He was fully aware that he wasn't omniscient: it was simply that he generally didn't choose to see it as a lacking quality. As far as Discord was concerned, he knew about the things which were worth knowing. Any subject on which he found himself ignorant was very likely stupid or, even worse, orderly. And in the event that he somehow wound up in a position where he needed education -- why, sources of information were everywhere! In fact, during an era which was lost to all living memory but those of three, once somepony understood what he wanted, the rather minor challenge could be to make them stop talking --
-- he... didn't think about that very much any more. Not for long. It was like making incidental contact with an exceptionally sharp object. If you were quick enough, you might never recognize that contact had taken place at all. Not until you noticed the red stain spreading across your fur, wondered where it had come from, and only then might you experience something very close to --
-- whatever it was, it was the sort of sensation which needed to be experienced as little as possible. There were other feelings to pursue. Better ones, and some of them came with their own little curiosities. Things he could only investigate through direct experience, mysteries he had yet to solve...
As far as feelings were concerned, the previously-uninteresting subject known as 'dating' had mostly produced frustration, and investigating through direct experience had felt decidedly ill-advised. (He generally advised himself and if he was feeling uncomfortable with a topic, then he felt it best to take his own word on the matter. In this case, the secondary, page-born opinion had served as an echo.) The most basic concept of dating was simple enough: everything involved with the execution was decidedly complicated. Admittedly, that complexity had the potential to produce chaos, and he couldn't help but approve -- but in order for things to work out, all of that chaos ultimately had to collapse into a defined end goal. Something which was apparently the same just about every time.
This was, of course, offensive. But it was also for Fluttershy.
Dating was complicated, and remained so even with a rather talented research assistant to guide the way. (He had already resolved to tell the librarian nothing.) But the ultimate purpose of the activity was to reach the end goal. A fully-defined (and really, it was amazing just how much profanity he was being asked to put up with) result and if something had been defined, it could be understood.
If he wanted to learn about a subject, he could: it was just a matter of time and effort. For example, he'd recently experienced a brief moment of what he'd told himself was curiosity, because a new piece of living debris had washed up at the cottage and while he could have Fluttershy's attention at any time just by showing up, this mare seemed to feel she had a claim on it. So while he and his assistant had been traveling, he'd -- investigated. Here and there. A process which occasionally skipped a few steps, along with most of the distance in between them and a number of years, as you could really only ask him to put up with so much. Fully organized research was for the librarian: with Discord, it mostly given him the sort of headache which tended to linger even after he decided not to have a head for a while. Which should have taken care of the problem, but there you go.
He'd learned a few things about Fleur, and was still trying to decide exactly what he was supposed to do with them. It had felt as if the mare had recognized what he'd felt to be some especially subtle insinuations during their little holiday chat, but she'd just stood there....
The intruder was a number of things, and he occasionally wondered how Fluttershy would respond to being told all of them.
But the best way to get rid of her (which didn't involve breaking his parole, or -- having to look at Fluttershy's face if she realized what he'd done) was through beating her to the goal. All the unicorn had was -- whatever it was she possessed, and Discord could bring so much more to the table. In fact, why not save time by having the table make the trip on its own?
(He wasn't omnipotent, either. There were limits. He'd learned to live with a few, remained confused by others, and was still trying to figure out whether the latest was actually self-imposed. There was an odd little thrill in keeping a promise, not doing something when you so easily could. He didn't understand where that feeling came from, but felt it was an investigation which needed to be furthered.)
Because it was all about the goal, and he felt he recognized what that involved. Ultimately, Fluttershy was trying to find a mate, and his capable research assistant had listed a number of traits which a desirable match would hopefully possess.
"Um," said his capable research assistant.
He glanced down at the book, carefully balanced upon his paw. It was good to be back in his usual form for a while: something he could freely do because the area wasn't being observed. It would have been rather difficult for anypony to observe them anyway: not only was there a lot in the way, but he was standing within the teetering shadow cast by the newest portion. It was the sort of shadow which came with undertones. Some of the darker portions occasionally made creaking noises, because the ropes weren't binding them all that well.
There were subjects which Discord was still trying to master. However, he was an expert at recognizing the sort of chaos which was just looking for a place to happen, and occasionally had to give the shadow a hard look because it wouldn't be funny if any of it happened to him.
"Has something occurred to you, Harem?" They'd been traveling together for a while. It had allowed him to categorize a number of 'um' variations: based on the sort of things she tended to say afterwards, this one probably fell under 'awkward recognition of a potential future issue.'
"This is... taking a while," the book timidly proposed. "I didn't think it was going to take him this long."
He puffed out a breath from his lower lip, then decided that was getting a little staid and let the next exhalation just pass through: several fully-unnecessary flags attached to a long-ignored purchase shifted accordingly, with three changing their badges along the way. "Yes. Well. I have been attempting to hurry him." Defensively, "It's not quite as simple as it looks. Oddly, most of that comes because he's even more simple than he looks."
Several pages awkwardly fluttered at the edges. "Really?"
"It's easier to insert a new thought into a mind which has so much room available," Discord admitted. "He doesn't question where it might have come from or wonder why it doesn't fit into previous patterns. But when it comes to pushing that kind of mind, Harem, it's rather like relocating dust with a hurricane. I wouldn't care to predict where it might wind up, and I can just about guarantee a significant degree of scattering. So we let him proceed at his own pace."
Which was still irritating. All he was doing was telling the table to make the trip on its own, and --
"He's stupid."
Discord glanced down at the book's cover. There was a certain crinkling around the corners which hadn't been there before, and some of the lettering had developed little spikes around the edges.
Harem had made a statement.
"I don't see how that's a subject for debate," Discord admitted. "We went over this, Harem. There's a place in the competition for the unintelligent. Those who stumble across the right solution by tripping in a pothole of ignorance. Intelligence hardly seems to be the most desirable quality." Adding a punctuating snort, "When was the last time anypony looking for their ideal said 'Oh, what a beautiful brain'?"
His tail irritably knocked a few extra question marks into a corner.
"His lack of intellect could be seen as a positive trait. To have Fluttershy thinking for him could only improve the results --"
"-- he's not endearingly stupid," the book pushed. "Or charmingly dumb, or in the sort of way where the reader feels like he could ever learn anything. He's just an idiot. The sort of stock character who shows up for laughs, because he's had payback coming for a while and that's why you want him there: to see him suffer. But once everypony's laughed, he has to leave. Forever. Because if he ever appears again, he'll wear out what was never his welcome just by showing up --"
She was pushing...
"-- I'm told that ponies can change." His talon grandiosely gestured across the whole of his body, then returned to the limb. "Those who aren't ponies, for that matter."
"But --"
"-- I am certain she'll be a good influence on him," Discord sniffed. "Since part of her talent seems to involve a small boost to the intellect of those who can't truly think on their own. Think about everything else Blueblood can offer, Harem! The desirable qualities of a mate! The ability to provide! He can offer protection! -- well, he can hire it." Because one of the best ways to appear as if he had the facts was by correcting himself before anyone else could, and the book was taking exactly that sort of breath. "Protection, strength, and defense. You've told me about those qualities being sought in a mate, information which comes from your very own pages. And of course, he has the single most necessary trait in abundance. The one which launches every plot." And in The Voice Of Authority, "He is attractive."
The answering tones came across as being somewhat... dubious.
"...really."
Discord hesitated.
He couldn't really judge attractiveness in ponies: not on his own. There were four given configurations of bodies and much to his annoyance, they just about always stayed that way. (Crystals brought something different to the fur, but it was an identical difference and therefore became boring very quickly.) It left him looking at the way they regarded each other, which told him that Fluttershy was criminally underappreciated (with actual charges still pending). And viewed through the pony lens, the intruder definitely had something: this had mostly reinforced the idea that most ponies had rather poor taste.
Still, it gave him something to go on.
"I'm told he sparkles."
"So do vamponies," Harem countered.
"Vamponies," Discord announced, "do not exist. I would know." Defensive now. "And if they did exist, then clearly only the most handsome ones would sparkle."
"Vamponies are parasites," the book stated. "That's what being a vampony means, the only thing it ever means under all the metaphors about disease and sex. Parasites. They use other ponies, and they keep using them until they use them up."
He took a breath. Strictly speaking, he never had to, but there were times when basic dramatic necessity seemed to call for a simulation of functional lungs.
"Then it's a good thing they don't exist, isn't it?"
The book was silent for a few seconds. Pages turned, and interior artwork tried to peer through the shadows.
"I don't like this stable," Harem eventually opinionated. "Do you?"
He thought about it.
Discord felt he had a strong grasp on the concept of stables. It was where ponies kept most of the things which were meant for moving anything else: carts, carriages, and not stretching the definition out to include train cars was fine because definitions were usually overrated anyway. And for some reason, it was also the near-final destination for anything which a pony had purchased and no longer wanted, or just didn't have any use for. The trick of the thing was that there didn't seem to be an actual ultimate resting place, because the kind of item which wound up in a stable would eventually go to a stable sale: ponies trying to clear things out by asking for a fraction of the original purchase price. And for the most part, any item picked up at a stable sale was probably going to have its new owner place it in a stable. The prelude to having the whole thing start all over again.
Order chafed. Chaos comforted. Ponies were just weird.
This particular stable was a huge one. It needed to be, just to hold all of the things which didn't have any purpose.
It would have been possible to host a small Ponyville neighborhood within the walls, especially since the structure had been given rather more height than usual. After all, it was possible that somepony was eventually going to come up with a means of transport which was taller than a house and when that happened, Blueblood wasn't going to be kept from acquiring it by a mere lack of storage space.
Some brief study of the contents would allow an observer to split the stable into halves. One side contained things which had been purchased and forgotten about: given the owner, it was possible for this to take place before the ink on the receipt had fully dried. The other held those items which had been paid for and simply weren't used. Some of them were waiting for the right occasion, a number had yet to come back into style, and there was one air carriage which simply needed pegasi to develop a new means of flight. Blueblood was impatiently waiting for evolution to catch up with his realization: that if a select amount of gilding produced pleasant ornamentation, then making an air carriage almost entirely out of gold was the truest beauty and eventually, the world would produce something capable of getting it off the ground.
There were carts of all sorts, most of which had seen the wheels turn just enough to park them once. Most of the ground carriages hadn't been in fashion for a while. A palanquin was engaged in the infinite wait required for its owner to learn how to pronounce it. Means of transportation were placed next to, near, and occasionally around each other. A wall-mounted quartet of something which vaguely resembled minotaur shuffleboard sticks suggested Blueblood had once investigated a one-servant-per-hoof policy and found the balance not to his liking. Maintenance tools were used solely by somepony else or, rather more often, not at all. There was a huge collection in the stable: something which almost begged the question of how the owner had managed to avoid acquiring a zeppelin.
Blueblood had almost done it. The need for a permanent (or, given Blueblood, perpetually cycling) crew hadn't stalled him. Needing to purchase a hangar hadn't created the smallest obstacle for a stallion who assumed his finances were in perfect shape because the money hadn't stopped coming yet. The stop had hit when a truly heroic effort had managed to explain the first law of zeppelin carrying capacity: you could have all the space you wanted, as long as you didn't fill it with anything.
And that was why there was a new shadow teetering across the stable, with an option for avalanche.
Discord had learned a few things during his stay at the estate. Just remaining there had required him to both assume the shape of a pony and hold it for a discomfortingly long time, and this had allowed him to gain an entirely new experience: that of being paid. Not that he'd actually applied for a job: it was simply that if somepony was on the estate grounds long enough, the staff assumed they either worked there or had the kind of serious issues which funded therapy could hopefully resolve.
Besides, getting access to Blueblood had required him to carry a plate now and again, or bring something into a bedroom. So as far as Discord was concerned, there were multiple definitions (always better than one!) which had him putting in the work.
Getting paid had been a novel experience. He could always conjure his own bits whenever he liked, but that just usually meant he was taking an extra step because obviously conjuring what he'd actually wanted was more practical and in both cases, when it came to anything other than small, quickly-consumed treats, Fluttershy had a strange habit of asking him not to casually destroy economies. (Watching her fill out a number of complex forms had led him to investigate the concept of property tax, and then he'd had to let her talk him out of it all over again.) But these were earned bits, and those felt different.
It didn't always have to be bits, of course. The core idea was that someone did something for you, and then there was compensation for services rendered...
...anyway, there were things to learn about Blueblood and because Discord found the order imposed on the universe by the march of numbers to be utterly offensive, none of them had centered around looking at the stallion's bank accounts. Like Blueblood, Discord assumed that if money was coming, then money would keep coming and with the former, a stallion who'd never worked an hour in his life was fifteen moons away from being horribly wrong.
The stallion made a lot of purchases and when he wanted to be certain of impressing somepony, he brought most of them along.
A cart had been chosen. Then it -- well, strictly speaking, Discord couldn't say it had been loaded because the process was still ongoing. It wasn't a had. It was barely scraping 'has been', and kept verging into 'is being'. There were boxes piled on top of boxes, which were askew among suitcases, which had been bound to each other with ropes, bungee cords, and a generous helping of prayer. And every time Blueblood came up with something else which he just had to take with him, the pile got that much higher.
There were several ways to regard the results. Ponies who were caught within the scope of the current teetering shadow tended to spontaneously contemplate their mortality. Several Bearers were a minor temporal separation away from deciding that a fully camping-prepared Rarity was actually an underachiever.
"The stable is a means of holding possessions," Discord decided. "A demonstration of wealth. Which, given that wealth is a welcome quality in a mate, makes the stable desirable." He looked at the shadow again. "Just look at everything he's bringing with him! A gift for his intended! And it's only a fraction of what he actually owns --"
"-- they're things he's bringing for himself." Harem's tones were softly insistent, and somehow lost no actual insistence for the relative lack of volume. "All of it. In case he needs any, or just to show off."
He sniffed. "Very well: then once the two of them are together, it becomes a dowry." Harem had taught him about dowries. "Whatever is his also becomes hers. Legally. He's just showing her how much he can provide."
And that was how Discord would win.
Fleur was trying to find a mate for Fluttershy. So was he. And Fluttershy refused to let Discord provide for her -- so what he would provide was somepony who would.
Responsibility could be transitive. There was something interesting about that...
But Harem didn't seem to agree with him about Blueblood. She could think, he'd allowed that to happen, and... she was thinking for herself.
"It's too much."
"When one is demonstrating the ability to provide," Discord countered, "there's no such thing."
The book was silent for a while. The back cover shifted against his paw.
"Consider just how much is here," Discord offered, then added a quick talon snap to keep any of it from relocating itself to a rather personal version of 'here'.
Harem thought about it.
"Forty pages."
He raised a querying eyebrow.
"There was a writer who thought taking forty pages to describe somepony packing would be satirical," Harem offered. "So that's how he broke up his action scenes. And the romance. Both of those were really good, but he just kept putting in page after page of packing. And then he described the contents. That was another seventy pages. Every time anypony went somewhere. Each way."
"Did it work?"
"Some readers thought it was brilliant."
"See! Then in actual life, bringing so much along would clearly --"
"Three."
Carefully, "-- three."
"Three readers probably thought it was brilliant," the book told him. "Since that's how many didn't return the novel for a full refund. Unless they were just the ones who didn't have the strength to haul the hardcover back to the store."
"...oh."
"But another author abridged it a few decades later and published the results on behalf of the Morganstern estate," she finished. "Taking out all the packing parts. That sold really well. He just never got around to searching for the hinted sequel." The book sighed. "Thousands of ponies, still waiting on Buttercup's Foal..."
He let her rest on his paw as he looked around the stable again. It was a huge one: it needed to be, just to hold all of the things which didn't have any purpose. And even with but a single permanent occupant, the same could be said of the mansion.
Discord didn't understand that yet. He was still learning. A lesson yet to be acquired was that to stop learning was a form of death, and that would eventually make perfect sense to him because death was one of the most orderly things there was.
For now, he felt content to have realized that when it came to the search for Fluttershy's perfect mate, he could bring his own talents to the table. And then he could make the table move.
But he was still somewhat disgruntled. His exact methodology in creating the link might have been more complex than most, but -- he was hardly the first to compare Blueblood against a table.
Most of those who'd done so had been regarding the relationship in terms of intellect. Discord was treating it as a matter of speed.
An actual table would have been there by now.
She was coming too close to the library, and doing so for the third night in a row.
Fleur had several reasons for scouting Ponyville, and one of the most crucial came from something which had to be removed from the rental as soon as possible. She couldn't allow herself to become reliant on the contents of the box, and... the rental wasn't safe. She had taken some basic measures to secure the property, then gone somewhat beyond that, but -- the fact remained that anypony with time to work and the right skills could manage entry. Fleur, if she'd encountered the same level of defenses installed on another residence, would have been able to get in -- and that was with a mark which had nothing to do with theft. She had to secure the box, and soon. The first step was finding a location she could always access, even on the gallop. Somewhere nopony would ever think to look...
She was searching, It was a process which was finally allowing her to master more of Ponyville's secret routes, and it was taking place under Moon because autumn didn't have a lot of time left. Sun was being lowered a little sooner in every cycle, Moon held sway for the majority of hours, and the temperature just kept dropping. She was guaranteed to be in the settled zone when winter arrived and if this was a preview of what the Weather Bureau's local schedule for the season had dictated, Fleur would need to resist the urge to kick a little snow at Rainbow herself.
The season had reached the point where no matter when she left the cottage, Moon was up. And the three days which had passed since the cider found her leaving earlier and earlier...
It wasn't that she didn't have a lot to do. There were rumors which claimed portions of Tartarus served as a place of endless labor: if so, Fleur was arguably serving her sentence in one of the prison's extensions. You could always find labor waiting at the cottage, and Fleur had to find most of it before Sun-lowering because that was as much as Fluttershy would now let her get away with.
In terms of the actual job... there, they'd been getting a lot done. The Algonquin was a frequent subject of discussion: potential styles for the dress (which would probably still be purchased from the bitch), ideal times for arrival and departure, the most likely topics of conversation. They'd even begun to review the probable guest list: something which had unfortunately required Rarity because while Fleur stood ready to invoice the palace on anything and everything, gossip magazines just didn't stay on sale for very long. There were two local ways to quickly acquire a decent back catalog, and the one which hadn't been the tree turned out to be the Boutique.
It had been a necessity. The truce had held through gritted teeth and the transfer of a cart filled with rumor, conjecture, and the undeniable fact that Equestria needed to take a long-overdue cue from Protocera and nail down its own libel laws. But the flimsy gloss of the pages had provided an album which Fluttershy could review: faces and names to memorize, proper forms of greeting, who'd published what and how recently. Fleur was even putting together a short reading list, because few things impressed an author like being able to quote from their work: the problem typically then became getting the writer to stop quoting themselves.
Fluttershy had dedicated herself to those aspects of the lessons with an intensity which Fleur hadn't believed possible. Flashing a picture of a possible guest in front of whichever eye was visible could get a name out of her charge within seconds. But that was the main topic of discussion. Frequently, just about the only one.
They were reviewing in the dispensary. Fleur kicked titles across the examination table. And after several hours of it, Fluttershy would send her home.
Fleur was trying not to push too hard. There was enough time remaining before the Algonquin would actually be held: the hours used per day, applied to the stretch run, would allow them to cover all of it. It was just so much less time spent at the cottage than what had become the usual --
-- nopony wants to talk about nobles, writers, and artists all day. Especially nobles. I had to attend just about all of those parties and it only took me a few moons to reach the point where I was just doing it because I knew what had to be done --
-- and Fluttershy wasn't singing.
It shouldn't have felt strange. It didn't feel strange. Fleur had caught her charge in a singing mood exactly once. Happiness was temporary: the desire to express the emotion through music would therefore be equally so. All things considered, the pegasus had probably just been looking forward to the cider. The cider was now available. Singing could be put aside.
(Fleur had gone through a fifth of her own barrel. She was still trying to pin down the ginger.)
It was just that... Fluttershy had sung.
Once.
She's a good singer. Not on the level of a mark, but a natural talent. Singing is the sort of thing which can work at the Algonquin. There's going to be a live band, and some of the guests will join in. We could rehearse. If I could get her on stage --
-- Fluttershy.
Singing in front of a hall packed with Canterlot's elite.
She narrowed it down.
Singing in front of anypony.
Fleur didn't sigh: there was very little point and at any rate, the utter collapse of the inner image had pretty much done it for her. Instead, she simply made her way around Ponyville, casually avoiding those who came too close (although there hadn't been many of those, with the numbers dropping with temporal distance from the cider line). Scouting. And as she scouted, she saw some of the things she had left to do.
Sweetbark's office. Closed already. Of course the supposed vet didn't have long hours. You didn't need them when every patient you saw could be waved out the door in five minutes.
There was the Boutique: that was still open. Trot a bit from there, and she found Sugarcube Corner. Two Bearers, and she felt as if she was no closer to having any control over them than she'd been on her first day.
I had nobles fighting over me. Performers at war over who would have me at their side when they went into the awards show. Trotting in front of the cameras, with the best possible decoration moving at their flank.
I can't even get into a card game.
She swerved a bit. Avoided Mr. Flankington's place (which had become instinct), eventually found herself passing between the two candy shops. Bon-Bon had apparently just shut down for the night: the door was still faintly vibrating in the frame. And the opposing operation... that much closer to opening: more bright colors inside, which included some glass-blurred paintings of what Fleur assumed to be the most child-friendly fictional characters to currently populate the bestseller list. And -- she had to squint a little, as the outside lighting wasn't quite aimed at the storefront yet -- the announcement of a contest. The chance to see how candy was made, creating your own batch under expert instruction. With an age limit for entry, because the proprietor was both seeking a younger customer base and wanted to stress how the right moment could potentially lead to a mark.
It wasn't her battle, and she turned away.
More trotting. Down an alleyway. She avoided all sounds of bowling, didn't feel like entering a bar unless she could get a guarantee of finding a certain mare in attendance --
-- and there's the library.
Again.
The lights were still on in the tree: they just wouldn't stay that way for much longer. Based on the posted hours and Fleur's best estimate of the time, the library had no more than five minutes of operation remaining on the night. The closing time was posted on a notice board, along with a schedule of upcoming library events (a donkey literature focus, with chocolate on standby because anypony who read too much would need a reminder that any level of pleasure still existed) and the suggestion that the librarian on duty still thought Daring Do was a good choice for an all-ages read.
I can't keep doing this. Because she knew why she kept coming too close: something which put her at risk of encountering the librarian, and she wasn't sure how the alicorn currently felt about her. Not having a read on the nature of any potential interaction made her reluctant to risk having one.
She wanted to speak with Twilight: eventually, she would have no other choice. She still wanted to find out why the youngest alicorn felt Celestia's word alone might not be good enough any more. But it would have been safer to have the next encounter with Fluttershy at her side, or in a group --
three days of dropping hints and I can't even get into a card game
-- because that just about automatically provided some protection. Unless the entire set of Bearers somehow ganged up on her, and she was relatively certain she could keep a sixth of that from happening --
Let's just consider how well Fluttershy probably resists group pressure.
-- somewhat certain.
But she kept approaching the library: never going in, but coming too close. She also kept trying to change her routes, but -- once a night since the cider line, the balcony would come into view. And Fleur knew why.
He might not even talk to me.
He'd at least want to introduce himself, from what Fluttershy said. He introduces himself to everypony, because that's the way they might see him and
I just want to talk to him.
I understand.
I know.
His whole life, I could make his whole life so much easier if I just had two hours to tell him everything I wished I'd known all along...
...Fluttershy said Twilight sees him as her brother.
I believe it. I know it's possible. I...
...anything I tell him, he might tell her and
Too close to the door, close enough to hear hoofsteps moving around inside. Hoofsteps which were probably well inside the tree, but they were still hoofsteps and if the door opened...
I need to talk to him. Before it's too late, because something will happen, maybe it already has
how?
A few more steps and she would be clear from direct view, something which would only be possible when the last patrons left. Twilight lived in the library. Closing up for the night didn't mean any level of commute beyond heading for the kitchen --
-- the front doors opened. Pinkish light flashed into Fleur's eyes.
The alicorn, horn already lit, came out.
There was a piece of paper held in her field, bobbing along at her side: probably a change being made to the notice board. And Fleur realized that the hoofsteps had been close because the librarian was so small, she would have needed to be just about on top of the exit in order for any sound of her movement to be audible at all, the little body took a single step out into the night and then the alicorn saw Fleur.
"Hey!"
It was immediate, leaving Fleur suffering not so much from a lack of places to run as a total absence of explicable reasons for retreat. All she could do was hold her ground as the librarian accelerated into gallop, coming straight for her --
"I have to talk to you!" the alicorn called out. "This is crucial! I have to ask you something, Fleur! You're just about the only pony I can ask! I've been waiting to talk to you for days and I'm not going to miss this!"
-- she stopped, pulling up right in front of Fleur, who managed to assume an expression and posture of mild curiosity.
"What?" the unicorn casually asked. Waited.
Twilight drew herself up to her full height.
It was a fascinating process to watch. The mare was small: shorter than many adolescents, and possessed of a naturally slender build. Watching somepony on that scale force every possible joint to maximum extension was a rather mechanical thing, and suggested that multiple parts were on backorder.
"The cinema," formed the start of the librarian's narrow-eyed demand. "That date you had Fluttershy go on with Caramel. You remember that, Fleur? Do you feel like you remember everything about it?"
The escort nodded.
"Good," the alicorn stated. "What did you do with your glasses?"
Fleur blinked.
"...sorry?" Because anypony who stayed in Fluttershy's vicinity for a while was going to master that one.
"The glasses!" Twilight's forelegs reared up by a few hoof-heights, which still left her glaring vertically at the tall unicorn before she crashed down again. "I've been trying to get a few pairs since Fluttershy told me about the date! All over town, Fleur, everywhere! And do you know how many I've found so far?"
A shake of the head seemed vaguely appropriate.
"None." A frustrated right forehoof stomped, with every particle of dirt at the impact point failing to respect the effort. "It's not like the cinema tracks everypony who goes inside, so I don't even know who was at the show that night. I tried posting a sign asking ponies who'd been there to turn in their glasses to me, because I really want to find out how that effect works. Nopony responded. I talked to Bayleaf, and she didn't even know glasses were involved: she was in the projectionist booth all night, and she only looks down if she hears ponies starting to --" there was a faint blush beginning to underlight fur "-- she doesn't always look down."
"Why didn't you ask the cinema owner?" felt like a reasonable question.
"I did! He didn't even know there were glasses involved! He thought somepony from the studio came in to pass them out! And it was just at the one show, Fleur! Every other screening didn't have them!"
"Well," Fleur carefully tried, "maybe they got pulled back. After --" adding a faint, artful wince "-- Caramel." Which did explain why nopony else had gone through the same reaction. "For further testing --"
"-- I sent a letter to the studio." The streaked tail was lashing now, and the ongoing upwards glare just gave Fleur a view for where the missing portion of mane hadn't been adequately hidden. "Nopony's written me back. I know the names of three ponies who were at the screening that night. Caramel thinks he lost his during the gallop out. Fluttershy doesn't remember what she did with hers, but she's sure they aren't in the cottage. What did you do with yours? Because unless somepony finally steps forward, you're the only one I can ask. And maybe nopony can step forward, because I think they were all collected at the end of the show. Making sure any innovation didn't get out early and let somepony duplicate it. But I just want to study them, I swear. See how they work. And only three ponies left early! Got out ahead of any collection, and two of them don't have anything! Without you, I might not get to see them for weeks and if the studio never writes me, if they were pulled back once and for all, there's no chance to see how they work or improve them or..."
The glare changed. Widened, acquiring just a touch of quiver at the edges. The latter had also reached the lower lip.
"Fleur," the world's youngest alicorn half-begged. "Please..."
The unicorn blinked.
She's serious. She's actually --
-- what did I do with them?
Fleur normally didn't kick gifts away until she'd determined if they had value, and the glasses had been given to her for free. It had been experimental magic (and in her opinion, weak spells): that was the sort of thing she would normally retain for a while.
Twilight was watching her face. There was an odd intensity about that gaze, and Fleur thought she understood it. The Element of Magic had a few questions...
Backtrack.
I was wearing them during the screening.
I didn't take them off when I got up from the bench.
I...
...Fluttershy and I found Caramel, and...
...I don't think we were wearing them.
I know I didn't have them on during the trot to the cottage. None of us did.
Did I just slip them into a saddlebag without thinking about it?
Fleur had an excellent memory: something which was a necessity for keeping track of everything she had going at any given time without leaving evidence via mistakes like writing things down. But it wasn't perfect, and any period of her life for which she could track every last second was automatically among the worst ones. When it came to the fate of the glasses...
"Twilight," and it was so easy to summon the tones of apology, especially when the worst-case scenario had been avoided, "I don't know what I did with them. I was just trying to get out of the cinema and find Caramel. I must have taken them off at some point, but I don't know where that happened. If it was outside, then I probably took them back with me. I don't remember passing a collection trough, but -- I could have just put them in subconsciously, while I was focusing on something else. I'm sorry."
The little alicorn collapsed in on herself, which was much more of a natural talent.
"...I thought that was possible," Twilight sighed. "But I couldn't know until I asked you, and I was waiting to ask you personally. Fleur -- would you at least check your home? See if you put them somewhere?"
Fleur nodded. "Tonight," she promised. "If I find them, I'll drop them off in your mailbox tomorrow morning, before I go to the cottage." Giving up custody of weak experimental spells was more than a fair trade for an alicorn's goodwill.
"Thank you."
"I'll go look now," the unicorn offered. Before you think of anything else. "Good night, Twilight."
Still crestfallen, "Good night, Fleur. And good luck."
Okay. Walk away normally.
Keep walking.
I don't hear her moving.
No acceleration.
Turn this corner. Out of sight.
A few more steps...
Strictly speaking, she couldn't hear the sudden blink and flare of wings. Imagination had to suffice.
"WAIT! About that date...!"
...and too late.
Which left her heading back towards the rental, only now doing so at a somewhat more normal hour while preparing to ransack her own rooms.
It wouldn't take long: there wasn't a lot to search through. But she'd been thinking about it, and she was sure she hadn't seen glasses...
Avoiding ponies. Shifting past forms before they could intercept. A shortcut onto an empty street. She turned --
-- there was a streetlamp awaiting her at the exit, the other pony turned when she heard the hoofsteps, the only other pony on the cold street at all when things would have turned out so differently with a witness, and reflected dark blue flashed into Fleur's eyes. Doing so at the exact moment before the pegasus finished turning, the lustrous obsidian mane shifting to let brilliant yellow eyes stare at her.
It almost redeemed the entire night. The last three days, and even had a chance to put a small positive note on her entire sentence once she successfully took it to four. Her talent lanced forth --
bisexual, oh thank Moon she's at least bisexual, there's a lot of repression here but I can work around that, likes her mares tall and there's something here about dark fur but if she already likes her mares tall --
-- and she smiled, tilted her head a little to the right, her hips began to sway --
"-- good," the pegasus softly said, and the darkness of the dropping tone gave the word its very own lie.
Fleur stopped. Stared at the metallic, standing within the chill downwind just a few body lengths away from her goal, frozen by cold and unexpected anger.
"I've been hoping I would run into you eventually," Joyous Release calmly told her, just as the obsidian tail lashed through fast-scattering light. "So why don't we talk?"