“And what happened after that?” Open Mind still held his quill between his feathers, but it was on the verge of dropping.
Luna shrugged. “When I had finally exhausted myself with crying, I slept for a time. After I woke up, I returned to Canterlot.”
“And you’ve told nopony else this happened.” His tone was flat.
She shook her head.
“For three weeks?”
A faint smile. “You may have noticed that I am not especially talented at sharing personal things.”
He met that with a wry smile of his own. “Somewhat, yes.”
She slouched on the divan, resting her head on her forehooves. “I used to share more. But my sister grew tired of hearing my complaining, and so I stopped.” She sighed. “’Tis a shame I was not here to see Tia simply mellow over the years. But, mellow she did, while I am still just as much of a foal as I was then.”
“And yet your sister still makes mistakes, just the same.”
“Tiny ones,” Luna corrected. “Mistakes for Celestia fall into categories such as setting out the wrong tea bags, or raising the sun a minute late. Things few would notice.
“My mistakes fall into categories such as ‘national embarrassment’ or ‘nearly killing everycreature on the planet’.”
He looked over his glasses at her. “And here I thought we’d made progress on accepting that the past cannot be changed.”
“We have,” she admitted. “That does not change the facts at hoof.”
Open Mind remained silent for a time, his eyes softly boring into her own. When they’d first begun meeting, she had found the behavior uncomfortable; now, she knew he was simply deciding how best to respond.
“Coffee?” he suddenly asked, stepping off his own cushion.
She blinked at the sudden change. “Pardon?”
“I seem to recall that, unlike your sister, you prefer coffee to tea.” He winked. “You said tea was a vile beverage fit only for rinsing a latrine, I think?”
She felt a tinge of embarrassment, but nodded with a quick smile. “I may have said such a thing, on occasion.”
Now he grinned. “Both as a counselor and as a humble pony, I prefer such refreshing honesty.” Gesturing toward the back of the apartment, where the kitchen was, he continued, “Would you join me for a cup?”
She’d had a late night, and could feel the hours dragging on her. Coffee sounded exactly like what she needed. “Yes, I will take some.”
Watching him brew a pot, she was struck by how meticulous he was – every ingredient carefully measured, every step done with the ease of long practice.
When she commented on this, he chuckled. “In my youth I traveled more, and spent some time near the, well, the North Luna Ocean, close to Vanhoover.”
He paused to check the temperature of the water, then continued. “Studying for my doctorate involved a lot of late nights, which I naturally powered through with the power of caffeine. The only shops open that late were the griffon ones.”
“Griffon coffee?” she asked, curious.
“Well it’s the same as ours, at least the ingredients. But their preparation is far more careful than most ponies bother with. Gives it a far better taste, and more kick, and when you need to stay awake that last part is crucial.”
When the brew was ready, he poured a healthy measure into a cup, then held it out with a wing. She took it in her magic, bringing it up to take a sip, before wincing in pain from how hot it was.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “I’m not used to serving it to other ponies – forgot to mention you need to let it cool a little.”
“It is alright,” she replied, setting it down and pressing her singed tongue against the roof of her mouth.
While he puttered about looking for the biscuit tin, which somehow had ended up outside of the kitchen, she picked the cup up once more, blowing gently on it to drop the temperature before taking another sip. The warmth filled her, and she had to admit that the flavor profile was better than what she usually got in the palace.
Returning with the tin in wing, he sat down opposite her, then smiled, clearly amused by something.
“What?” she asked, wondering if she’d committed some social faux pas she was unaware of.
“I couldn’t help noticing that you waited for the coffee to cool before taking another, much more cautious sip.”
Rasing one eyebrow, she nodded. “And…?”
“You made a mistake that caused you injury, and then, learning from that, you sought not to repeat it.” He took a sip from his own cup. “Seems like that sort of thing might apply elsewhere.”
She stared at him, eyes narrowed.
“Biscuit?” he offered, holding out the open tin with a smile.
She took one, if only to give her mouth something to do besides vocalize the thoughts she was still processing.
But the biscuit could only last so long, and then, vocalize them she did.
“Becoming…her, and burning my tongue on coffee are hardly comparable,”
“You said your mistakes were only big ones.” Another sip. “Perhaps you just need a new perspective.”
Celestia shuffled her forehooves on the divan, trying not to fidget and failing at it. “My sister seems to be doing better.”
Open Mind nodded. “She is progressing in her own way, at her own pace. But she is progressing.”
“And am I progressing?” She hated the uncertainty in her tone, something that the pegasus seemed especially talented in drawing out of her. She was accustomed to being seen as Celestia the unflappable, not Celestia the frazzled.
“Do you feel you are?”
Her tone was tart as she replied, “You know, sometimes I wonder why I come here.”
“It’s not for the tea?” He sipped at his own cup. “By the way, thank you again for the new teapot. Most kind of you.”
A flash of embarrassment colored her cheeks. “I wouldn’t say it was kindness, so much as obligation. I did throw your last one out the window.”
“And managed to avoid hitting anyone with it, so as mistakes go, I’d say that gets you a pass.” He scribbled a note on his pad. “Truth is, it was something I’d picked up in a thrift store ages ago. Beyond some minor sentimental value, it was just a common teapot.”
And I got you a replacement from the Palace set. She groaned softly.
On some level, she knew what he was doing. One did not remain in power for as long as Celestia had without learning when somepony was trying to keep you off balance, punching for reactions.
And yet, she continued to return. Because on another level, she knew it was actually effective at getting her to examine her life from a different angle.
The trouble with being her age was that the mind tended to fall into very set patterns, preferred to trod the same paths over and over.
His methods worked, but by Faust, they were annoying.
“What do you want?” he asked, breaking her from her internal rant. “Right now, in this moment.”
Celestia snorted. “To tell the truth? I want my sister here by my side. We fought so many enemies when we were younger that I just know she’d know how to handle you.”
He nodded, scribbling another note. “So, ask her to come with you next time. Seems like an easy solution.”
“I can’t tell her that.” Celestia frowned. “She can’t think I’m having any sort of trouble with her return. It would crush her.”
“Would it?” He tossed his notepad onto the small desk, fixing her with his full gaze now. “Or are you perhaps more concerned that your sister might see you as something less than perfect?”
She scoffed. “I think Luna knows very well that I am far from perfect. If I was perfect, I wouldn’t have banished her to the moon.”
“I don’t think she sees it that way,” he replied. “She still blames herself for that incident, as you might recall. You don’t really enter into the equation.”
“She’s seen me make other mistakes since her return, such as –“
“Using the wrong teabags?” he offered.
They both turned their gaze to the teapot then. She almost expected him to reach for it, putting it out of the grasp of her magic, but he merely returned his gaze to her, a placid expression on his face, as if he didn’t care if she chucked the teapot out the window again.
She decided he probably didn’t.
That annoyed her even more.