Two Weeks Later
Dear Princess Celestia,
As per your last letter, my friends and I are doing wonderfully. We're all glad to be home again and to get back to our normal lives. We're still getting reacquainted with things here and there—sometimes I forget that I don't have to wear clothes outside—but from my observations I think that the experiences we had might have changed us for the better.
Applejack says she beat every record in Apple Family history in speed-bucking an orchard the other day, no doubt because she's got all those big muscles now. She even surprised Big Macintosh, and he's the biggest pony I know. Also, I've never seen a pony eat so many apples so fast before! I might have to get Applejack a book on table manners.
Fluttershy has gotten back to taking care of her animal friends, and I haven't noticed anything terribly different. I do know that her pet Angel Bunny was sometimes a bit of a jerk a tad abusive disrespectful before, but I haven't seen anything like that from him lately. I don't know what it is that Fluttershy did to make that happen.
Rarity's gotten back into form extremely quickly, and seems to be glad to be going back to her personal style instead of more "risqué" designs. The funny thing is that I think she actually didn't mind wearing outfits daily, and so she's still doing that now. She says it's giving her a chance to try out more ideas, so that's a good thing, right?
Rainbow Dash has been practicing every day on her Wonderbolts training exercises, more dedicated than I've ever seen her before, and that's saying something. I haven't caught her lounging about quite as much as she used to; she's always on the move and flies everywhere she goes! I guess not being able to fly freely for so long can really make a pegasus feel cooped up, huh?
Pinkie Pie… well, nothing's really changed there, funnily enough. Pinkie is Pinkie and always had been, and I've got the feeling that nothing could possibly change that for long. I've heard that she's been asking for more responsibilities around Sugarcube Corner, though. I guess all that hard work at that other bakery made Pinkie realize she can handle more.
As for me, well, I'm just glad to have a good book to read—a real book, with real paper and real ink. Even writing this letter right now is cathartic. It's really hard to put into words the sensation of losing something you enjoy and then getting it back, you know? The library here is much slower than it was over in the other world, so I've been having more time to think on things, and I'm getting a little restless anticipating whatever ideas you might have to help prevent a disaster in the future.
All in all, I think that even though we were frightened at first, my friends and I grew from our experiences in that other world in ways we never could have predicted. We made lots of good friends over there, and I have you to thank for putting me on this path to friendship in the first place. I can't even imagine what it would've been like to try and do all that we did alone.
I do miss our new friends, though. We all do. I hadn't intended this letter to become a report on friendship when I started it, but I think I did come to learn a lesson from all of this: even when you're separated from your friends, that friendship always remains within you. Sometimes it makes you happy to think of the friends you left behind, and sometimes it makes you sad. But no matter what, you're better for having made those friends than not, and you should treasure those friendships, always.
Even when it hurts to say goodbye.
Your faithful Student,
Twilight Sparkle
*****
Winter sighed as she put the last little bit of supplies into her saddlebags that she'd need for her trip. So far she'd packed enough Dolor tubes of various flavors to last her for a month, a change of clothes, a sleeping bag, a few canteens of water, and her simple, foldable, vinyl map. She also made sure she had her identification with her, since it served as a passport to leave the city via the Gate.
She checked her Timekeeper for a moment just to get some confirmation on her last readings. A broad map—more of a radar, really—of the northern continent without much in the way of details displayed a few small green dots far to the south of the city. These incoming Void tears would require her attention soon so that they didn't damage anything when they opened. The nearest one was two days away; the furthest was fourteen.
She'd already planned her route, and as such she wasn't particularly concerned with the trip; it was back to business as usual here in Equestria-V. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to need to venture out into the wastes to seal up errant portals that didn't pop up in the city, where at least it was quick and easy to handle things. After two weeks with literally no work to do apart from checking in with HQ on the status of repairs to her pocket dimensional office, she was getting horribly restless.
It wouldn't be so bad if she didn't constantly remind herself that the three weeks before that had been… good. Sure, she'd been working the entire time, but she'd had plenty of opportunities to rest and relax, to enjoy her time to herself, and most importantly to enjoy time with new… friends. Was it really considered work to be sitting in a library with Twilight—
She shut that thought down right quick, shaking her head to get rid of it as quickly as it had come. There was no sense in dwelling on the past.
With everything set and ready, she headed out of her room in Lockwood's apartment—she was baffled that he was still letting her stay there while she tried to arrange a new apartment elsewhere—grabbed her keys, headed out the door, and locked it behind her.
She had work to do.
Because a Chronomancer's work was never done.
*****
Flathoof sat alone at a table at the back of L'Artisan's Ristorante Baroque, a fancy restaurant in Mid-South's Central Plaza that served up authentic Baroque cuisine and was well known for having a very particular atmosphere. The tablecloth was checkered, red and white; the candles were long and thin and flickered gently; there was some fake ivy on the nearby wall to give it a genuine "rural" look.
Other nearby diners dug into plates of various pastas and other delicacies. The smell was almost overwhelming. Flathoof had never considered himself a connoisseur of fine dining—he was fine with plain Dolor paste and loved his mom's home cooking—but he had to admit that the scents of real cheese and tomato sauces was enticing. Expensive, sure, but enticing nonetheless.
He adjusted the navy blue suit he was wearing, his old dress uniform from the academy, which sadly was just a little tight after only a few years. He didn't think he'd grown that much since graduation day. It wasn't so tight that it was horribly restrictive, luckily. It was just tight enough that he couldn't get an absolute free range of movement; turning his head more than ninety degrees was impossible without twisting his shoulders.
He glanced at his watch again, starting to get a little worried, then looked up from the table briefly, and just in time that he caught sight of who he was waiting for.
Gray looked… different in a dress. It was a slate gray number made of satin, he thought—he'd never been good with fabrics—that had these little slits in the back that showed off her well-toned legs. The whole thing fit snugly against her well-built frame, to the point that he could see muscles just peeking through. She'd even done up her mane a bit and was wearing mascara, and of all things she was carrying a small change purse.
She sat at the table in a bit of a huff. "Sorry I'm late. I needed help with my mane." With a glance around the restaurant, she gave a curious nod. "So, this is the place Lockwood recommended? Yeah, I can buy that. Seems like the kind of place he'd like."
His lips twitched in a little smile; it was hard taking his eyes off her. "Uh… eyyup, he did. Said it was the best Baroque restaurant in all the Mid Districts. But uh, don't worry about the time. You did a great job with… everything really, so I'd say it was worth it. You look—"
"If you say I look 'beautiful', I'm gonna pound you into the floor, and not in a good way," she threatened, putting one hoof on the table.
"Fair enough," he said, putting up his hooves in a jovial show of defense. "What about… stunning? Is that okay?"
Gray blinked, her cheeks a bit redder than before. "Yeah… that's fine." She ran her hoof through her mane briefly. "You look really… uncomfortable, actually."
He adjusted his collar. "Yeah, it's my old dress uniform from my academy days. I haven't worn it since graduation, so it's a bit tight." He flexed his foreleg briefly so that his muscles tensed against the fabric. "See? I'm worried it's gonna tear."
"Still… you look good." She just stared a little at his flexing; was she biting her lip? She then suddenly cleared her throat. "So, uh… how've you been these last two weeks?"
"About as good as I can be," he said with a shrug. "The Chief's been talking about tossing a few promotions around. Word around the water cooler is he's actually considering me for Commander now that ol' Matchstick retired. Can't say I'm looking forward to it if he does."
"That sounds like it'd be a good pay increase, though."
"Yeah, it would be… but if I'm made Commander, I'm literally just doing paperwork all day, every day. I'll be in charge of assignments, budgets, dealing with vacation requests, etc. Just a glorified bureaucrat in a police uniform, not getting out there doing what I want to do." He shook his head. "Sorry, just getting pessimistic again. How about you? How're things?"
She shrugged. "Can't complain. It's kind of nice having the apartment all to myself, actually. Insipid and Velvet moved back to the Tower last week so they could be closer to work and family. I kind of like it out here, though, at least for a little while."
"Are you ever moving back?"
"Probably in a few weeks, yeah," she said with a nod. "I want to be there to help my sisters out more while we're all working through things after… Dad and everything. They gave me some time, though, y'know? To, uh… let you have some time."
He smiled a little at that. "Thank you. For not trying to force the issue or anything. I needed some time to think, and to talk things over a bit with my family, but I think I'm good now."
"That's good. What made it all click?"
"Well, I figured that even if you did sort of drop into our lives because of some big grand plan or whatever that was all about, you made it… better." He felt his cheeks get a little hot. "So, uh… thanks for coming tonight to meet with me and all—"
"Is that all this is?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "A 'meeting'?"
He paused, then rubbed the back of his neck; it was the suit, that's all. "Well, I mean… I don't know if you'd be comfortable with calling it a date, so I just figured—"
"That's exactly what this is, and you know it," she said flatly, eye's half-lidded. "I didn't dress up like an idiot to come to a 'meeting', and neither did you. This is a date. We're on a…" She paused, leaning back in her seat a bit. "We're on a date. Wow."
"Is that okay?"
She smirked and nodded. "You know what? Yeah. It kinda is." She paused again, then clapped her hooves together briefly. "So, how do we get some food around here? You're buying, right?"
He smiled, nodded, and pushed the menu over to her.
*****
Lockwood sat by himself at a small table at Café Estrella, a lovely little coffee shop that he'd never heard of before Twilight and Winter had recommended it. He'd always been quite fond of the coffee blend that he kept at home, but he had to admit, this place made a mean cup of joe.
He shifted his copy of today's New Pandemonium Times, glancing briefly at a report about how a recent attack against Hope's Point had, as always, met with no results whatsoever; only the Times dared report it with such candor. Admiral Hotstreak still boasted confidently that he'd "shown those pirates that the NPAF means business", or whatever other hogwash he was throwing out there.
The fact that they kept trying even after all these years of failure just baffled him; it was as if Hotstreak didn't want to destroy Hope's Point at the rate things were going.
When he set the paper down to take a sip of coffee, he nearly leapt out of his seat; Curaçao was seated across from him. "Holy hell!" he blurted, hoof to his heart. "I didn't even hear you sit down or say anything. Somepony oughta put a bell on you."
Curaçao, dressed casually in a black turtleneck and a red beret—the perfect coffee shop outfit—just smiled and took a sip of her own coffee. "Peut-être. I am good at being quiet when I want to be." She gestured to the newspaper. "You seemed rather engrossed in that article, actually. No wonder you did not notice me, Monsieur Lockwood. You must have quite an interest in the NPAF, oui?"
"Oh, no, not really, I just like keeping up with the times in the Times, that's all. I know the news can get depressing some days, but it pays to stay informed," he said with a smile. "Besides, you know I try to support Mint and Matcha wherever I can. A bit a day certainly doesn't hurt."
"Ah, oui, and it is always important to have all of the information possible, so that you can make the most informed decisions."
Wise words, he thought.
"So, how's the family?" he asked; other than Gray, who still lived at Southeast Point, he didn't see or talk to any of the sisters often nowadays.
Curaçao shrugged lightly. “They are doing well, at least as well as can be given what has transpired over these last weeks, oui? Dawn is studying up on the city's political structure so that she can be better informed when she eventually becomes involved; Havoc and her team are still on a winning streak; and Insipid is enjoying her new career and all the attention that goes with it."
"And Velvet?”
“Well, let us just say that about a week ago, I noticed that she was making an… excursion." She took a sip of her coffee again. "I understand that she spoke with you shortly before?"
"Oh, yeah, she asked me about this bar up in Mid-North. The Salted Rim, I think? She said she was going to meet some friends for a party and needed directions. Did she have a good time?"
"I would assume so, oui. Elle ne pouvait pas marcher droit quand elle est rentrée à la maison."
He blinked. "Huh? Sorry, I don't speak Romantique fluently, remember?"
“Ce n'est rien—it is nothing. Oui, she had a good time, and that is all that I will say on the subject."
"Okay…" He leaned forward in his seat a little, and took a sip of his own coffee. "So, not to sound like I'm rushing things along, but you called me up to arrange this a little meeting over coffee—and I appreciate letting me pick the spot—and I'm still not sure what this is all about. Not that I don't appreciate the company."
As he was taking another sip, Curaçao gave him a smile, leaned forward as well, and said softly, "I am very curious about your connection with Thunderbolt of Crown Spectrum."
He very nearly spit out a perfectly good mouthful of coffee, but managed to choke it down instead. "How do you mean?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.
"I am curious about your business relationship. Her company was quite the rising star some years ago, and while it is still doing good business, there have been no new inventions coming from them in some time. In roughly five years, as a point of fact."
"Oh, well, I mean, you can't expect a company to be putting out new tech every single year, can you?"
She blinked, as if baffled by the question. "Actually, oui, you can. In fact, that is the business model of every tech development company in the city. Except Crown Spectrum, of course."
"Oh, oh, I see the problem," he said with a grin. "It's not a tech development company anymore, hasn't been for years. It's purely focused on tech distribution nowadays. They make roughly the same in profits, but it's not nearly as much work."
"Ah, I see."
"What's with the questions about Crown Spectrum, though? I mean, if it's alright to pry? I'm not really involved much with them."
She leaned further forward in her seat. "You do realize that you have the Power of Attorney with the company, oui?"
He brushed that off with a hoof. "Oh, yeah, I know that, but that's just for legal stuff. I don't have anything to do with their distributions, their developments—which they don't do anymore—or anything else, really. Just a favor for a friend, like you do. The company mostly runs itself."
"Oui, a friend." Curaçao's grin widened. "A friend that has participated in multiple charity events with you."
Lockwood paused, then nodded, returning the grin. "Of course, a lot of my friends and business contacts attend the charity events I get involved with."
"Including a particular ball that was held several years ago," she added
She produced a photograph that Lockwood knew all too well, of him and "Thunderbolt" participating in an aerial dance at the very ball Curaçao had mentioned. A pang in his heart made him just as quickly look away from the photograph; seeing her again, even in a monochrome photo, was a bit too much.
He hadn't forgotten that dance at all, not one bit, nor its aftermath. He hadn't forgotten that there had been photos taken, either, but that wasn't a problem, not really; the problem was that he didn't have any himself, and had been avoiding them for a reason. The memories weren't bad, but it hurt thinking about them and how long it had been.
But he'd practiced for this. He knew how to play it off.
"Yes, of course, she was there as well," he replied. "And yeah, we shared a dance between friends. It's just what's expected of me at these charity things sometimes. It's good to promote the events and it gives folks something to talk about afterwards."
She nodded in understanding and withdrew the photograph. "Ah, that makes sense. Still, didn't you tell ma sœur that you were terribly out of practice?" She glanced at the photo and shook her head. "I know it is difficult to tell from just a photograph, but you have very fine form, almost professional-level."
Lockwood caught himself from gulping; these questions were starting to get a little too suspicious. "Well, yeah, but that was years ago, I haven't danced since then."
"Ah, so the last dance that you shared with anypony was with Mademoiselle Thunderbolt?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, that's right. There wasn't a real opportunity to keep in practice for about a year or so, so I just kind of stopped. I appreciate the compliments about my technique, though."
"Hmm…" She looked at the photograph again and smiled. "You know, when I waltzed with Shroud that evening of the party… I looked into her eyes, and she into mine, and that was when we realized that we were meant to be."
He smiled. "Oh. Wow, that's lovely to hear. I'm glad that everything worked out with you two that night. I know it was kind of a rough start, but—"
"You are looking at Thunderbolt in this picture the same way, Lockwood," she said, putting the picture back down for him to see and tapping it; he still purposefully avoided looking at it, knowing full well what look she was referring to. "And she is doing the same."
Now he gulped. "I, uh… I think you might be misreading things—"
"Lockwood. Don't." She said simply, leaning back in her seat and taking a sip of her coffee. "I can read lies like books, oui? And you are very bookish right now."
He paused, then leaned back in his own seat. There was a finality in her voice that just told him that she'd been stringing him along this entire time; that she already knew, and she just wanted to catch him in her net to make sure he couldn't get out of it. He only knew one mare that could masterfully spring up a trap like that; he'd fallen into a few.
"Okay. So, where do we go from here?" he asked calmly. "Why do you want to know about me and Thunderbolt?"
"She is the owner of a leading tech company here in New Pandemonium City," Curaçao said, steepling her hooves. "And yet one day, she just… vanished. C'est très étrange, oui?"
"She moved back home, to the south," he replied, keeping the answers short and sweet, like he'd practiced.
Curaçao shook her head. "You are being vague, which means that you are hiding something. And you would not be hiding it if it wasn't important." She took another sip of coffee. "She moved home to Hope's Point, oui?"
Lockwood tried to divert course, to play off the suggestion like it was ridiculous. "You're suggesting that one of the most successful business owners in all of New Pandemonium is secretly some sort of pirate from Hope's Point?"
She gave him a simple look, like he's asked a silly question. "Oui, that is exactly what I'm suggesting."
"Well, fine, as far-fetched as that sounds," he said, still trying to divert, deflect, and distract as best he could, "let's say then, for the sake of argument, that she was. Why do you want to know?"
"I wish to speak with her," Curaçao said matter-of-factly.
Lockwood blinked. "You want to talk to her?"
"Oui."
"Why?"
Curaçao finished off her coffee and set it down on the table. "A mare that can come into this city from Hope's Point and start a business as successful as Crown Spectrum is a mare I want to know. Surely a mare like that has connections here in New Pandemonium, and in the 'Pirate City', oui?"
He cautiously nodded. "If your assumption is true, then yeah, I suppose that would naturally follow."
"Well, mes soeurs et moi are taking things in a… new direction," she said simply, almost slouching in her seat. "Dawn and I want to see if we can broker peace with Hope's Point, to put a stop to the troubles that plague both cities. And we need an 'in' to do it."
He blinked, stunned by that declaration. "You're serious?"
"Oui. Quite serious."
He paused again, then finished off his own coffee. "And what do you want from me?"
"Just information," Curaçao stated with a shrug. "I would venture a guess that you know her better than anypony in the city, oui?" She then leaned forward, gently pushing the photograph back over to him again. "So… tell me the story of how you two came together…"
Lockwood glanced back at the photograph of him and "Thunderbolt", tracing his hoof over her form—she looked beautiful in that dress—and letting memories come flooding back. He let a sad smile play across his face; five years of being apart would do that to anypony.
He then looked back to Curaçao. "Well, it all started at an innocuous little party hosted by a proud father celebrating his daughter's cuteceñara."
*****
Deep within the bowels of New Pandemonium City, there are places where no light touches. Secret places that so few know about that they may as well not exist. Places where signals both magical and technological didn't function properly, not unless one was particularly powerful or innovative.
One such place had old-fashioned stone walls, the sort that hadn't been used for construction for hundreds of years, long since outdated by concrete and steel. The walls should have been in total disrepair, and yet they still stood strong. The chamber was dark, save for a single candle with a red flame that barely even flickered in the stagnant air. Incense kept the room smelling heavily of sandalwood.
At the back of the room, near where the candle and incense were lit, was an altar, consisting of a flat stone slab stained with blood that had dried over several days, and an odd statue that depicted not a creature but more of a concept, a twisting mass of chaos and destruction.
A pair of ponies rested by the altar. One was upon the slab itself, nude and locked in a deep sleep; incense sticks sat in a holder on his chest, and the candle just beside his head. The other, wearing a black robe, dutifully stood at his side, watching over him and softly muttering words as he sprinkled powder over the other's body. The two were identical, both thin-framed unicorns with dull yellow coats and red manes with a white stripe. The one on the altar had a thick mustache; the other had a little goatee.
Suddenly, the mustached stallion's eyes opened.
The goateed stallion ceased muttering words and sprinkling powder. "Welcome back, dear brother, to the land of the living," he said, pulling back his hood and giving the other stallion a smile.
"How long have I been out?" asked the mustached brother.
"Five hours." The clean brother leaned forward, his smile widening as he offered his brother a robe. "Was the vision clear?"
"No, brother mine, still quite muddied." The mustached brother rose from the altar and donned the robe. "I saw little more than just flashes of images, but also… there were whispers."
The clean brother's expression became awed. "Whispers?"
"Yes indeed. Whispers." The mustached brother clapped his hoof on his brother's shoulder. "But I could tell our Dark Lady is filled with incomparable rage, brother mine, and that rage has given me clarity."
"Do tell, old chum, do tell."
The mustached brother looked off into the darkness of the room, a smile creeping onto his face. "We have been given a grand new undertaking, a glorious purpose." He turned to his brother. "Reduce this city to ashes."
The clean brother returned the smile. "Burn them all…"