One Day Before Rainbow Dash and Her Party Left to Rendezvous with Lexxic
Like all the other Dihmers, her coat was a splotchy mix of copper and gray.
Like all the other Dihmers, her cutie mark was hidden under intense layers of scarring.
Like all the other Dihmers, she trudged along on one task or another—in this case pushing a rickety metal cart down the road, collecting random scraps of junk left by goblins and equines alike. When she approached a limp body pressed up against a dilapidated wall, she paused. Marching over, she leaned in low and squinted her bright purple eyes at the statue-still stallion. He didn't so much at stir at her presence, even with the thuds of Blobstain rhythmically rolling through everyone and everything. He wasn't meditating... he wasn't quoting a mantra. In fact, he wasn't even breathing.
“It releases,” she murmured. Then—one by one—she stripped the corpse of all its possessions: satchels, hunting spears, a collar of thorns. She tossed them all into her cart, sorting it with the rest of the junk.
But then—unlike all the other Dihmers—she paused... and focused her gaze once more upon the stallion's figure. Her ears drooped, her breaths came in ragged spurts. Closing her eyes tight, she leaned in and pressed her muzzle momentarily to the stallion's forehead. Then—with practiced grace—she slid his body down until it lay with its back to the unkempt brickwork of the street. She crossed his forelimbs and straightened his body so that he appeared peaceful... even dignified.
“Poor drongo came a gutser, didn't he?”
Her purple eyes flew wide open. She shot up to her hooves, stumbling noticeably.
“Oi!” A gray-skinned goblin waved her down. “Calm ya teats, love. Ain't like me to keep score like the rest of yous glue sticks.” With a remarkably calm and friendly expression, he strolled closer to the scene and squinted down at the equine corpse. “Reckon the ruby lights bled outta him several blob booms ago.” He looked at the mare. “A bloomin' miracle ya got to 'em before eithah the Fur-Bloodahs or Leethah-Bloodahs did, ay?”
She said nothing. Avoiding eye contact with the stallion, she gripped the cart and made to push it further down the partially-ruined road.
The imp stood up straight. “Ain't got nothin' to say, Lingeroo?”
She scuffled to a stop, the crooks of her fetlock tightening along the handles of the cart.
His pointed ears raised inquisitively. “About business, I mean.” He gestured towards the dead stallion. “I know ya got nothin' to yab about ol' tomato sauce here.”
Her jaw clenched... then unclenched. “It lingers,” she said.
“Aw, dun be like thet, Lingeroo!” His sharped teeth showed in a curved smile. “After all the streeps we've fetched for each othah!”
“It lingers,” she repeated—this time with the hint of a growl.
“Now ya can't fool me anymore than the bloody dihmahs who trot all ovah ya!” He pointed a clawed finger. “Theah's more to the facade. Reason enough for all the blokes back at guildy-q to call ya 'Lingeroo'!” His eyes narrowed. “Yer mighty resourceful. Shame ya ain't Peetra material. Now...” He took a few bold steps towards the deadpan mare. “...what's the real reason ya haven't shown yer pretty face around us tradies lately?”
Silence...
More silence...
...then finally—
“It is drained,” she murmured.
“Come again?” He cupped a hand around one pointy ear. “We talkin' the drill or ya horse tubes?”
She spoke again—growling slightly. “That which drills.”
“Aw. A bloody shame.” He fiddled his fingers together. “Hrmmmm... what's it needin', exactly? A tune-up? A new chassis? A fine sharpenin' of the drill bit?”
“It requires that which glows.” She huffed, pivoting her head slightly towards him. “So that it collects that which is beyond the grasp of what lingers.”
The imp whistled, then waved a hand over his ears. “That one flew right ovah me melon, love. Could ya maybe drop the verbal muckin' around for a smidge?”
Her nostrils flared. “It lingers,” and she pushed the cart once more.
“Hah! But of course! Predictable ol' Lingeroo...” He waved at her as she left, nevertheless speaking: “But dun leave an old tradie hangin', ay? The drongos down in Watah-Blood Guildie-q could really use ya expertise! Of course theah'd be streeps in it for ya!”
“It silences.”
“Hrmmmf...” He folded his arms. “Easy for you to say.”
The mare left, so that the goblin remained the only living soul in that portion of the town.
There was a prolonged beat, and then the goblin calmly looked towards a collapse mound of bricks to the side.
“Feel like prancin' outta theah, glue stick? Any blob-beat now...”
“How did—” In stumbling out, Flynn tripped on a crack in the road, falling flat on his chest. Whump! “Ow! BUCK!” Wincing, he stood up straight and dusted himself off. “H-how did you know I was there...?”
“Yous Penumbrans got a deefferent smell about ya...” The imp gestured his thumb towards the nearest group of equines. “The dihmas—on the othah hand—every time they trot up it smells like a gobb-o just opened theah lunch.”
“I see...” Flynn looked awkwardly at the corpse that had been ever so hastily “laid to rest” on the side of the road. “...I imagine good smells are hard to come by around here.”
“The same can be said about creepy stalkahs.”
Flynn gave the goblin a double-take. “I'm n-not stalking h-her!”
The goblin squinted suspiciously. “Didn't exactly say you was, did I?”
Flynn bit his lip.
“Maybe ya haven't noticed, dipstick, but that sheilah ain't no regulah tub'o'glue. She's got herself a history of helpin' out my fellow tradies in a pinch.” His teeth showed. “If I find out some drongo from the world dan undah is fetchin' to turn her inside out, then me and my mates just might have a blue with the whole bloomin' bucket of yous.”
“Hey... hey!” Flynn held both hooves up. “I'm not trying to turn anypony inside out! Or any creature for that matter!” He sighed long and hard. “Besides, I've had my fair share of seein' folks bite it that way and worse.” He gazed off down the road that the mare had traversed. “I'm not out to set any new records.”
The imp's gaze settled on Flynn's metal eye. He eventually nodded. “Aye... reckon you wear the colors of a propah battlah.”
“I think we both started out on the wrong hoof.” Flynn put on a friendly smile, extending a fetlock. “My name is Flynn. I belong to the Heraldic Seven... mmmm... although we're actually just Five now... aside from my boss and a murder bird, of course.”
“Frostbeams...” the imp said with a cool smile. He shook Flynn's fetlock as he said: “The name's Plato. Plato of Chrome-Blood. Although I work mainly with our cousins—the Watah-Bloodahs down doin' trade bleakside along the Blob.” A wink. “I'm nevahtheless proud to say me name geets around.”
“Apparently ours does too.” Flynn's good eye narrowed. “Just how many goblins have heard about the 'visiting Penumbrans?'”
“Awr, reckon!” Plato smirked. “All the guildies know about yous colorful cloppahs! Ain't every blob-beat we gets shiny sticks of glue trouncin' in and mixin' with the usual chundah. Word ees that a certain Tail-Bloodah has taken a fancy for the one weeth feathas.”
“Yeah. Uh huh.” Flynn looked straight at the imp. “Did I hear right that you've done business with that mare from a moment ago?”
“What, ol' Lingeroo?” The goblin folded his arms with a coy smirk. “Who's askin', mate? The Seven or the One?”
“Let me ask you something first.” Flynn trotted closer to him. “Do you really believe that my friends and I are from 'Penumbra?'”
Plato scratched the back of his head. “I dunno.” A shrug. “Reckon theah's a heapin' chunk of Peetra's flame on the othah side. Could account for why yous so flickah-full of colors.”
“Well, we're not the first ones to have crossed the edge of the world,” Flynn said.
“Pfffft—Bloody oath, cobbah!” Plato gestured. “The bats-o's!”
“Yeah—no.” Flynn shook his head. “I mean besides them.” He waved a hoof. “Generations of ponies—not allied with any faction of the Trinary War—arriving here on this edge of the plane, hoping to spread harmony and peace.”
The goblin had a good long blink at that. He leaned back, whistling. “Won't lie to ya, mate. Them's the yabbin' of pure rubbish to me.” He stroked his chin. “Butttt... reckon I once woulda said the same about big talkin' chooks with cat bottoms to 'em.”
“Does any of the... the Petra goblins know about such a group of ponies?” Flynn blinked his one good eye. “Past or present?” He winced slightly. “M-most definitely past...”
“History ain't my guild, mate,” Plato said. “Dun exactly look like the Metal Mum, do I?”
“Huh?”
“Queen Avril—the leader out een Peetra.” Plato gestured. “Reckon some imp een her court knows a thing or two about what most us gobb-o's can't be arsed to remembah. Perhaps one of her kobold servants or some such.” He blew out the side of his mouth. “Though... what yer suggestin' would explain a thing or two about ol' Lingeroo.”
Flynn's brow furrowed. “Why do you keep calling her that?”
“Pfffft—Piece of piss! What—we gotsta keep the poor sheilah nameless? Thet only complicates things, ay? Nahr...” He shook his head, ears wobbling. “She's far too useful to the likes of me tradie cousins and I to just toss away like the rest of the tomato sauces heahabouts.”
“How so?”
“Varnish, cobbah! Varnish!” Plato smiled. “And not the rack off overexpensive shit that the Smelt-Bloodahs peddle! Oi, theah just comin' the raw prawn with pushin' that rubbish! But Lingeroo! Awr... that sheilah knows how to find the good stuff. And seein' that she's Dihmah-blood, she doesn't charge out the arsehole!” He leaned back with a proud smirk. “But I'm not one to look a geeft horse in the mouth, aye? I connect her weeth the Chrome-Bloodahs. Give her the mate's rate so she makes plenty of streeps for her troubles. Seems only right, ya reckon?”
“I... I-I...” Flynn was rubbing his bald head at this point. “I'm sorry. But you lost me at 'varnish.'”
“Bloody gartahs, glue stick! They burnin' yer melon to a creesp dan undah?” Plato flailed one arm dramatically. “I'm talkin' a hulljob for boats fixin' to cross the Blob!”
“So...” Flynn blinked. “...it's not just the the Smelt-Blooders who are working with the Dihmers...”
“Hell nawr!” Plato grinned. “That's what I'm tryin' to tell ya, mate! Us Chrome'n'Watah tradies—we've been pushin' this secret service on the side with ol' Lingeroo! Now, the Smelt-Bloodahs? Pffft... sure they've got somethin' of a monopoly with the main herd of them Dihmahs—what with their big ol' cruisah that comes to harbor every few fortbeats or so. But we're makin' streeps on the side for the Blob runners in the bleaks! And it's all thanks to that one glue stick who pretends to be less than she is, ya reckon?”
“Where does she get her varnish?”
“Hah! Trade secret! One she hasn't shared.” Plato winked. “And I gotta hand eet to thet sheilah. Thet's one way to make extra streeps for herself.”
“What... would a Dihmer like her use strips for?”
“Reckon thet's her business and not ours, cobbah.” Plato nevertheless sighed. “But she has been slow on the delivery as of late. From the sound of things, eet's got to do with her toolset.”
“Toolset?”
“Lingeroo's a regulah tinkah. Puts the likes of Gear-Blood to shame.” Plato cleared his throat, leaning in to whisper. “But ya didn't hear me say that. The Chrome-Bloodahs are tradin' with the Gear-Bloodahs this season.”
“Your secret is... uh... safe with me...”
“Wish secrets were safe with everyone.” Plato tongued the inside of his mouth, looking towards the distant buildings of Blobstain. “The longah we go without Lingeroo deliverin', the less progress we make with the Fur-Bloodahs and Tail-Bloodahs in the brinks.” He stroked his chin in thought, then looked at Flynn. A smarmy smile formed. “Tell ya what, mate. Reckon you two share more colors than most glue sticks.”
“We do?”
“We're smellin' the same lunch, cobbah. She ain't like the rest of them tomato sauces. Perhaps theah's a shared history. I dunno... but if you can reach out to her—use yer horsie knowledge or such rubbish—and help her get back on tradin' that special varnish that she's been fetchin', the gobbo's down at my Guildie-Q will make it worth your while.”
“Perhaps...” Flynn clenched his teeth, squinting his one good eye at the imp. “...even help us... with our own boat?”
“Needin' to prance outta town sometime soon?”
“It would certainly make things easier for us.” Flynn coughed delicately. “My friend Kepler has been bending over backwards with the Smelt-Blooders, but at this rate... I dunno when they're gonna throw him a bone.”
“Well, sounds like a good time for us to capitalize on business with Penumbrans!” Plato held his hand out. “You have my word, mate. If yous can get Lingeroo to fetch us more varnish, we'll make you somethin' way bettah than those Smelt-Blood drongos could even begin to promise.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“But nothin' bad happens to the sheilah, got it?” Plato's eyes narrowed harshly as he pointed with his other finger. “I've got the sniffin' feeling she risks enough as eet is for the good stuff. Wouldn't want some backwards yabbos muckin' things up when they don't need to be.”
“I'll... uh...” Flynn cleared his throat. “...I'll try not to needlessly ruin such a good source of income for you.”
“Contrary to popular prattlin'...” Plato winked and walked off with a smirk. “Peetra's flame ain't all about streeps, mate.” He gestured blindly at the corpse of the stallion as he faded into the grimy distance. “Sometimes eet's a certain shimmerin' something else.”
A Few More Minutes After Rainbow Dash and Her Party Left
“Uhm... okay...” Logan stared at the stallion. “What song?”
“... … ...” Flynn looked up from his flexing fetlock, blinking. “Hmmm?”
“What song?” Logan shrugged wildly beside Kepler. “You said you knew somepony that could help us, and then you mentioned a song.”
“Oh... uhm...” Flynn sweated.
“Do you believe we should endeavorr to become minstrrels, brrotherr?” Kepler asked. “To earrn prrofitable strrips?”
“No, I—”
“Did you hit your bald spot so hard while we weren't looking that the concussion convinced you that you're a tenor?” Logan droned.
“No! I—grnnktt!” Flynn spat, gesturing wildly. “Just forget about the 'song' thing!” He huffed. “... … ...I've been following somepony.”
Logan folded his forelimbs with a curious squint. “What do you mean 'following somepony?'”
“Like... keeping track of her movements... observing her habits... rushing in to help her when jerkly imps say rude and nasty things—”
“Oh.” Logan raised an eyebrow. “So you've been stalking, then?”
“What? No!”
“Ach...” Kepler pointed. “It most cerrtainly sounds like stalking, my frriend!”
“Look—bottom line!” Flynn gestured into the heart of Blobstain. “Out there is a pony who shows the signs of not being like all the other dihmers! In fact, I think she's got the emotion, tenacity, and liveliness to suggest she might be cut from a different cloth!”
Logan sighed and opened his muzzle to retort—
“You mean... a descendant of the Emerraldinians of Darrkrreach?” Kepler asked.
“Possibly. Maybe.” Flynn nodded. “That's... not b-been proven yet.”
“Well, what has been 'proven?'” Logan asked with a snort.
Flynn pointed. “That this one particular pony has been working closely with a certain guild of goblins.”
“Working on what?”
Flynn smirked. “Collecting and trading an extra special type of varnish used on boats to cross the Blob.”
Kepler and Logan exchanged glances.
Flynn continued, speaking between the heavy drumbeats of the tell-tale ocean in question. “It's a common fact that the Dihmers alone have found a way to make watercraft impervious to the chaotic slime that fills the horizon just Curveside of us. But... most of them have a trade that's been monopolized by the Smelt-Blooders here in Blobstain.” He looked at the other two Heraldites. “And just how well is that business panning for us?”
Kepler sighed, adjusting his spectacles. “Uncomforrtably slow, I fearr. Even forr my patience.”
“Right. And we all know that Rainbow Dash can't afford to have the likes of Smelt-Blood drag things out. We need more options—and a more viable way to get the hell out of Dodge at any moment. While the Smelt-Blooders are pledging to be helpful—what, with connecting us with the Dihmers who come to harbor every once in a while—we just may not get that window of passage.”
“This is all a matterr of timing,” Kepler said.
“Right.” Flynn paced as he spoke. “But I talked with an imp the other day. Plato of Chrome-Blood. He says that this one Dihmer mare fetches him varnish using special tools—not to mention a trade secret knowledge of how and where to find the stuff.”
“Ach...!” Kepler stood up straight, blinking excitedly through his bifocals. “Now that sounds like a most prromising avenue indeed!”
“There's just one problem...” Flynn gestured in mid-trot. “This mare hasn't been able to fetch the Chrome-Blooders their special varnish in a long while. Plato seems to think that it's because the mare's tools aren't operating properly. If that's true, and if there's a way we can provide assistance, then Plato has promised to help us get a boat fixed up to properly cross the ocean of slime.”
“Plleuurghhh,” Logan blew.
Flynn arched an eyebrow at him. “What? Why you plleuurghhhing me, bro?”
“These diet freakazoids are competing hypercapitalist buttmongrels, dude.” Logan scoffed. “Of course they're gonna promise you the stars—and more—for you doing them a huge favor. But it's another thing to deliver.”
“I don't believe this Plato guy is out to scam us.”
“Maybe now's a good time to remind you that you're an optimist with one eye.” Logan belched. “This is the Dark Side, baldy. Sunshine and rainbows is countless farts behind us. Stop pretending otherwise.”
“I'm not pretending!” Flynn stomped his hoof, fuming. “We're out here to do some good for this world—and for Rainbow Dash! Now—if we found an honest-to-goddess opportunity to make actual friends and allies in this shithole of an emo convention that they call a 'town,' don't you think we owe it to her to at least aim for it?!”
Silence.
Logan and Kepler exchanged glances.
The latter of the two cleared his throat and spoke: “What prrecisely do you prropose, brrotherr?”
“It's simple!” Flynn stood up straight, smiled, and gulped. “Logan...” He looked towards the fat stallion. “You... uh... should go speak to her!”
“... … … ...why me?”
“Because... … ...” Flynn fidgeted where he stood.
Logan blinked. “Yeah...?”
“You're... you!” Flynn gestured with a weak hoof. “And... when you're you, you're equal parts charming and intimidating.” He smiled crookedly. “Either is a good leg to stand on when negotiating with a stranger!”
“I get the intimidating part—but how exactly am I charming?”
“Oh... y'know...” Flynn waved. “You're... uh... … … jolly!”
“Jolly.”
“Right. Jolly.”
Logan frowned. “That's your way of saying 'fat', isn't it?”
“Well don't act like that's a big friggin' surprise!”
“You're afraid of talking to this mare for some reason!”
“I am not afraid!”
“Then throw your baldy unicorn ass in her face and do the negotiations yourself!”
“Logan, just talk to her!”
“I don't want to talk to her!”
“Why not?!”
“Because like all the Dihmers, she's bound to be full of misery, droning, and suicidal tendencies! None of which fit well on a salad!”
“Since when have you eaten a salad?”
“You just don't want to own up to the fact that you've been stalking her!”
“It isn't stalki—for Morty's sake, Big Show, I've been scouting out the locals for potential allies!”
“Uh huh...”
“It's precisely what the Austraeoh requires the Herald to do!”
“Yeah, with nerdy eyeglasses and nasal heavy breathing.”
“Go talk to her, Big Show—”
“No, you talk to her!”
“Well, somepony's gotta talk to her!”
One Hour After Rainbow Dash and Her Party Left
Knock knock knock!
She looked up from a bench where she sat in the corner of a ramshackle hut. Turning about, she fixed her violet eyes to the front of the shack where a curtain of leather hung like a makeshift door.
Silence—save for the beating of the ocean beyond.
“... … ...”
Exhaling, she faced the bench once more. The mare leaned over and resumed tinkering with several scraps of metal using tools held within the crooks of her fetlocks.
Not long later...
Knock knock knock knock!
She sat up again. She looked around the room. Violet eyes narrowed, scrutinizing.
Knock! Knock!
With a creak, she got up from her stool. She trotted around the tiny interior, checking the foundation, the floor, the dusty corner behind her threadbare sleeping mat. The knocking happened once again. Her search led her to the front entrance of the shack. She jolted to a stop. There—peaking out from underneath the leather doorflap—was a set of limbs.
Someone was standing immediately outside her shelter.
“... … …?” With a singular motion, she flung the flap open and stared outside.
Kepler smiled politely through his tusks. “Ahem...” His scorpion tail curled up as he stood straight and adjusted his spectacles. “A thousand parrdons forr the intrrusion, madame. My name is Keplerr, a memberr of the parrty of Penumbrrans who have chanced upon this most industrrious town. It has come to my attention that you may—in fact—be the one parrticularr Dihmerr who has employed herrself in trrading specially-collected varrnish with Plato of the Chrome-Blood Guild. Is that corrrect?”
The mare stared at him, then at the doorframe, then back at the wyvern. “It strikes.”
“Hmm?” Kepler blinked behind his bifocals. “'Strrikes?'” He looked at the doorframe, then at his own forelimbs, then at her. “Ach! My apologies...” A breathy chuckle. “You see—wherre I come frrom, which is considerrably farr away—it is customarry to rrequest one's attention by rrhythmically knocking upon the frront entrrance of a cerrtain parrty's domicile.” He cleared his throat and gestured. “Grranted, in yourr culturre, it stands to rreason that such a custom—albeit seemingly simple—may not in fact be thorroughly followed—”
“It leaves,” she said, releasing the flap and turning back to her bench.
“Oh! But if you w—” The leather curtain smacked Kepler in the face. He winced, coughed, and stuck his head in through the side of the doorframe. “I-If you would only be so kind as to hearr what I have to say, you might find my prroposal is most beneficial to you!”
“It collects,” the mare said, sitting at her bench with her back to the entrance. “And it lingers.”
“And it tinkerrs!” Kepler pointed with a smile. “At least, frrom the looks of it!”
The mare clenched her eyes shut. She sat slack at the bench, weathering a deep, deep breath. At last, she throated: “It leaves.”
“Oh, and quite a terrrible shame it would be if I werre to immediately abide by such dismissal!” Kepler gestured from where he stood in the doorframe. “For, you see, it has come to my attention that you have encounterred an obstacle. An obstacle that—forr whateverr rreason—has prevented you frrom conducting prroperr business with the Chrrome-Blooderrs! Now... what did you say... 'it collects?'” Kepler beheld a hopeful expression. “My frriends and I may possibly possess the tools necessary to help you bypass said obstacle! Then and then alone could you trruly 'collect', in the way of strrips, perrhaps. Would that not fulfill yourr temporral obligation to yourrself? Hmmm?”
She stopped fuming for just a moment, her expression suddenly puzzled as her violet eyes swept the dusty walls of that place. At last, she turned to face Kepler.
“It attaches...?” she mouthed.
The wyvern hesitated briefly upon hearing that. “I beg yourr parrdon?” Kepler stood tall and straight with legit curiosity. “Forrgive my pause—I do believe that is the firrst time I have hearrd an interrogative statement from yourr kind.”
“It attaches to that which squints,” she insisted.
“I... am attached to somepony who squints?”
The mare nodded. “It squints.”
“... … ...” The wyvern looked puzzled.
The mare stifled an inward groan. “It sees through one eye.”
Flynn suddenly poked his through the leather doorflap. “Your name for me is 'it squints?'”
“It leaves!” the mare immediately hissed in his direction.
“I-I'm sorry!” Flynn blushed red as a beet. He waved a hoof. “Pretend I'm not here!”
Logan stuck his head through the other side of the doorflap. “Way to go, casaneighva. Want me to go in there and fetch a urine sample for you to sniff?”
“Dammit, Big Show! I was just checking on—”
“On what?! If Keps here is gonna make a move on your marefriend?”
“She's not my marefriend—!”
Kepler's face muscles tensed. Without looking—WH-WHAP!—he batted both stallions back outside with a single swing of his scorpion tail. Retracting it, he relaxed once again, never taking his smile off the mare. “Please do forrgive my frriends. Theirr tact is not nearrly as integrral as theirr sincerrity. Errhm...” He stroked his chin, then spoke with a proud smirk. “It trrips over itself.”
“... … ...” The mare calmly nodded. “It trips.”
“Brrilliant! And who says language is imperrmeable?”
“It attaches.”
“Yes. A personal sin I have yet to shake,” Kepler said, holding a talon over his furry chest. “I have—forr farr too long—found myself inexorrably attached to the crreaturres I come acrross in my trravels, not to mention theirr customs and habits.” He pointed at the bench. “Speaking of which, it would appearr that you arre engaged in some meticulous worrk of your own!”
“!!!” In a sudden burst of panic, the mare flung a gray canvas tarp over the entire bench and all of its components. She locked in place atop the stool, staring wide-eyed into the shadows as if having exposed a horrible transgression.
Kepler saw her vulnerability immediately. “Fearr not, studious one...” He held his wing'd talons up non-threateningly. “I have no interrest in outing you to anyone forr what may or may not be a hidden pasttime.”
“It... lingers,” she murmured.
“Hmmm... perrhaps indeed.” Kepler smiled. “But I perrsonally believe ourr collective prresence on this plane is a prrecious commodity. What we do at the expense of time is no less imporrtant than what is committed underr severre expedience.” He waved towards the tarp-covered bench. “May I be honorred with examining yourr specialized hoofworrk?”
The mare fidgeted where she sat. Her ears folded on either side of her shaved skull. She closed her purple eyes, taking a long and contemplative breath. Then—with a breath that sounded melancholic at first—she slowly undid the tarp and exposed her hoofwork.
Kepler craned his neck inquisitively.
She shuffled slightly to the right, making room for the small wyvern.
Only with her permission did the Heraldite shuffle over. He used his tail to prop himself upwards slightly, getting a better view of the tools and metal contraptions lying across the bench. He adjusted his bifocals, staring intently at the various devices in mixed degree of construction.
“Ach...” He nodded his hairy head. “...a most elaborrate assorrtment indeed. Unforrtunately, I am at something of a loss as to the specific purrposes of that which I see, but I can alrready tell that these fabrrications are leagues above the tools that yourr familiarrs employ, if I may be so bold as to inferr...”
“It observes,” the mare stated.
“Indeed I do.”
With his attention captured, she hoisted two narrow strips of metal into view. She held one slab in her left hoof. “It abstains.” She waved the identical strip in her right hoof. “It abstains.” She placed both metal pieces on the bench and pushed them towards one another. They had barely traveled five inches before—Cl-Clak!—both pieces of metal slapped against one another and remained stuck. “It attracts.”
Kepler beamed with legitimate enthusiasm. “Magnetism! A most industrrious find!”
The mare held up a hoof, capturing his attention. She slid the two magnetized strips away, then brought into view what looked like an interlocking bolt mechanism. “It shimmers,” she said. With Kepler watching, she turned a tiny rotary dial on the device. A pale glow emanated from the metallic surface as she did so. “A dark glow. A true glow.”
Kepler watched in curious silence.
She slid open a drawer underneath the top of the bench, producing an identical mechanism. She turned the dial in the opposite direction. This mechanism also glowed, albeit with a darker hue—almost purple in the haze it generated. “It shimmers. A darker glow.” She held opposite mechanisms in either hoof. “It connects.”
Kepler merely mouthed what she said, looking confused.
Deadpan, the mare placed one mechanism on a counter above them. She then took a narrow tube of metal and slipped it into the hole of the mechanism on the workbench before her. Once the tube was slipped in, she used her hoof to spin the rotary dial multiple times. The pale glow intensified, issuing a humming noise through the hollow of the shack.
“It transfers.”
That said, she slapped the side of the mechanism. The inserted tube vanished in a twinkle of pale light. Kepler watched as tiny translucent serpents materialized, swam corkscrew paths upwards from the bench, and connected to the other identical mechanism. Within the next bilnk, the same tube re-materialized in the bench device's twin up above them.
“That...” Kepler blinked through his bifocals. “... … ...is quite the upgrrade frrom the firrst demonstrration.”
The mare held up her hoof. There was the hint of something in the corner of her muzzle—something that tugged at its otherwise granite complexion. She slid open another drawer, producing a cube of familiar pale metals plated together. “It expands,” she said.
“It... expands...?” Kepler remarked.
Calmly, the mare twisted a dial on the side of the box. Two triangular lids opened at the top with a hiss. She grabbed a pouch from a shelf, opened it, and poured a meager amount of sand into the hollow of the cube. Once she had emptied half the pouch, she tied it shut then slapped the triangular lids of the box shut.
Gently gesturing for Kepler to step back, she placed the cube down on the floor. She grabbed two tubes of silver metal, stuck them into opposite holes of the box, then twisted them.
Kepler jumped—slightly startled—as a ring of chaos serpents materialized, flying narrow orbits around the cube. Clakka-clakka-clakka! The air rang with otherworldly percussion as the multiple triangular plates of the cube flipped-flipped-flipped outward along all surfaces of the device. The cube increased in dimension by a factor of nine, becoming a crate large enough to sit on. Once it was finished, the mare pulled both tubes out, opened the top two triangular lids, and stuck her hoof deep into the cube. She slowly raised her fetlock, pouring enough transmogrified sand to fill at least six of the same pouches she had originally extracted the material from.
“It expands,” she said with finality.
“My starrs and garrterrs...” Kepler rubbed the back of his head. “So this is what you need the Goblin strrips for! It's not forr strrict business! You mold the materrials to crraft these wonderrs...” His eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “You arre a chaotician. And an engineerr at that!”
The mare slowly exhaled, slapping the cube back shut. “It lingers as it collects.” She leaned against the device, staring through the surface of her workbench. “Yet it also constructs. The weight—it anchors through it. The world and its weight are one.” Her nostrils flared. “It cannot purge.”
“I am... slightly embarrrassed to say this, madame...” Kepler sweated noticeably. “But you arre farr beyond the capabilities of me and my familiarrs.” A sad sigh. “Perrhaps it was prrematurre to assume that we could assist you with yourr endeavorrs.”
Her response was rather quick. “It does not grasp a false glow.”
“...I beg yourr parrdon?”
She avoided his gaze, fidgeting slightly. “The shimmer...” She fought for a way—or a desire—for explaining it. “It constructs with a true shimmer. It does n-not utilize a f-false shimmer.” She bit her bottom lip slightly, as if each syllable pronounced was a mortal sin. “That which is bright... and not dark...” She slowly shook her head. “It eludes.”
Kepler cocked his head to the side. “... … ...our magic must indeed be 'false' to you.” He finished with a slight nod. “Especially if chaos energy is all you've ever dealt with.”
She finally looked towards him. “That which drills has drained.” A courageous breath. “It is not sustained by a true shimmer.”
“Perrhaps... therre is still hope... forr all of us...?” Kepler smiled politely. “If you would only let us see this drill of yours...”
Her fetlocks tightened to where they clung to the edge of the cube—as if she may fall at any moment.
“Madame... if I may be so bold...” Kepler gestured. “...do you trruly, honestly plan to be 'purrging' anytime soon?”
Her ears drooped. She hung her head.
“I did not think as much.” He paced through the shack, gesturing at her craftmanship. “So long as you purrsue that which you arre exceptionally good at, why not allow otherrs to help you? At the rrisk of sounding like a based merrchant, I verry serriously doubt you will get this offerr again anytime soon.” He turned to face her with a knowing smirk. “And you do wish to earrn morre of the trrue shimmerring metal frrom the imps, do you not?”
The mare looked up at him.
“Prrogrress, my good marre...” Kepler smiled. “Prrogrress manifests whetherr we apprreciate it orr not. And what I've witnessed herre is testament of its endurring naturre.” A shrug. “What betterr way do we have of purrging ourr lesserr... past selves?”
“... … ...” She gazed thoughtfully at him.
Two and a Half Hours After Rainbow Dash and Her Party Left
“One. Two. Three...”
“Shoot!”
Outside the shack, Flynn and Logan pointed their hooves at each other.
“Again.”
“Okay.”
“One. Two. Three...”
“Shoot!”
The two Heraldites stuck their fetlocks at each other again.
“Another stalemate.”
Logan sighed heavily out the side of his muzzle. “I don't get this game. Why do Wildcard and Seraphimus enjoy doing it so much when we're not looking?”
“Beats me,” Flynn muttered, leaning against a mound of bricks and yawning. “But something tells me you gotta be a griffon to truly appreciate it.”
“Pffft... racist rules, duuuude.”
Before Flynn could concur...
...Kepler came marching out through the leather doorflap of the mare's shack.
“Finally!” Logan grumbled. “Took your hairy ass long enough!”
“Why were you in there for so long?” Flynn hobbled close to the wyvern. “What were you even talking about?”
“Ach! A verritable plethorra of topics!” Kepler beamed. “She is a most genius engineerr of chaos metals! I've cerrtainly learrned a thing orr two about trransmutation and rre-distillation!”
“Yeah yeah, that's great...” Logan's brow furrowed. “But what about her drill and the varnish?”
“Did you say 'engineer?'” Flynn asked, his face slightly flushed.
“At ease, soldierr...” Kepler pushed Flynn back a few feet, then turned to Logan. “Big Show, can you prreparre us forr an expedition severral leagues towarrds Alpha?”
“Uhhh...” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “...I don't see why I can't do some trade and fetch us a wheeled wagon for a long trip.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I have arrranged forr us to rrendezvous with ourr esteemed colleague at a serries of caverrns located well outside of Blobstain.”
“Uhm... okay...” Logan cocked his head aside. “May I ask why?”
“She intends to let us look at the drrill, which we both suspect rrequirres ourr own brrand of experrtise to prroperrly fix.” The wyvern gestured. “And—if we can indeed perrforrm such a task—she'll agree to let us sharre in the prrofits of the next batch of varrnish that she collects.”
“And... that's what those Chrome-Blood weirdoes need to help make us a boat, right?”
“Prrecisely.”
“Well... balls out for Miss Stubby!” Logan grinned from ear to ear. “Fetch Quest-a-Go-Go!”
Flynn glared at Logan. “Can you please not talk about her and testicles in the same sentence?”
“Could ya simp a little quieter, baldy? The adults are talking.”
“That rreminds me...!” Kepler held a claw up. “She has agrreed to help us in all mannerr of things!” He cleared his throat. “But on one condition.”
“Yes!” Flynn leaned forward. “Name it!”
Kepler looked calmly at him through glinting spetacles. “You arre not to talk to herr.”
Flynn leaned back. “What?! Why n-not?”
“Ach! Forrgive me, brrotherr.” Kepler bore a coy smile through his tusks. “But I thought such would not be a point of contention, seeing as you arre most definitely not committed to the function that one might colloquially call 'stalking.'”
Flynn's ears drooped.
“Dude...” Logan shoved Flynn with a smirk. “You just got schooled by a space walrus.”
“I... don't get it...” Flynn murmured—bordering on whimpering. “...but I-I did so much to get us this far...”
“It's herr tenacious qualities that arre allowing us to acquirre the much-needed varrnish forr crrossing this inferrnal ocean,” Kepler said, pointing in the direction of the rhythmic thunder's source. “Let us not confuse who's trruly helping who, herre.”
“I believe our best decision was putting on Kepler here on chivalry patrol,” Logan stated. He marched off. “Right, then. I'm gonna fetch us a wagon.”
“Hrmmfff...” Flynn folded his forelimbs with a pout, glaring at the wyvern. “Lemme guess—you get to talk to her for the course of this expedition.”
“Affirrmative!”
“How come she's cozying up to the likes of you?”
“Asexuality, my frriend!” Kepler bowed. “You should trry it sometime.”
“Hah!” Logan's voice echoed from a distance. “I like the new, sassy Keps!”
“Indeed! It abstains!” Kepler followed after the large stallion, leaving Flynn to sigh and sulk. “Hah-HA!”