Daily Equestria Life With Monster Girl

by Estee


Outcast

"Would you please tell me about Diamond Dogs?"

The voiced request somehow managed to be significantly more awkward than the versions she'd played through in her imagination, and a few of those had found a centaur using her own inner stage as a place to practice cringing through the barracks' floor.

There had been plenty of time in which to rehearse. In order to keep the rookie with her supervisor as much as possible, Cerea and Nightwatch were currently utilizing the same work schedule. A night off for one was matched by the other: Cerea had gone to her first citizenship class, and the little knight had headed -- somewhere. Cerea hadn't really asked for details, because the pegasus didn't get a lot of centaur-free hours and given what had happened in order to place the pony in the barracks to begin with, the girl tried to offer as much privacy as possible. She was aware that a number of places remained open to accommodate those on the Lunar shift: ponies could shop, socialize, enjoy a nightlife which was really more of a daylife which had been flipped over, and manage their affairs at government offices which had been expecting their traffic. But when it came to the specifics... whatever Nightwatch did during those hours in the city wasn't Cerea's business. The girl was desperately hoping that the pegasus was managing some degree of a dating life, and partially did so for the same reason she (rarely) requested that Nightwatch shop for her: at least one of them could do it.

All she knew about whatever Nightwatch had planned for the evening was that a traveling cloak was involved: something designed more for warmth than fashion -- and even then, the primary requirement lost something because wings had to be capable of flaring into full flight at any moment. They'd both left at the same time: Cerea to her classes, the pegasus heading for -- something -- and the centaur had come back to the barracks first. But it had been time partially used for rehearsing what had felt like a necessary question, it had still emerged as something other than a casual query...

The little knight blinked at her: something which was a little closer to level than usual, with the pegasus in the air and the girl resting upon her blankets. Black feathers rustled as the sleek body went through a rather precise sort of shake, quickly depositing the cloak on the floor.

"Um," Nightwatch awkwardly tried.

Cerea waited.

A neutral observer would have been able to make a minor sport out of seeing whose blush was moving faster, although it might have taken a pony to track the pegasus' tide under dark fur.

Nightwatch's wings slowed. The small form carefully touched down, and the left hind hoof kicked the cloak in the general direction of a corner.

"It's about Yapper, isn't it? That's why you're asking? You finally saw her? And --" silver eyes squinched across the duration of the hard wince "-- she's in your class, isn't she?"

The girl managed a not-quite-as-practiced nod. The little knight sighed.

"I forgot," the pegasus said. "That she's taking classes. I should have realized the two of you might wind up in the same one. And you didn't talk to her?"

The more visible blush was accelerating. "I couldn't. She --" the appropriate word was scurried, and nothing would have made her use it "-- got past me before I could get away from my desk." Something which had been true of everyone in the class, but the white body had been the fastest. "And after that..." Cerea sighed. "She went down. I had to go up." The canid could use Canterlot's streets: the centaur wasn't even allowed to look down upon them as the air carriage made its way back.

"It might not have made a difference," Nightwatch reluctantly admitted. "She's not always good with new people. Um. Or ponies. Or..." Feathers rustled again. "...almost anyone. What time did you get back?"

"A while ago." Hours of isolation, mostly spent in going over her own notes because that was easier than struggling through the tiny portions of the textbook she could actually read. (Mr. Trotter had covered the election cycle for the Courts and assignment of the judiciary -- but there had been no such discussion for how Princesses gained their posts. Cerea, who couldn't quite decipher that section of the book and hadn't managed to raise her hand once, was becoming increasingly convinced that the positions were hereditary.) "And I didn't want to try looking for her --"

"-- there wouldn't have been any point," the little knight softly offered. "She lives in the city. Um. Technically. Can we go for a trot while I tell you? Just around the lower levels. I just want to move a little more. Most of what I did tonight was sit and wait."

Cerea's first guess was concert ticket line because it was a world without online resellers and in that, it was a world which was much better off. "Yes." A superior officer had given an order, and long legs immediately began to obey.

The pegasus waited until Cerea was just about up to the door, then reoriented her own body and led the way.


The initial portion of the trot passed in silence, and continued to do so until the sounds of the mares' hoofsteps were abruptly cut in half.

Cerea had noticed that Nightwatch was prone to organizing her thoughts on the ground before launching them from the air. There was something about the rhythm of a trot which could make it easier to find focus -- but when it came to not forcing words across the height gap, a little bit of altitude was helpful.

Neither of them was in armor: a mutual night off from their duties, and so there was no faint rattle of metal as the pegasus maintained a traveling hover. She tended to stay about two meters out from Cerea's left shoulder: close enough to make discussions easy, but offering enough room for the efforts of a full wingspan. There didn't seem to be anything which could be done about the breeze.

"You've probably been wondering why the Sergeant didn't give you a briefing," Nightwatch finally began.

Cerea nodded. "I really didn't think about it until tonight. But it felt strange. Having him leave out a whole species..." She'd never thought of the stallion as being anything less than thorough, especially after having listened to him breaking down every last aspect of her mistakes.

"He probably left out a lot more than one," the pegasus awkwardly offered. "Um. Part of that is because we're still finding species. Or they find us. And there's a few which you just don't deal with as a Guard, not when it comes to having someone cause trouble. Like sheep. The last time somepony tried to use sheep against Equestria didn't work out. For them."

"Sheep," Cerea carefully tried. She knew they were one of the species which had been labeled as 'tenants': those who either weren't quite sapient or had something holding them back, a flaw which prevented them from establishing their own nations. But one of those listed had been cattle, and her class --

"The males can do some damage in bulk," Nightwatch explained. "Especially the bigger ones, if they have horns. Not all of them do. And it's easy to get them on your side, because they'll always listen to anypony who speaks with authority. They believe you. All the time. So somepony told them that they were an army. Spent a few weeks training them. And when they reached the gates, the Princess told them they were fighting for the wrong side. With more authority. Um. After the unicorns had pulled out their earplugs for a few seconds. And then the earplugs went back in. Because they believe the last person who spoke to them, every time. And that's how you stop a sheep. You tell them to stop. Firmly. But since they couldn't hear again, they did the last thing they'd been told. And they still remembered their lessons, so they did a really good job of bringing their own commanding officer down."

"...oh."

"Nopony's put that in the Hall Of Legends, though. It's not much of a story, and it's probably hard to render trampling in rock crystal."

The girl trotted in silence for a while, which still didn't give her enough time to dismiss the image of gullible wool on the attack.

"Anyway, there's probably two reasons why the Sergeant didn't tell you about the Dogs," the pegasus continued. "I have to guess on one. But I think I know what the second is. He was trying to bring in someone from that species every time, and all he had for the Dogs was Yapper. Um..." The hover developed a bop. "I heard somepony say he asked her. And he probably tried to do it in a way which wasn't so -- sergeant. But she's not good with new people, and he never completely goes off-duty, not really. So it was probably a little forceful. From what I heard, he asked her when they were both outside, and... then there was a hole."

"A hole," Cerea repeated.

"They dig," Nightwatch helplessly said. "Fast. If they're on soil and they don't have to stabilize the tunnel behind them, it's really fast. He asked her when they were both outside, and then he was just standing next to the hole where she used to be. But that's just what I overheard, so it might not be completely accurate. I haven't asked the Sergeant, and it was just two ponies talking to each other. Not to me. There aren't many ponies speaking to --"

Technically, it was only the girl who stopped on the spot: the hover simply became more localized.

"-- because I'm living in the palace!" the little knight frantically pushed on. "So I don't see the same ponies when we all come in, or when we all go home! It still leaves a lot of ponies! Like Bulkhead. I still see Bulkhead. And Abjura. Acrolith. Obviously not much because of their shifts --"

Ponies who either helped train me, went out to my arrival point, or both.

"-- but we all talk! And you shouldn't blame yourself for me living here, because that's nothing you did -- anyway, Dogs. We were talking about the Dogs." The hover was recovering more easily than the words. "I think the Sergeant wants to ask Yapper again. Later. When he's not so -- sergeanty. And then he would bring both of you to the training grounds for a quick session. But there's species which usually only get covered when we're moving into their territory. If the palace knows there might be a problem, or we're traveling... then there's a briefing. And that's the Dogs' category, because they don't come to Canterlot. Ever."

The pegasus paused. Several badly-needed breaths were taken, briefly cherished, and released back into the world.

"...not to stay," Nightwatch quietly corrected herself. "Um. I'm not good with history. But I remember all the talk when Yapper came in, because she was the first. The first who -- wanted to stay."

She's alone...

There were ways in which the canid's presence had registered with Cerea as a distorted echo. Menajeria had minotaurs: they just had very little resemblance to the ones she had known. And she'd met a kobold in Japan, but there was a human aspect to some of those features and with Yapper, it was just -- a canid.

A distorted echo.
The centaur, alone.
The Diamond Dog, alone.

"So. Um," the little knight eventually continued. "About the Dogs. You usually don't see them. At all. The palace isn't sure how many are out there, and there's warrens in a good part of the world. There's even a few within ten gallops of the Empire, when the ground is so much harder to dig through. Those Dogs have thicker fur. But they live in warrens, Cerea. Subterranean. And they don't come out."

"At all?" A number of questions were instantly begged. "Can they see in the dark? Where do they get food? How do they breathe?"

"Um..."

Two sets of ears twisted, and the mares automatically moved aside. It took a few seconds before the earth pony stallion passed them from behind, towing a large, lumpy sack via rope. Nightwatch waited a few seconds before resuming the path.

"...they -- don't do well under Sun. Or Moon. If you're more than a fifth of a gallop from a warren, you'll never see one. They'll peek out, because there's a few things they have to do on the surface, but -- they get stressed. The longer they're in the open, the worse it is. So a fifth of a gallop is usually the limit, and that's with the strongest-willed ones. Some of them stay in the warren for their whole lives, because the pack doesn't ask them to do anything else. Um. They're a pack species. And it's not like it is with us, and herds. You can be a pony by yourself, because the herd is somewhere out there. Without their pack, most Dogs barely exist. They need to be with each other, or at least with someone. I heard they even commit crimes together because that way, if they get caught, they won't be punished alone..."

Alone.

It was the sort of thought which echoed.

"Anyway," Nightwatch continued, "they can't see in the dark, but they're really good with low light. They've got some stones which glow, and there's other things which can produce light underground. The same tricks which changelings use in the biggest hives. But it's another reason they don't come up much, because Sun gives them trouble. They usually aren't on the surface long enough to adjust. Breathing... it's easy to hide the ventilation holes. And --" the pegasus swallowed "-- eating..."

The small mare stopped again. The centaur matched the pause, waiting.

"...have you ever owned a dog?"

Cerea shook her head. "There weren't a lot of pets in the gap. No dogs." It wasn't the dubious reactions which canines had to centaur presence: that was generally a first-encounter thing. The real issue was maintaining domesticated stock without the ability to bring in new bloodlines at need. It was hard enough to sneak the inanimate into the gap: smuggling the living

at least one night every spring

was considerably more complicated. You couldn't just casually order a puppy. And without that influx of fresh blood...

Cerea knew something about the science of breeding. With what she was reasonably projecting to be a scant number of potential herd-hosted dogs, it only would have taken a few generations for the negative recessive genes to effectively become dominant. The population pool just wasn't large enough to stay healthy. It took a significant starting number to prevent genetic collapse and even then, if you didn't have new people --

-- new people?

-- new dogs coming in every so often...

Nightwatch was looking at her. Waiting.

"There were a few mares who kept birds," Cerea finally said. "That was just about it. And most of them just fed the ones who came by. There were names, and the birds would come when they called -- but they would migrate in and out."

Most. A few mares had used cages, and all of those had argued against sending an exchange student out into the world. As far as Cerea was concerned, it was the same core philosophy: if they couldn't go anywhere...

The little knight nodded. "Not many ponies own dogs," she stated, flying on -- but just for a moment, and then they had to wait for another sack to be dragged by. "It's hard to find homes for puppies. They're loyal. They're loving. But they're also carnivores. You can't feed a dog on sweet potatoes, not forever. Most ponies don't do well with meat. Canterlot has a butcher shop in the Heart now, and on the first day it opened... the owner didn't think about the scent of blood, because he's a griffon and it doesn't mean anything to him besides lunch. But he opened early in the morning, the smell got out, all of the commuters picked it up and -- it made a few of them think about wounds. About bleeding, about something coming for them. You saw it at the press conference, Cerea. Sometimes, if a few go off, and there's enough ponies close enough, when the panic just takes over..."

The dark head dipped. Silver eyes closed with shame.

"There was a stampede," Nightwatch quietly said. "Then there were protests, until Princess Luna and Crossing Guard did -- something. I'm not sure what. But the butcher shop's been there for a while now. There's enchantments on the glass, because it was clear on the first day and looking at fresh meat dripping blood into catch-pans didn't exactly help. Now you have to be a carnivore to see through it. Or an omnivore, I guess."

I can't tell her.

"And there's other effects to negate the scents when they leave the shop," the little knight went on. "The people who need to buy meat go inside, and that includes a few ponies. Getting food for their pets. The palace orders from there: Sizzler says they have the best cuts. But the ones who don't go inside -- most of them don't even look at it. Some of them just... pretend it's not there."

The doctors can't tell anypony --

"It's hard for griffons and ponies to meet for the first time, outside Protocera," Nightwatch softly continued. "Because most ponies get unnerved when they think about meat-eaters. And the Dogs are carnivores. Carnivores who can't get enough meat underground, because most of what they can find is rabbit. Um. Most ponies don't know about this, and I only found out because Princess Luna had to tell everypony about Yapper going into the kitchens. If you eat too much rabbit..."

It triggered a gulp, and Cerea tried to spare her friend.

"Protein poisoning," she gently said. No one could survive on a diet which considered entirely of lean meat -- at least, not for long.

"...yes. So they have hunters. Those are the packmates which go up to the surface, usually under Moon so the light won't be as much of a problem. They catch animals and bring them back down. I don't think they ever managed to domesticate anything, because they can't keep those species in the warrens and the Dogs can't stay on the surface long enough to take care of animals there. But the warrens are in wild zones. It means they have to deal with a lot of monsters. With pack tactics, I guess. And..."

The pegasus stopped. Nodded towards a door, and the girl moved to open it --

"-- are you okay?"

"Wine cellar," Cerea half-choked, and indulged in dark thoughts about the pegasus techniques which had kept the scents confined until the threshold had been breached. "It's good wine. There's just a lot of it. Give me a second..."

It was granted, and the females eventually slipped inside, closing the door behind them. Came to a stop in an aisle between the wooden racks of exposed bottles, where light illuminated labels which could not be read.

Some of the rays passed through those bottles. Amber and rose played across skin and fur. The latter tended to stain more than it tinged. It was something very much like standing within the flow of glowing blood.

"This doesn't leave the room," Nightwatch softly ordered. "It's something a lot of ponies know about, but -- we don't talk about it any more, not in the palace. I want you to hear it because you haven't heard it yet and if you didn't know, then... eventually, the wrong pony might say something stupid. So you have to know the real story. What there is of it."

Cerea managed a nod. Phantom trails streamed down her neck.

"I'm not good with history," the pegasus quietly began. "But there's a few ponies who are. And there's a lot more who make things up and say that because it happened a long time ago, nopony can prove it wasn't history. Plus there's stories, Cerea. Things which you tell foals to give them a good scare, because some kids like to be scared. As long as it's things which are just in stories, things which never really happen. Old stories..."

And she knew.

The centaur looked into her friend's eyes, blue on silver in the midst of red. Waited, as the black tail began to shiver.

"We don't have a lot of contact with the Dogs," Nightwatch forced out. "There's a few warrens which are really close to settled zones. Maybe three of them have trade. Ponyville's one of them -- now. But ponies normally don't go near them, because there's stories, some of the oldest stories which still exist. Stories so old that nopony knows the truth of them any more, and in those stories... Dogs captured ponies. Kept them as slaves, forced them to work all the time, work which never ended, and..."

The shivering had reached the feathers.

"...when the slaves couldn't go on -- the Dogs still needed meat."

"They will look at you, and they will see nothing more than a monster. That is what we face, centaur. We are battling an enemy formed from imagination. We are fighting stories. And so many will have already decided which tales to tell themselves."

"...Cerea?"

"Just -- remembering something Princess Luna said." Her voice seemed to echo off the bottles. "So when Yapper came in..."

"Everypony who didn't remember the old stories got told about them. Usually in the newspapers." The last word had been spat. "You can guess which ones. It was one thing to have trade, and that's rare enough, Cerea. Most ponies had never seen a Dog, let alone tried to buy anything from one. But even if you knew about trade, there was a Dog who wanted to live here. And she didn't come in at a good time." Forehooves were beginning to gesture. "I don't know if there ever could have been a good time, but -- when I said that Ponyville has trade now? Before that, they had a kidnapping. Which only got into the news after, because --" Dark fur creased around the frown. "-- I'm not sure. Princess Luna said the Bearers settled it, but I don't know what the details are, other than nopony really getting hurt. The Bearers have two earth ponies, and it's usually the earth ponies who deal with the Dogs. It's just that when Yapper came in, there were reporters looking for any reason she shouldn't, and somepony found out about the kidnapping. I think the Tattler broke the story. So now there's a Dog who wants to live in the capital, there's old stories about ponies being eaten and a new one about a mare who got snatched away..."

The shiver had transmuted into the shaking produced by rage, and a lashing tail nearly knocked three vintages off a shelf.

"You don't want to know how ugly it got." The words had been half-formed from snarl, and nothing was more canine than the momentary glimpse afforded of the pegasus' teeth. "Letters, protests... and over Yapper, Cerea! Yapper, who goes into a hole if somepony looks at her for too long, with ponies shouting at her every day! She had trouble getting to work, she could barely rent a place to stay and when she did, she got kicked out of her rentals over and over because she kept digging out private warren rooms under the buildings! Somewhere she could recover from the strain of just having to be on the surface every day! Imagine what it's like, being agoraphobic when the whole world is an open space and when you try to get away from it for a while, everypony tells you to stop...!"

Wings almost slammed back against the pegasus' sides, and the furious landing made bottles dance.

"...how long ago?" was all Cerea could initially manage.

Nightwatch presumably stared up at her. Then the little knight backed up a little, and the effort became visible. "About -- a year and a half now."

There was a next question, and it felt almost too crucial to voice. As if the sentence was about to contain some of the most important words of her life.

"Why is she still here?"

The pegasus blinked, and the answer emerged as if it was something being explained to a foal. One of the fundamentals of the universe. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Stay in the gap.

"...because she's still here."

Which brought Cerea back to the basics. "I don't understand --"

"-- nopony was kidnapped. Nopony was enslaved," Nightwatch slowly told her. "Nopony was -- eaten. The Princesses backed Yapper up, in public, every chance they got. Mostly Princess Luna, since she's the one who let her come in to start with. But Princess Celestia took the day shift. They spoke to one of the banks, and helped her get a loan so she could start paying for her own home. Which wound up being on the outskirts, but -- it was her land, it was still in the city, and nopony could complain about her digging under her own property. Not past the point where the courts told them to stop, anyway. She came to work every day, while nothing happened. And after a while..."

The dark head slowly shifted, back and forth, and silver eyes never lost contact.

"...it was like the butcher shop. There was a stampede on the first day. Then there were protests. And then it was a week, a moon, a year, and it was still there. Ponies trot past Gristle's without thinking about it and for a lot of them it's because they didn't want to look -- but there's something else. It had been there for a year, and..."

A slow breath. Rage-disrupted feathers and fur began to settle back into their natural lie.

"...the Princesses said something once, when they were trying to rearrange some of the decorations. They said the palace has inertia. If something's been in one place for a while, then ponies start to act like it's always been there. Like it shouldn't be anywhere else. They moved things, and other ponies moved them back. Maybe it's the same with cities. It started with a stampede, we didn't get another one, and after a while, the butcher shop was just -- there. Maybe it hadn't always been there, but it wasn't going anywhere and if you didn't like it, you just trotted past it. And you had to remember where it was, so you'd know when not to look -- but maybe you remembered because your friend had a dog, or a cat, and you might want to bring some fish the next time you visited, or a bone..."

One more breath.

"She stayed, and nothing happened." Which produced a small smile. "Well -- a lot of things happened. Because it's Canterlot. But she didn't cause any of them. And if something did happen, she was right next to us. She's a very fast digger, Cerea. She... can get a lot of ponies to safety in a hurry, if the soil is soft."

The pegasus exhaled. Twitched her tail once, bringing stray hairs back into alignment.

"She was here. And when ponies come into Canterlot for the first time, when they see a Dog walking down the street --" with a little sigh "-- not that she uses them all that much, still -- she can startle them. There's always going to be somepony new, another first time. Over and over, for the rest of her life. But for the ones who live in the capital, she's here. She's traveling with a pony most of the time when she's above ground, because that shows ponies can be near her. She goes out with her friend. The palace says she has the right to be here, like the butcher shop. They back her the same way, and it's been a year and a half. So maybe it's starting to feel like she's always been here. And there's ponies who still don't like that, ones who move away from her or mutter under their breath. The ones who keep telling stories to their foals. But when the foals see her, she's white and fluffy and her tail sort of moves in a circle when she's happy. It's like a rotary screw's blade more than a tail. It's funny. Foals giggle when they see her happy. And she's happy when she works, her shift goes into the morning hours and sometimes, the first tours through get a glimpse..."

Amber shifted across shrugging shoulders.

"Inertia," Nightwatch said. "It's a weird way to say 'normal'."

The little knight shrugged again, trotted towards the door. After a moment, an exquisitely confused centaur managed to follow.

"If you want to speak with her," Nightwatch told Cerea, watching the wine cellar door swing shut, "then try to find a place where she has ways out, and -- go slowly. It's not because you're a centaur. She's shy. She has a lot of reasons to be."

"...okay."

Back to trotting, at least until another sack needed to go by.

"What are those?" Cerea asked. She knew where the palace's garbage pickup area was now, and usually did her best to avoid it at all costs. The actual trash was removed three times per week, but the olfactory afterimages tended to linger.

And Nightwatch, whose posture suggested distraction, with a scent which indicated a pony who was rather satisfied with herself, made a mistake.

"That's just your mail."

The heavier hoofsteps stopped.

It took a few seconds before the pegasus recognized what had happened and by the time she turned back, it was clear that the slow horror which suffused her features was going to take its time about departing.

"-- well, ponies know you live here!" Nightwatch desperately rushed forward. "So you have an address! And that means there's a place where you can get mail. That's how Fancypants and the Rich filly got their letters to you, right? With private couriers. But other ponies just use stamps. So if they want to write you, or write the palace about you, they -- send everything here." The words were getting faster. "But you can't really read that well. Not yet, I mean! So there isn't much point in showing it to you, right? Somepony just sorts out everything you might want to see, which is usually just the private courier stuff anyway and that makes it really easy! And the rest is just -- stored. Until you're ready to read it."

Feathers appeared to be wringing themselves. Some of the formations briefly suggested a shovel, which made it all the easier for the senior Guard to dig herself deeper.

"But this is just what's left," the pegasus erred. "After the inspection."

"The inspection," Cerea repeated.

With the blurring speed which suggested the only way to survive the acid pit was through racing over the surface, on hoof, while hoping gravity wasn't actually looking at the time, "Some ponies think the palace won't check for magic! Or potions. Or... um... anyway, we just store it! Until you're ready to read it. Not that you probably should. It gets repetitive. Some ponies just copy out the same letter over and over, then add a signature. Actually, we've been getting less of those lately. It's a little weird. There were bale-tons at the start, more than we ever got for Yapper! Um. Some of them were the same signatures, I think. But for the duplicated ones, the numbers are going down. I don't know why --"

"I want to see them."

The words had no way to express themselves as an order. It had still been somewhat stronger than a mere request.

"Um. I don't think that's a good idea --"

"-- I don't want to try reading them," Cerea softly said, and did so at the same moment the blonde tail lashed across the majority of the hallway's width. "I'm not asking you to read them to me. I just want to see them."

"Um..."

"-- there's only so many rooms down here, they were using canvas sacks and if that fades, I can follow the scent of paper for a very long time," the centaur explained with false peace. "Just... show me."

It was three turns, passing two doors in the final hallway, one surprised earth pony who cleared out of the area, leaving his sack near the door --

-- there were sacks.

Most of the canvas bags were empty. They were piled near the doorway, awaiting another trip to the upper levels. There was only one full sack, and that was because the stallion had decided to hold off on his sorting until the mares were done. Sorting which was done through placing envelopes into bins and boxes, which were then arranged upon shelves.

Cerea wasn't sure what the sorting categories were, much less how a given box was assigned to one of the ten overflowing shelving units in a room half the size of a Lunar kitchen. It presumably took something special to qualify for a filing cabinet. There were only six of those, and five were having some trouble closing.

Of course, not everypony had bothered with a letter. Some had gone to the trouble of sending scrolls. A few exposed sheets of paper displayed characters so mechanical as to suggest typewriters, while others had a sort of forced block print. Several ponies had decided to express themselves via what Cerea was guessing to be cocktail napkins: those tended to be stained, stunk of low-quality alcohol, and the smaller stamp suggested they had been sent at something approaching a postcard rate.

"...we got a lot of duplicates," Nightwatch eventually semi-repeated. "Especially at the start. And you can see the postmarks. Um. Yapper was mostly just Canterlot, but with you, we've been getting letters from all over the -- um. You can't read the postmarks. I don't even know if you can tell which part is the postmark. The actual packages are in another room. There's only a few of those, after you subtract all the ones which had to be countered or neutralized --"

"-- that's not a postmark."

The pegasus carefully followed the centaur's line of sight.

"No," the little knight eventually said. "It isn't."

"Then what is it?" the girl placidly asked.

"Um. Well. There isn't any official spelling for your name. Not a public one. And ponies still have to address things to you. So that the palace knows it's for you. So I guess they just -- came up with something. Which means you. And once one pony does it, it spreads. So it's something which tells the postponies that the letter is going to 'Cerea'. And... that's all."

I spend more time with you than anypony.
I could probably pick out your scent in a crowd at twenty meters.
I know when you're nervous.
I think I'm starting to figure out when you're lying.

She looked at the symbol again, that which appeared on letter after letter. The image which resembled a stylized hand superimposed on a hoof.

"There's... nothing there you need to see right now," Nightwatch carefully offered. "The Princesses will let you know if there's something important. Do you want to review your class before dinner? I can help with any assigned reading."

'Do you want to let me change the subject?'

She knew where the letters were being kept now and when it came to enchanted locks... Cerea had hairpins.

"Yes." The centaur carefully turned, making sure to keep her larger lower body well away from the little knight. It was something of a learned skill. In Japan, she had once turned in a hurry while standing too close to their host, and... the impact had echoed for a while. "But I'd rather keep it as an oral review until we reach the reading lesson. That way, we can do two things at once." She sighed. "Which means I'm asking for more of your day off. It would be so much easier with an audiobook..."

"Um."

"What?"

"...nothing."


The stallion smiled and nodded at those he passed under Ponyville's fast-fading night, because smiling and nodding was a superb way to get through life. If anypony were to somehow be asked whether they'd seen somepony trotting towards what was supposed to be a vacant rental, well... they would remember that he had smiled, and he had nodded. The chill of deepening autumn justified covering most of his body in warming clothing, and when it came to his features... the brim of the hat created its own version of Moon-shadows. Even under Sun, there were times when the smile was just about all anypony could actually see. And nopony ever truly expected a unicorn to be wearing a hat.

The hat was a little on the gaudy side, as was the clothing. The colors were somewhat too bright, the pattern a little too strong, and those factors combined to distract ponies from the stallion's face. The clothing had several advantages over his features, and chief among them was that he couldn't get rid of his jawline in less than twenty seconds. Remove the only thing anypony knew to look for and he was just another stallion moving through the Ponyville night, towing a rather small cart because most unicorns would carry groceries in a corona bubble.

He smiled at those he'd never met, and he nodded politely to complete strangers, because both were a very good way of keeping certain ponies from knowing how much he secretly hated them. You had to figure out a way to get along in life, when you were surrounded by those you despised. He'd found one of the keys was to never let any of it out until you were equally surrounded by friends, in an isolated location where, when it came to those who might want to turn the story against him, there were no credible witnesses at all.

It was, in many ways, an art. Move through a settled zone with an earth pony majority while doing nothing more than taking some rather detailed mental notes on what the world should be like? Easily managed. There were those who felt that perfectly reasonable viewpoints weren't, and they had a strange jaw grip on the majority. So he had learned ways to make himself look like one of them, sound like a Diarchy idiot during casual conversations, and he did it because he was fully aware that reasonable viewpoints were exacting, truthful, necessary in order to correct the course of the world and, in what often felt like a touch of cosmic irony, were also heavily outnumbered.

He could pass, and it helped him to simply pass through.

This particular journey had placed the stallion in a rather rare position, and that was after he discounted having had to venture outside of Canterlot. He wasn't just bringing supplies to the rental's secret occupant: he had actual news. Something he was hoping would cheer her up, or at least... calm her down. It was the third time he'd made the trip, and the last two...

...he supposed anypony would become a little tense, left for so long in isolation. But this was more than that. He'd met the mare a few times at CUNET assemblies, had a rough familiarity with her. She was, at the best of times, something of a one-note instrument and if the goal was to assemble a selected orchestra, then you were probably going to need an extended wail of high C somewhere in the mix: you just didn't use it too often. But once she'd been left to herself --

-- tension. He didn't want to judge her too harshly, because she was one of his own and besides, he'd never had to suffer through such circumstances. It meant he didn't know how he would have reacted. But it felt reasonable to assume that tension would have been some part of it.

Still, he felt he had the chance to boost her spirits. There were two pieces of news, and the much lesser was something which he thought might draw out a smile. (He hadn't seen her smile for some time.) He was already anticipating the need to be very careful about how he broke the major one to its intended subject, and had come up with three apologies to be offered after he released the field clamp from her jaw. Spontaneous cheering in the face of such news was perfectly understandable, but it just couldn't be risked.

There were still a few more homes to pass before he reached her. (A pegasus went by going the other way: he smiled and nodded.) It was time in which he could internally rehearse.

The centaur is going to be leaving the palace at least twice a week.

Good news indeed, although it was information which required somewhat more refinement. CUNET had been told that citizenship classes had begun -- but not where, and the palace had regretfully thought ahead. Class sizes were limited to start with, and with the alicorns having thought to multiply the confusion of numerous host buildings through creating a few decoy sessions around the city... it was a matter of not quite knowing where to go.

There was a certain pleasure in the thought of keeping non-ponies from becoming Equestrian citizens to start with, but... you smiled, you nodded, you got along, and you tried to avoid doing things which could potentially focus Princess attention directly on you until it was absolutely necessary. In that sense, the mare in the rental had made a mistake, but -- she was young. She had the fire, but she didn't know how to properly bank it yet. He had forgiven her for that, because CUNET was managing, the consequences were being held off, and nopony had been hurt. Nopony real, anyway.

Their source (and what a source!) knew the centaur had started school, but wasn't sure where. They weren't going to act until they knew exactly which building they were after. And in any case, it was just a matter of patience and waiting to find the right pony to ask. Politely.

Still, it was good news. The centaur would be outside the direct protection of the palace, watched over by smaller numbers. Surely a plan could be made from there. And when it came to the other tidbit he'd been waiting to give her...

It'll make her happy.

He wanted to see her happy again. To see her smile. She had a rather lovely smile. He could stay for a little while, bask in it -- but not too long, as he needed to get back into Canterlot. There were letters to write, and that was becoming more complicated than it had once been. He'd already dropped a few off in the collection bin outside Ponyville's post office, because there was no reason not to double up on his reasons for the trip.

(There had been a pegasus there, just getting in for her shift. Visibly defective, and so he'd smiled, nodded, and made a few silent notes.)

Canterlot held so much for him to do, though. Just for starters, he was still trying to run down the film. There had to be some way of creatively editing the meeting with the colts and fillies, something which could be shown to prospective recruits -- but they would need a copy of the original first, and that was something the source couldn't currently manage. Regrettable, but also understandable. And as for fully faking their own version... CUNET was cooperating -- temporarily! -- with delusional earth ponies and pegasi, in the name of getting the centaur out of Canterlot, and learning a lot along the way. Finding a talented changeling was probably too much to ask for, even when the film just needed to capture sight, sound, a recreated palace backdrop, and several creative scripted threats against pony civilization.

Would you like to hear some good news?
I thought I'd give you something for your stomach and spirit.
It's okay. Anypony who heard that would drape their forelegs over my shoulders. I don't mind...

And there it was. He checked the street, made sure nopony was watching, then darted around to the rear entrance. Something which was considerably newer (or at least better-maintained) than the rest of the rental, but he wasn't exactly complaining about its presence. It was always good to have more than one way out, especially when you couldn't teleport and your field strength was somewhat below what self-levitation required. Besides, even if he had been capable of either one, the corona glow would have been noticed. Just going in the back was simple.

He carefully, quietly unloaded the groceries into the kitchen, working by mouth: the hat was still on. Listening.

Silence. Nothing from the surrounding homes, but also a lack of sound from within. It was possible that she was sleeping, and -- he didn't want to disrupt her rest, but he had good news.

I know you feel like so many ponies don't understand...

He placed the foodstuffs on the shelves for her, noticed that the refrigeration device had a slightly-too-warm interior. There had to be some way for a unicorn to recharge wonders -- or better yet, to discover a means of creating something better -- but until then...

We have allies, at least until this is over and we know exactly where their leaders live. Maybe I should bring one along. Just for that.

Use before abuse. The thought made him smile, and he carefully took off the hat, leaving it on the dusty kitchen table before trotting to the base of the treacherous ramp.

"Are you awake?" he softly called out. "It's me." Of course she would have known it was one of her own: the alarm hadn't gone off. "I just brought you some food, but I've got a few minutes to talk. I think you'll like --"

"-- come up."

There was something tense in her voice. Something... strained. And now that he was listening at a smaller range... there was a sort of scratching sound. He wasn't sure how to account for that. The plumbing in the rental made all sorts of noises, but -- scratching?

...possibly insects. He'd have to bring her something for that. And the tension -- well, that was reasonable. She'd probably heard him moving around, and the alarm not having gone off wasn't exactly a guarantee of friends. He should have announced himself upon entering, but he had hoped she'd be resting and...

...it didn't matter. The proper thing to do was apologize. After he gave her the news.

"I'm coming." He tried to project the smile through his voice, and then started up the ramp. It required exceptional care with hoof placement, at least if he didn't want to go back down in something of a hurry. "You're in the bedroom?"

"Yes," said the tight voice. "Come in." The scratching repeated.

He reached the upper level, turned towards the hint of grey light. (Sun was coming up now, and the first hints of that light were fighting their way through thick curtains.) Went for the doorway, and let it frame his smile. "I thought I'd bring you something for your stomach and sp --"

She turned away from the fresh gouges, and splinters of wood dropped away from her horn.

"What do you think?" she asked, and the smile was something other than lovely.

Slowly, he looked at the multiplicity of deep lines which had been carved into slanted wood.

It took a full ten seconds before he found words, and "...I'm sorry, but -- what is it?" was the best of a bad lot.

The smile became a little wider.

"Oh, you can tell me it's bad," she said. "I've never sketched before, not like this. But... well, catch a clod or a feather duster doing this, right?" The laugh was soft. "Not that they ever could. But that's the point. This is a unicorn sketch."

She turned back to face it. Looked at the rough, splinter-edged lines, as if nothing else mattered. Like he wasn't even in the room.

"The point," she added, "made with a point."

The next sound could have been a giggle. It also could have been a number of other sounds, and he assigned 'giggle' in order to keep every other choice away.

"Anyway," she told the wall, "there's these two fillies who go by the front window, almost every day. Bad fillies, because one is a clod who thinks she has power, and the other's a unicorn who doesn't deserve it. Because she trots past the window with a clod at her side. You can see which is which, I hope. I know I'm not good at this yet, but the unicorn's the one with the horn."

Another giggle.

"So I usually write things down," was addressed to one of the deeper gouges. "But I don't have any paper, scrolls, quills... and do you know what I do have? Time to experiment! So -- art. I'm drawing my thoughts. And I was thinking about two bad fillies, who shouldn't be together. And how I could -- break them up."

There was a new sound. He recognized it as hoofsteps skittering backwards, and needed another moment to realize they'd been his.

"Can you tell what's happening to their throats?" she asked, and angled her head to let the horn point. "That was hard to render."

"I --"

She turned to face him. There was a smile and a shrug, or at least there was a shrug. He wasn't sure about the smile. There was thick grey light fighting its way through the curtains, it did strange things to her fur and eyes and teeth and when it came to the smile...

"Did you ever think," she inquired, "about field loops? I know how most unicorns treat them. As a way to divide up the weight on something heavy. I loop this, you loop that, and eventually, we all carry the load. But they're not quite solid, are they? You can grip. But unless you know something about shields, you can't make them into something which could be touched. You can't really tighten. I've been trying to remember everything I ever knew about shields. I've been practicing. Because field strength isn't always enough, is it? A little reinforcement, and you could -- really drag two bad fillies apart. Because they need to be separated."

Back to the gouges, and her tail twitched once before falling into a posture of perfect contentment.

"Reinforce," she observed, "and dragging would be easier. It just takes a slightly-cracked window, doesn't it? And they go by the window just about every day. Reinforce, and drag."

"I --" wasn't any better the second time around.

"-- but it's just a silly thought." Grey coated her teeth. "A fantasy. So I sketched it out to pass the time. Oh, look: I should have put an extra line there. On the throats again. Necks are complicated."

She lunged forward, just by a hoofwidth. An unbreakable horn stabbed into soft wood. Slowly, carefully gouged to the right.

"Reinforce, and drag," she half-sang. "Reinforce, and..."

The sound of scratching. Scraping. It felt as if it was getting louder --

"-- I've got good news!"

She pulled back just enough to free herself, turned to face him with bright eyes. "Oh?"

He hastily told her about the centaur having started classes, and it made her happy. At least, he presumed it made her happy, because the smile had already been present and its nature never changed.

"That is good," she decided. "Tell me everything after you find her. Is there anything else?"

The words froze on his tongue.

Not yet.
Not without a script.
She has to memorize it. Somepony has to be there watching her, making sure she doesn't deviate. Not a single word we haven't written out for her.
She can tell her side of the story. We'll give the world the exclusive. But she was never the best talker, not on her own. She didn't figure out how to smile and nod. She's one note.
One note under tension.

A single note, played over and over...

Tension.
Intensity.

"Maybe later," he told her. "We're trying to set something up. But it's not ready yet."

She didn't look any less happy...

"Can you stay a while?" she asked. "I hardly ever see anypony..."

He did, although not too long. There were things to do in Canterlot, and there were no insects in the rental. It meant that nothing was was crawling through his fur, and he couldn't seem to make his skin believe that.

But he stayed until the light was a little stronger. Until he heard the sound of colts and fillies going to school. And when he heard it fade away, he let himself depart with a smile, and a nod, and a promise to come back.

He had to come back.
A slightly-cracked window.
A unicorn who was thinking about loops and shields.
Over and over.
There had already been a foal.
Two fillies, who went by almost every day...

We have to move her.
Soon.