//------------------------------// // 680 - Breakfast Theater // Story: Lateral Movement // by Alzrius //------------------------------// “I think this is – mmm – the beginning of a beautiful partnership,” moaned Spinner. “No argument there,” agreed Valor. “Those two – oh wow, this is good! – are alright by me!” “Hoo thee?” Despite her mouth being full, there was no missing the triumphant note in Mystaria’s voice, the mare pausing long enough to swallow before continuing. “This is why cooperation is better than conflict! Because when you do something nice for someone, more often than not they’ll do something nice for you!” No one needed to ask what nice thing Mystaria was referring to, as the example she was citing was impossible to miss. In stark contrast to the miserable fare that the five of them had been dining on a few minutes prior, the common room of the inn was now packed with food. The sheer amount of provisions to be found nearly filled the expansive hall to bursting. More than that, the quality of the cuisine was something that looked as though it had come straight from a lord’s banquet. Tables were stacked with delicacies ranging from fruit platters that looked as though they’d been freshly-picked, to steaming stacks of thinly-baked cake slices that had some sort of sugary syrup drizzled over them, to a selection of fried potato slices that had been spiced and salted, to pitchers filled with fizzy drinks that were sweeter than honey. It was a staggering display of culinary grandeur, all created with Lex’s magic, and the smacking of lips and groans of delight coming from the mares of Fail Forward attested to it all tasting as good as it looked. Or rather, coming from all but one member of Fail Forward. “Shadow, you’ve got to try this!” groaned Woodheart, gesturing toward a large round flatbread covered with melted cheese, now missing a triangular section. “It’s incredible!” “Meep!” echoed Littleknight, messily gobbling down his own slice of the victuals. “I’ll pass,” huffed the masked mare, sitting apart from where her friends were gorging themselves. “One of us should refrain just in case the food is poisoned.” That earned a frown from Mystaria. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit that we don’t know Lex Legis very well yet, but I’m fairly certain that something as duplicitous as agreeing to work with someone and then immediately poisoning them goes against the Night Mare’s tenets.” Shadow shrugged. “I somehow doubt he’d be the first person to commit a sin in order to get what they wanted. Besides, if all this food is safe to eat, how come he and Thermal Draft aren’t here having any?” Looking up from where she was eating what looked like a hay-and-vegetable medley between two circular cuts of toasted bread, Valor rolled her eyes. “Knock it off, Shadow. You were sitting right there when he said that he was going to go make sure this village had a local spellcaster who’d be able to magically preserve all this after we left. That way the ponies here won’t starve while we’re off hunting down that hag.” “That was awfully nice of him,” noted Woodheart, helping herself to a bowl of tricolored iced cream. “I never would have thought he’d do something like this after what those villagers did.” But Shadow refused to relent, crossing her forelegs over her chest. “And he needed his girlfriend to help him knock on a few doors? Besides, this whole thing is suspicious. Mysty was just telling us that magically-created fare is supposed to be bland and awful.” “Ih ihf!” Again, Mystaria’s voice was muffled, this time by a mouthful of fried dough glazed with cherry jelly, forcing her to hurriedly chew and swallow before continuing. “I’m telling you, at Luminace’s temple, one of the jobs of the junior priests was to magically create a meal each morning for the foals in their care. No matter which of the acolytes did it, the result was always the same: plain gruel and tepid water. Nothing like all this.” She waved a hoof at the feast laid out before them. “Which is all the more reason to be suspicious,” argued Shadow stubbornly. “Oh who cares?” groaned Spinner, the words coming out between bites of baked artichoke leaves dipped in garlic butter. “If this is poisoned, then I can’t think of a better way to go. No wonder that pegasus is so stuck on him, if she gets to eat like this all the time!” “I dunno,” mused Valor, leaning back in her chair and rubbing a hoof over her middle. “Too much of this and I’d be worried about getting fat.” “Oh, there’s no way that’s a problem for our dear Drafty,” smirked Spinner. “Our new friend Lex Legis – generous founder of this sumptuous repast that he is – no doubt has her exercise all of this off every night when he puts the pretty pegasus through her paces.” Woodheart tilted her head, recognizing that the bard’s flowery language was a sign that she was well and truly gratified to be able to eat so much exquisite food. “You were complaining about that not too long ago,” she noted. “Now you sound almost jealous.” “Ah, but that was when I thought our horny horned hero was simply subjecting his companion to his advances without concern for her pleasure,” noted Spinner, sounding almost pleased to admit her earlier mistake. “Now that I’ve been so graciously corrected by our resident expert in the carnal arts” – she sent an appreciative nod Shadow’s way, causing the masked mare to snort at the flamboyance – “I can appreciate that he was instead giving her cause to celebrate having been born a member of the fairer sex.” Leaning back in her chair, the bard took a deep full from her mug, the vessel filled with milk that had somehow been imbued with sweetened cacao extract, before letting out a contented sigh. “I have to say, between his erotic expertise and his epicurean evocations, I’m starting to think we misjudged our newfound associate rather badly.” She let out a belch then, chuckling as she put a hoof over her mouth. “If he turns out to be rich in addition to his other talents, then I may need to ask if he’s looking to keep a mistress on the side…” Behind her mask, Shadow sneered. “You can’t possibly-” She was cut off as the door to the inn suddenly opened, admitting a blast of cold air and a swirl of snow as Lex and Thermal Draft entered, the pegasus in the middle of speaking to her masked companion. “I’m just saying, I could have asked them on my own. I don’t think anypony would have tried anything if you hadn’t been there.” “That theory is naïve in its conception, and would have been dangerous to test,” rumbled Lex, his eyes shining as his horn lit up, telekinetically slamming the door shut behind him. “The ponies here might not be morally culpable for their actions, but they nevertheless acted as accessories to that hag’s depredations. Placing yourself as risk-” “And there’s the stallion of the hour!” cheered Spinner. “Come join us! It feels weird to be eating your food while you’re abstaining!” Valor nodded. “Breaking bread together is a tradition for comrades who fight together, and it’s a good chance for us to get to know each other better.” “Speaking of which, are you going to invite your wolf, too?” asked Woodheart. “I kind of want to talk to her, if that’s alright.” “And I want to ask you about the spell you used to make all this.” Rising from her seat, Mystaria rifled through her saddlebag. “I thought this might have been an improvement or variation on the ‘create food and water’ spell, but according to the liturgical aspects that I picked up from your casting, it was the basic version. Did you enhance it with some sort of metamagic, or was-” “No.” Mystaria blinked at the unicorn’s terse response. “No, it wasn’t metamagic?” “No,” repeated Lex, “to all of it. I’m not telling you how I did this, I’m not summoning Solvei, and neither Thermal Draft nor I will be partaking in any of this, since I conjured it to feed the villagers here while we’re gone rather than ourselves.” His eyes narrowed as he looked over the earth mares then, scowling at how they were helping themselves to everything. “Or you, for that matter.” “Here’s an idea: maybe next time try conjuring some manners for yourself,” jeered Shadow. “Or are you under some sort of curse where you can’t open your mouth without putting your hoof in it? Because you can only insult everyone around you so much before you eventually push them too far.” “Your question demonstrates your ignorance as to how curses work.” Lex’s eyes lit up again, and this time it had nothing to do with his telekinesis. “And the next time you threaten me, and I’ll remedy that gap in your knowledge.” “So, how did it go out there?” chimed in Spinner loudly, clearly trying to salvage the situation. “Is there someone here who knows a preservation spell?” “Actually, yes,” answered Thermal Draft, giving the bard a grateful look as she tried to nudge Lex toward a chair. “Turns out there’s a magic school a few towns over, and an old graduate lives-” “The situation has been resolved satisfactorily,” snapped Lex, refusing to budge. “Now, all of you get your things together. We’re leaving immediately.” A chorus of protests erupted at that. “But we’re nowhere near ready to get underway!” objected Mystaria. “I haven’t conducted my daily prayers to Luminace yet! Or studied my spellbook!” “I was really hoping that we could set an hour aside so that I could ask one of the local animal spirits to possess me,” complained Woodheart. “After how we got caught off-guard last night, I’d rather be safe than sorry.” “I was planning on working out before we got underway,” huffed Valor. “Trudging through the snow is decent exercise, but it’s not enough to build muscle.” “My gear needs maintenance,” added Shadow flatly, “and that takes time. Not everyone uses magic for everything; I have blades that need to be cleaned and sharpened, my armor needs to be checked and oiled, and after last night’s round of sweating and bloodletting, a bath would be nice, which means finding a basin and heating the water.” Mystaria gave the masked mare a pained look. “You know I have a cantrip that can take care of that last one, right? A few seconds, and you’ll be as clean as if you spent an hour in a tub.” “It’s not the same,” muttered Woodheart. “Cleaning yourself off isn’t just about dirt and grime, it’s about releasing tension as part of a process of self-purification.” “And because they didn’t have hot water back in your forest, right Woodsy?” teased Valor. Woodheart stuck her tongue out at her friend in response, but didn’t deny the charge. “Don’t call me Woodsy.” “While we’re on the subject of preparations, I’d like to look into the future to see what’s going to happen after we set out,” added Spinner nonchalantly. That was enough to make even Lex quirk a brow, but Thermal Draft was the one who spoke up, her eyes widening. “Hang on…you can see into the future?” “Oh, here we go,” muttered Shadow. But there was no stopping Spinner now. Rising up onto her hind legs, she stood on her chair as she spun her lute around, giving its strings a quick strum. “Indeed I can. You see, while anyone who can hum a few bars and knows a spell or two can call themselves a bard, yours truly is a cut above.” Twirling in place, she struck a pose, putting one hoof on her hip while the other went to her forehead. “For you see, the pony before you is no mere singer of songs, teller of tales, and performer of poetry.” She flipped her mane back then, lifting her chin. “Instead, the lovely mare you now behold is a certified, verified, bona fide…” She hopped down from her seat then, somersaulting as she hit the ground, and came up kneeling, spreading her forelegs wide as though expecting a round of applause. “…filidh!” Lex and Thermal Draft exchanged blank looks as the other four mares all waited, bemused. “I don’t understand,” ventured Thermal Draft after a few seconds of awkward silence. “You’re a filly? As in, not grown up?” Spinner seemed to wilt in place. “What? No, I’m a filidh. F-I-L-I-D-H. It’s Sylvan. It means ‘one who sees.’” “That’s the etymological derivation,” chimed in Mystaria. “But today it’s understood to mean a bard who’s undergone religious training, specifically-” “Specifically,” announced Spinner, “in the faith of She Who Made the World. The creator of Everglow and all of its people. Who sets the destiny of every pony upon their flank at birth.” Placing her hooves together in a dramatic pantomime of prayer, she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “The Author, who chronicles the stories of our lives.” Rising back up onto all fours, Spinner stowed her lute across her back again as she gave Lex and Thermal Draft a cocky grin. “And if I ask her nicely, she gives me a peek at what’s going to happen in the next chapter.”