He talked, on and on. Listening to him was like wandering through a maze, except you took the wrong path every time and had to explore each branch to the fullest before returning toward the original goal. Except she found she didn’t lament the time wasted - no, not wasted, spent - on those tangents, even if they were not completely applicable to Equestria or Equus in general. Like the Kulaks, and their abominable treatment at the hooves (well, hands) of the Stalinists, resulting in millions dead. An unfathomable number, more than the population of everycreature combined, unbelievable except for the conviction with which he spoke.
But most notably, his admission that were he in their shoes - or her own unshod hooves, when she hinted at her deeds - that he might not have acted any differently. That one must acknowledge their potential to be a monster, and harness that potential toward your goal.
After that she started reading Twelve Rules, and he pulled out a purple and gold book - Twilight’s Friendship Journal - and did the same. And it could hardly be construed as her fault that there were so few places to sit in her sparsely furnished room, or that humans got tired of standing long before ponies. Or that the stone floor wasn’t comfortable to sit on. Or how after she graciously offered him her bed he failed to ensure her departure, only that she wouldn’t lay with him. And no amount of vociferous protestation on his part could evict her from her spot draped across his lap - she had cocooned Rarity, he had nothing on her - and he quickly gave up and just used her barrel as a bookrest.
A few hours later a knock came at the door, surprising both of them. He glanced at her - she stared back at him - then at the door.
They waited, both wanting nothing more than to return to their books.
After a few moments there was another knock, this one a bit more forceful, before the door opened. Twilight Sparkle poked her head through, glancing between the two of them and then at the relatively untouched meal of apples and hay.
“Hello,” she said apologetically as she barged into the room. She had a signed copy of Maps of Meaning, Peterson’s first book, tucked under one wing with a feather marking her place. The saddlebags at her sides were nearly bursting with titles such as Ordinary Men, The Gulag Archipelago, and Crime and Punishment, each of which had several colorful bookmarks interspersed through the pages.
“It had been a while since I, um, heard anything.” Twilight Sparkle coughed nervously, grinning to cover up the fact that she had been quite absorbed herself, enough to have missed a full-scale invasion. She glanced curiously at Chrysalis and the open book in front of her, hoof halfway through turning a page. Her grin grew eager as she bounded forward. “What’cha reading?!”
“His book,” Chrysalis stated flatly. “It is a lot better than the…”
She paused, trying to find a word that best described the abominations thrust upon her. Supposed self-help manuals that didn’t, that couldn’t understand where she was coming from. Storybooks, pithy and bland enough to give to foals. One mare even gave her a book of laws and circled the ones she broke. Which is to say, there wasn’t a blank space, even the silly and outdated ones that someling must have broken purely for the sake of completeness. A myriad of terms came to her mind on how to characterize them, yet vulgar words would indicate a lack of imagination on her part more than they would accurately depict the sheer horrendousness.
“Tripe,” she settled with, “that I was given before.”
“Oh, I see,” was Peterson’s glib response, and a second passed before a thin smile crossed his face. At the tilt of Chrysalis’ head he explained, “I suppose that ‘better than tripe’ wasn’t exactly the ringing endorsement I was going for, but I’ll take what I can get.”
In spite of herself Chrysalis allowed a smile of her own. He couldn’t actually be this self-effacing, right?
He wryly chuckled to himself again. “Although, that’s not to say that tripe is bad for you, per say. If you’re a dog.”
Her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. “So what you’re saying is, all the ponies who offered me those books are bitches?”
He ignored her with a practiced cool. “And,” he continued, “I suppose that, for many cultures, every part of the animal was eaten if it could be. It’s just not a specialty in my native province of Alberta. Sadly, gastrointestinal cuisine is not my area of expertise.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Chrysalis replied coldly, though she was far less bitter than she originally imagined she would be at this point. She found herself quite willing, almost intending to open herself up and share her past experiences. But she doubted he would appreciate a detailed list of everycreature she had consumed.
She would never have done so with the ponies. They always got so skittish at her exploits, disgusted with her methods. Yet she got the feeling that this doctor would not reach for the closest bucket, or decry her for her deeds, mis- or not, or even avert his eyes. That any denigration of her character would be met with an equal, if not more, elevation from her willingness to share and perhaps move past those experiences, that way of thinking, of being.
And she wanted him to think highly of her! Not just because his signature would be a ticket out of here, or because as a Queen she should be acclaimed by all. But because he would genuinely appreciate growth in character, and demonstrate that appreciation with more than a forced smile and internal groan. Was it a weakness?
...Perhaps. But in that vulnerability, she might find something greater. It was a sickening way of thinking. But until she had excised every deficit and truly was invulnerable, unstoppable, it would have to be tolerated.
“Well, I’m happy to hear that,” Twilight Sparkle beamed. “And, speaking of cuisine…”
The alicorn trailed off, a flicker of a frown flashing across her muzzle. She glanced back at the open door. “We got Gustave to prepare your… meal as you requested.”
On cue, Pinkie Pie pronked through the door, a covered plate on her back that sizzled happily. If there was any revulsion at the contents she hid it with a wide grin, poking out from places she surely shouldn’t have belonged to find a place in reach of the human to set the plate. With a grand shrug she sloughed the steaming plate onto Chrysalis’ back, ignoring the changeling’s indignant “Hey!”
Pinkie Pie whipped out a small bowl and presented it with a grand flourish. Peterson took out one of the thin, flat cakes of gray and eyed it suspiciously.
“I heard you could eat mushrooms with your steak!” the baker exclaimed, staring at Peterson with such intensity that he might have eaten whatever was in his hand, consequences be damned, if just to appease her. “So I made some tortillas out of mushrooms and oil and just the tiniest hint of salt!”
“And nothing else?” Peterson confirmed, still looking the flat-shrooms over.
“Yuppers!” The pink menace swept a hoof across her chest, then jabbed herself in the eye. “Pinkie Promise!”
He shrugged, took an experimental bite, smiled to Pinkie Pie’s satisfaction, then loaded his fajita and went all Fantastic Mr. Fox on it.
“And if there is something there that disagrees with you,” Pinkie Pie continued unapologetically, “then you should totally try some of Applejack’s cider! It’d be worth the month of existential dread!”
“How do you-” Peterson started before Twilight cut him off.
“-Don’t ask. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Twilight shook her head, sighing at herself before turning to Chrysalis with a glance at the apples and hay. “Was there anything you wanted?”
Chrysalis motioned to her book. “While the steak smells delicious, I was in the mood for some lobster.” She turned to Peterson. “Though I question how related, even distantly, changelings are to crustaceans.”
“I’ll talk to Fluttershy,” Twilight said with a grin, nodding to each of them before exiting with Pinkie Pie. The earth pony stopped in the doorway, gave Peterson the largest grin and wink he had ever seen, and shut the door behind her.
“Hey, fair enough,” Peterson said between bites. He was either completely ignorant of Pinkie Pie’s meaning or just that much of a rock star to not let it faze him. “One of the main reasons I brought up lobsters is to counter the view that dominance hierarchies are a social construction, a consequence of patriarchal tyrannies. Instead, the same systems we use are found in creatures at least five hundred million years old. And we can regulate their systems with medication, in fact the same medication we use on humans.”
“Seeing as my kind started a millennium ago with a magical incident, I’m not sure I share those systems.” Chrysalis stared down at her hooves. “Although I wonder what would happen if I modulated my own levels.”
“Mm,” he grunted. “You’d probably cause quite the furor.”
Chrysalis paused, especially at the way he emphasized the non-existent ‘h’, as the door opened and Fluttershy entered with a cart. On the cart was a pot of boiling water and a large aquarium filled with green fronds. “What is that?” the changeling asked, pointing a hoof.
“Oh, this?” Fluttershy replied, indicating the setup. She dipped her head into the aquarium, a second later coming out with a large green lobster between her teeth. It snapped its claws at her, nearly snagging an ear as she dropped it into the pot where it writhed and gnashed. She returned to the aquarium, repeating the process with a second lobster.
“At some point,” she explained, “you start to get a sense for these things. I mean, you tell Antoine he’s not allowed to eat an elephant and that’s all he can think about for a week until he’s gone and done it.” She shook her head exasperatedly. “But you don’t have to worry about that. Oh! I’ve also got a whole pond worth of frogs!” She tapped her hooves together sheepishly as she looked away. “They’re starting to overcrowd again.”
“Frogs?” Chrysalis asked, glancing at Peterson.
“It’s an internet meme,” he explained, not that the words meant anything to her. And, for once in his life, he didn’t fully explain the meanings behind it.
Chrysalis turned back to Fluttershy and the pot of boiling lobsters. “I’m surprised you’re okay with this.”
“What do you mean?” Fluttershy asked earnestly. She stirred the pot, knocking one of the lobsters back in. “I just witnessed the most malevolent creature I’ve ever met decide to turn toward Kindness and Friendship!” She giggled, hiding her smile behind her mane before peeking out adorably. “I just feel so… so euphoric right now, I could do anything!”
She busied herself around the pot until her backside was toward the two of them, took a long look back and winked, just like Pinkie Pie.
“Like boil a pot of your friends?” Chrysalis deadpanned, pointing at the pot.
“Oh, them?” Fluttershy said, glancing at the lobsters. They had stopped moving. She shook her head. “Everycreature has to eat. And if you’re going to pick something, I’d rather it be lobsters or fish than somecow I know. Knew.” She shrugged with a hint of a frown, decidedly not looking at Peterson and his half-empty plate. “Just because something has a response to pain doesn’t mean you can form meaningful relationships with it.”
Satisfied the lobsters wouldn’t be escaping, the butter yellow pegasus spun and trotted toward the two. She reached forward to nuzzle Chrysalis, and the changeling nearly snapped at her. Except she couldn’t because the sneak had wrapped her in a bear hug, mashed her muzzle into hers and furiously wiped back and forth like she was cleaning up a conspicuous stain. It was completely degrading, and probably adorable as all get out, but that was little consolation.
“Like with you!” Fluttershy backed off only enough to twist Chrysalis and nuzzle her nose. “I can’t wait to see all the wonderful relationships you’ll form with everypony, and everyling, and everycreature!”
“Maybe I’ll start a factory farm,” Chrysalis spat out, only for Fluttershy to envelop her in another crushing hug.
“Oh, would you?!” She squeezed harder, an ‘urk’ barely able to escape to changeling’s throat as her eyes mimicked the frogs offered up for lunch. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You wouldn’t believe how terribly the griffons treat their animals! And I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, because we’re supposed to be open and accepting of other cultures and everything, but it’s horrible!”
Chrysalis couldn’t believe it. Fluttershy had tears in her eyes. Actual tears. A wing wiped one away, only for another to roll down her cheek. All because she… threatened to do something nasty.
No. She had known of the appalling conditions of those farms. She used to have infiltrators working there, purely because the griffons didn’t have the highest security standards and animals went missing all the time. And she knew how much Fluttershy cared for animals, not just hers but those Equus-wide. And… and she could do a lot of good, and end a lot of needless suffering, by doing something like that. It wouldn’t be her working there, of course, but she knew a few who would be well suited...
“Well,” Peterson said as he stood up, having extricated himself during the hug, “it looks like my work here is done.” He nodded to Chrysalis, and she absentmindedly nodded back, and then left to go meet some extremely attractive, successful and driven mares. And sign their books.
Chrysalis mused, with one ear tuned to Fluttershy blathering about the best ways to improve animal living conditions and automatically imbibing a bit of that joy. How many other things were out there that she could improve?