, with students asking questions about friendship and economics and Moondog answering them (or, once, admitting she didn’t know). For a dream golem, Sandbar mused, Moondog was remarkably well-read when it came to all the different econ terms and theories and such. Maybe she’d spent a few nights in an economist’s head to prepare. Finally, one student put her hoof up. “So if trade is this good for countries, why doesn’t everyone just trade with everyone?” “Well…” The roof was ripped away in an intangible gale, a black storm raging above. Grinning, Moondog said, “That’s what we’re studying next.” A bolt of lightning flashed across the “sky”. “Oh, and the safe word is ‘vermilion’.” “Wait, WHAT?!” screamed Sandbar. Twilight really, truly wasn’t going to nervously check on Moondog during fourth period. No, she was just clearing up a minor issue in Fluttershy’s class (to be fair, nopony could’ve predicted jackalopes and ferrets would act like that to each other) and happened to be passing by Moondog’s room at the moment. But when you heard an honest-to-Celestia crack of thunder from the other side of a door, you had to check it out, if only to verify that now was definitely the time to run like Tartarus. Twilight opened the door and received a blast of wind in her face. She blinked her surprise away to see… a ship. Specifically, the deck of a ship. The deck of a ship in a storm. Where her students were hauling on lines to keep the sails from ripping the mast apart. And this was economics? She marched inside, with the “deck” as still as a floor. Rain she couldn’t feel whipped at her face; thunder boomed again. Behind her, the door stood in empty space, still leading back to the school. She opened her mouth. Moondog puffed into existence next to her. “Boo. Um, there’s a lot of students here, and-” “What are you doing?” Twilight hissed. “This is-” “More illusions since I’m not the best at lectures. Now that the students can see how bountiful trading-slash-friendship is, they also need to know how hard it can be to maintain. The storm is a metaphor for hard times, with the students working together to guide the ship — that’s a metaphor for friendship — through it. Look, we’re only doing this for like ten minutes, it’s not like-” “And if you’ve got somepony who doesn’t want to be caught in a storm at sea?” “Then they’d be sitting outside the illusion over there, peacefully taking notes.” Moondog pointed to a suspiciously calm corner of the sea. “I mean, yes I asked if they were all okay with it and let them back out. Seriously, what kind of poophead do you think I am? Discord?” “I resent that,” scowled Discord. “But this-” Twilight’s protest was cut short when the wind shifted; not-rain blew into her eyes. She reflexively wiped her face down. “Don’t you think this is a little overwhelming? It’s not-” “Twilight, listen,” said Moondog tightly. “I got this. My entire freaking existence is based around making ponies feel comfortable. Do you really think I haven’t thought this through?” She scowled and flared her wings a little as thunder roared. “Because, honestly, I’m kind of insulted. Just a little.” Putting a hoof on her chest, Twilight took a few deep breaths. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, ruffling her mane. “You’re right. It’s just- When I come in here and see… this…” She gestured around the storm-torn ship. “I… guess freaking out is kind of my first instinct.” Moondog rustled her wings and looked at the ship. “I can’t really blame you for that,” she admitted. “Probably should’ve given you a warning or something. Want me to-?” “No, you don’t need to do anything. I just need to trust you, in spite of-” Twilight glanced at the storm-torn sky; Moondog’s horn glowed and lightning flashed. “You’ll never do anything to hurt-” “It’s back!” somepony yelled. “Scatter!” Twilight whirled to see a gigantic tentacle rising from the water crashing down on the deck — not on top of any of the students, thankfully. They had broken apart and were diving for weapons strewn across the ship. Yona was already hacking at the tentacle with a gigantic bug-off axe. With a yell, the other students descended on it like a swarm of maddened hornets. Twilight made a face at Moondog that could best be described as confusion, anger, and surprise, pureed in a blender and squished by a steamroller. “The kraken is a metaphor for ‘sea monster attacks are awesome’,” said Moondog, grinning. “Besides, the kids like it.” Twilight’s head snapped back and forth between Moondog and the students. She was- But they- And this- How could- This was- If- Krakens weren’t- She shook her head to clear it and opened her mouth. “By the way, Smolder and Fen compromised when Fen decided to call their group the Coal And Bullion Aquatic Line, coal and bullion being their main transports. Did pretty good, too.” “Well- that’s not- We’re still-” Moondog raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” The tentacle thudded to the deck next to Twilight and didn’t go back up. She turned; the thick stub of the tentacle slid over the (unnaturally intact) gunwale. A dark shape fled through the water and a deep, keening moaning pierced the air. “Krakens don’t make noises like that,” Twilight whispered to Moondog. “I know, but the students think it’s cool,” Moondog whispered back. As the severed tentacle slid bloodlessly off the ship, somepony yelled, “Woo! We did it! Nice one, Yona!” Yona climbed onto a gunwale and roared, “Yaks best at destroying sea monsters!” The other students raised their weapons and screamed their approval. And that made Twilight’s mind up. “Okay. I’m sorry I doubted you. Just-” “I will. Or won’t, if it’s something I shouldn’t.” Moondog reached up and nudged a few clouds aside to let a single sunbeam lance down to the ship. “We’re almost done here, anyway.” Twilight hoped so; the students were lying on the deck and panting like they’d sprinted the border of Ponyville. She turned to the door, ready to leave. Then she stopped and prodded the “space” next to the door. Her hoof bounced off the wall. That was a really good illusion. But she definitely wasn’t jealous of it. Definitely not. Once Moondog declared the storm through, she let the class take a breather before moving on. Although the view from the ship was spectacular now that the storm was gone, Gallus only stared at his talons. Kraken goo was dripping from them, but he couldn’t feel a thing. When he tried shaking it off, it stuck like glue; whether because of the nature of the illusion or the nature of kraken goo, he wasn’t sure. Either way, the lack of feeling was beyond uncanny. “-don’t roar like that,” huffed Silverstream, perhaps one of the rarest things to ever have happened, ever. “They don’t even have lungs! And the tentacles are way more flexible than that. At least it had a beak. But-” “Do they have goop?” Gallus waved said goop in front of Silverstream’s face. “Because I want to either be clean or be mucked up because feeling one and seeing the other is really weirding me out.” “Just shake it off. It’s not that sticky. At least, it shouldn’t be.” Silverstream glared at the slime like it’d murdered her family. Gallus tried shaking harder, to little avail. “What’s with you? I’ve never seen you this angry before. And you were fine until-” “The kraken was a terrible kraken!” Silverstream quietly screamed. “I’ve seen enough krakens to know and it was wrong wrong WRONG!” She screwed her beak up like she was going to start yelling, but she just sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Now I know how Ocellus feels when she reads fantasy with bad magic.” “Alright, back to your desks!” yelled Moondog. The ship (and goo, thank goodness) folded itself out of existence. Desks were pushed back into position and class resumed as if the rollicking adventure on the high seas had never happened. (Which, technically, it hadn’t, but thinking of it like that made Gallus’s brain hurt.) “And that’s what seafaring trade can be like when it’s not monotonous,” said Moondog. “More than a bit difficult, right?” “Oh, I don’t know.” A pony on the other side of the room was grinning smugly. “I kinda liked it.” Moondog smiled back. “Did you? Do you think you’ll still like it the tenth time around? How about after the time the ship gets ripped in half? Or the time it happens after you’ve already been at sea for three months with no sign of land?” The pony’s grin faltered. “Well…” “Think of all the work you put in for the past ten minutes,” said Moondog. “Now imagine doing that all day every day for weeks on end. And suddenly it makes a lot more sense why we’re not trading everything with everyone. See…” Normally, Gallus barely tolerated taking notes. Today… wasn’t all that different. Just because the teacher’s mane was weird didn’t mean her lectures were automatically more engaging. What was different was that the lectures were a lot shorter, since they’d already covered the basics in ten minutes of shipboard shenanigans. About two minutes after his attention began flagging, it returned when Moondog said, “But, of course, we can’t get over all this hardship if we don’t have it to begin with — say, because we never tried talking to anyone different. And convincing other countries to begin trade may or may not be trickier than it seems. For instance…” A spark floated from Moondog’s horn. It drifted lazily to the front of the room, where it blossomed into a tall, lean zebra with a brass earring and a rough fabric shawl. She looked over the class and cocked a grin. “Well. Isn’t this quite the colorful cadre of creatures.” Moondog threw a leg over the zebra’s shoulders; the zebra rolled her eyes and looked away. “This is Maelewano,” said Moondog. “She’s from a time centuries ago when zebras were still living in small nomadic tribes, highly shamaristic, and not yet unified. Now, who wants to try convincing her to ally with Equestria?” After a second, Gallus’s and Silverstream’s claws shot up. When it came to sixth period, Twilight had no excuse. She was just curious. She cracked open the door to Moondog’s room and held her breath. Nothing was strange. Just the students, their desks arranged in a half-circle around Silverstream apparently debating with an abada. Moondog was sitting on — not at, on — her desk next to an egg timer, watching. Twilight felt a bit cheated, if she was being honest with herself. From stormy seas to this? Well, at least it seemed to be working. She closed the- -wait. Since when did an abada come all the way to Equestria for anything less than two crates of silver? Twilight looked again. The short brown bicorn couldn’t be anything other than an abada. Now that she was looking for it, she could see the slight haze of illusion. Silverstream was looking flustered, as if she didn’t know what she was doing and was ready to start hovering to beat off some of her anxiety. “-ought to be good… right?” “Good? Good?” said the abada in a Trottinghamian accent (which didn’t sound remotely like the usual abadic accent), “My dear griff, you insult me! My expenses in simply coming here are great, and you cannot expect Nagarabada to initiate trade with Equestria based purely on three measly crates of silver!” “Okay, okay!” said Silverstream, her wings swirling nervously. “Uh…” She nibbled at a talon. “Maybe, if we…” The timer went off. “Oooo. Nice try, Silverstream, but sorry,” said Moondog. “You’re up, Melody.” A forlorn Silverstream took a seat next to Gallus while a pale blue unicorn stepped in front of the abada. “Okay, so maybe three crates was lowballing it,” said Melody, “but-” Twilight tiptoed over to Moondog. “Okay, now I’m curious,” she whispered. “What?” Moondog twisted the timer up to two minutes and let it run. “Different countries trade for different things, like different friendships need different things, and first impressions aren’t always right. They all take turns talking to this or that representative, learning about them to convince them to trade using a limited pool of supplies. And abadas want money.” “-most effective alliances in history!” Melody said, throwing her legs wide and grinning. “And is your vaunted friendship accepted at any of the world’s major banks?” snapped the abada. “What is its liquidity ratio?” Melody’s grin faltered. “It’s- Uh-” Twilight nodded to herself. “This isn’t a bad idea. Besides the intended lesson, it’ll help students hone their interpersonal skills, especially if you give each diplomat a different personality.” She glanced sideways at Moondog. “Which-” “Yes, I’m doing,” Moondog said. “And it keeps their attention off me.” She pointed to the class with a wing. “I mean, that’s a lot of students.” “…If by ‘a lot’, you mean ‘eleven’.” “What makes you think I don’t?” Twilight glanced at the small amount of students in the room. At Moondog. She tilted her head quizzically. The timer went off again, interrupting the abada while she was in the middle of declaring that honor needed coupons. Melody was a bit miffed as she returned to her seat; Gallus stopped scratching Silverstream’s back and moseyed up to the abada. Moondog didn’t have time to start the timer before Gallus said flatly, “One crate. Take it or leave it.” “Very well,” huffed the abada. “We shall leave it.” She turned around, nose in the air, and vanished in a shower of sparks. “She was never gonna agree to anything we said, was she?” Gallus asked Moondog as he returned to his seat. “Nope,” said Moondog. (Twilight took a few steps back so she wouldn’t draw the students’ attention away.) “Not while you wanted to save enough resources to be friends with everyone else, anyway. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just won’t be able to be friends with someone.” “Blasphemy!” giggled Silverstream. “It’s just heresy at worst,” said Twilight. “And it’s not wrong. Two people really can be different enough that friendship won’t work between them.” (The entire classroom gasped.) “It’s nothing to do with one hating the other, they just don’t click.” She shrugged. “Of course, you need to put some effort into making friends with them before saying it won’t work,” Moondog added. “In the real world, you might be able to eventually make friends with someone, but two minutes ain’t gonna cut it. For instance…” She opened up a hole in the air; a muscular zebra with a feathered headband, a long assegai, and tribal markings over a thousand years old stumbled out. “Say hello to Kiburi.” Kiburi shook her head to straighten her mane out and glared fiercely at the class. “Hmph. This is what Equestria sends as their best? Pfah. You foals wouldn’t last a day in the Ugwadube.” “Now. Who wants to go first?” asked Moondog. To Twilight’s surprise, several hooves went up. “Alright… Heat Wave. Go ahead.” Once again, Twilight bemoaned the responsibilities that came with headmare as she watched Heat Wave head up front far more cheerily than he probably should have. Watching the students’ progress would be great, but she had to look at some grants that needed approval (or rejection; seriously, why would you need a ball pit that big?). Before she left, she said to Moondog, “Keep it up.” Twilight managed to stay away from Moondog’s class for the rest of the day, and that was only partly because of Pinkie’s banking accident. (When the message first came, she thought she’d heard an “N” where there wasn’t one, but Pinkie never had baking accidents.) By the time the last bell rang, she was almost thinking of Moondog as an ordinary teacher who just happened to be exceptionally skilled in illusion magic. Almost. She still wondered if she was missing anything unique. But she might want some help with “closing up”. Celestia knew Twilight’s own first few days of teaching had been hectic. Five minutes after the school day had ended, Twilight returned to Moondog’s classroom one last time in case she was needed. When she opened the door, Moondog had draped herself over the front desk (about an inch over, to be precise), a pile of papers at her side. She looked like she was either sleeping or had been knocked out. Moreso the latter somehow; it looked like the stars in her body weren’t twinkling as brightly as usual and a few of the usual constellations were off. She wasn’t breathing, but that probably didn’t mean anything. Twilight cleared her throat. “Um. Moondog?” One of Moondog’s eyes slipped open. “Hey,” she said dully. She collapsed into a shapeless purple mass, flowed off the desk, and reformed on her legs in front of Twilight, her head hanging a bit. “Sorry. Long day.” Then she snapped her wings to her sides, held her head high, and smiled. “You need me for anything?” she asked, her voice chipper again. “No, just checking in.” Twilight snuck a quick glance at the papers; they seemed to be worksheets. “How was your first teaching job?” “Second, actually, but. Ehm.” Moondog was silent for a touch longer than usual. “Fine. Fine. It was fine. Students were fine, I think they learned a lot, and, y’know. Fine.” A pause. “I am done for the day, right? I don’t need to do anything else?” “Not with students, but-” “Good.” Moondog went completely limp and floated in the air rather than falling. She hung her head and moaned, “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-” “-you still need to-” “-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-” “-grade their work-” “-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-” “-and get it back to me-” “-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-” “-before the week is up-” “-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-” “-so we know how they’re doing.” “-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-” “…” “-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-” Twilight rolled her eyes. “Grading papers is not that bad.” “-uuuuuuuuuuuuu. It’s not that,” rasped Moondog. “I’ve been using the wrong magic in the wrong universe non-stop for hours and I ache. Everywhere. Literally everywhere. My horn aches, my eyes ache, my tongue aches, my thoughts ache, and it’s uuuuuuuuuuuuuu. Even gravitying is hard. Gravity suuuuuuuuuucks.” The science side of Twilight was about to respond that gravity didn’t work like that when feelings caught up with reality and she got blindsided by anxiety. She was partly the reason Moondog was out here to begin with and Moondog being a master of illusion — leading to this — was exactly what she’d wanted. “You’re… okay, right? You still have enough magic to exist-” “On the dead-not-dead spectrum, I’ve got plenty of life left in me,” Moondog mumbled as she dangled limply in the air. “But it’s like I just ran two ultramarathons in a row. If I ever thought I was gonna die, trust me, I’d let you know. I’m not that stupid.” Twilight nodded slowly, but she couldn’t help feeling a little guilty, no matter how irrational that was. She was partly the reason Moondog was out here to begin with and Moondog using her skills as a master of illusion — leading to this — was exactly what she’d wanted. Although Moondog was a being of pure magic, so maybe… “Would you mind if I tried to just… charge you up? Maybe replenishing your reserves would help with your arcanic aching.” “Give it a shot,” Moondog groaned. Twilight wasn’t sure how a reservoir of dream magic would react to an infusion of thaumic magic, so she only dumped a little bit of energy into Moondog. No adverse reaction, so she upped the amount. Again and again, nothing bad happened. In fact, the stars in Moondog seemed to grow brighter. After the fifth dump, Moondog waved Twilight off. “Okay, that’s good.” She rolled over in the air and alighted on the floor, flexing her wings in anatomically-impossible ways. “Not great, but I don’t feel like I’m going to fall apart anymore.” Her feathers fell out, replaced with leathery membranes, only for the membranes to pluff back into feathers. “Urgh. Thanks. Note to self: don’t use that much magic out here ever again. Ow.” She hit herself on the head a few times and her “flesh” disintegrated into dust, leaving behind a skeleton. “Sorry about asking you to use illusions. I didn’t know-” “Oh, pfft, that’s not your fault. I was too ambitious and way overextended myself.” Moondog’s body started growing back inch by inch. “If I ever sub in the future — which ISN’T a guarantee! — I’ll be less extravagant.” “Knock knock.” Ocellus leaned into the room. “Professor Moondog, I-” She froze when she saw Moondog. In the time it took Twilight to blink, Ocellus had zipped up to Moondog and was staring at where the flesh was growing back. “Cooooooool,” she whispered. “That’s all accurate. So when’re you gonna teach biology?” “A week after I manage to relate zombification to friendship.” “So, about seven moons? Please say it’s seven moons. Or less!” Bzzzzzzz. Moondog made a Face at Twilight, which was impressive considering she only had half a face to begin with. “Anyway, um, I forgot to bring you this this morning.” Ocellus pulled an apple from her saddlebags. “It’s from Professor Applejack’s latest batch. Thank you so much for teaching us! It was one of the best classes I’ve had!” “Oh, no, you keep it.” Moondog pushed the apple back to Ocellus. “Thank you, really, but you’ll get more out of it than me.” “That’s why I also took some for myself.” Ocellus pushed back. “Come on, please? It’s tradition!” A pause, then Moondog poofed back to normal. “If you insist.” She popped the entire apple into her mouth and swallowed it whole. “Mmm. Good apple, at least.” She reached down her throat, pulled out an apple core, and set it on the desk. Ocellus blinked at the apple core, then shook her head. “Also, remember the ninety percent you told me to save for after class? Well, it’s after class, soooo…” She smiled hopefully up at Moondog and buzzed her wings. Moondog rolled her eyes, but grinned. “You can go, Twilight,” she said, waving a hoof. “I got this.” “I can see that,” Twilight said with a smile. Part of her wanted to stay and just watch Ocellus learn, but she had things that needed doing. Stupid responsibilities. “I really do need those grades, though.” “I know,” said Moondog. She waved Twilight away. “You don’t need to remind me.” “So, first question…” Ocellus cleared her throat. “How did you give those illusions feeling? I know it didn’t feel real, but everything I’ve read about illusions said you couldn’t feel them at all, since they were just light.” Not wanting to interrupt the exchange of knowledge, Twilight just whispered, “Okayseeyoulater.” She backed up, her ears turned towards Moondog and Ocellus, until she bumped into the door. She turned around, put her hoof on the knob, turned around again, and ran back over to Moondog. “And I kinda need- Well, I guess not need, I don’t need them like I need air except I sorta do- kinda need them soon-” “I know.” Moondog flared a wing that quintupled in size to separate herself and Ocellus from Twilight. “I’m getting to them. Git.” The timbre of her voice shifted as she turned back to Ocellus. “Anyway, there’s just a telekinetic field beneath the illusion that pushes outward, and-” Twilight nodded, filed that information on telekinesis away for later, and left the room. She was halfway back to her office when another thought hit her and she teleported back. Pawing at Moondog’s wing, she said, “Also, see, the real world has timetables and-” “Twilight, I swear, if you don’t leave me and Ocellus alone, tonight Aunt Celly is going to see every single embarrassing baby photo ever taken of you!” Some of the feathers parted into a slit for Moondog to glare out of. “Including that one.” “Celestia already saw them all, that one inclusive. She and Mom got pretty friendly during my second year at CSGU.” “But wouldn’t you have to keep changing the position of the fields yourself?” Ocellus asked, as if she hadn’t just heard the country’s heirs apparent bickering about grades and baby pictures. “To keep the feeling matching up with the shape, I mean.” The gap in Moondog’s feathers vanished. “Not really,” Moondog said loudly. “See, the illusion already responds to touch, so-” Twilight’s heart went a-pitter-patter and her wings twitched. “If I shut up about grades, can I listen in when you talk about magic?” she asked quickly. “I’ve never heard you talk about what using dream magic is like out here, and-” “Fine.” Moondog’s wing retracted back to its normal size as she folded it up. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked before. You’re almost as bad as Ocellus.” “Almost?” Twilight said indignantly. She wasn’t searching out knowledge as much as she could? “I ask more questions than Princess Twilight?!” gasped Ocellus, her hooves going to her mouth. “Eeeeeeeee!” Moondog facehooved. “Girls, girls, you’re both smartly pretty. Can you stop trying to win gold at the Equestrian Nerd Games and let me talk?” “Sorry,” Twilight and Ocellus said simultaneously. They sat down next to each other. Moondog looked at one, then the other. She gave them both “I’m watching you” gestures. “Okay. So…”